Chief Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis
● Millions of Jewish people will sit down to a Seder this week and each will be slightly different. The customs, dishes and tunes provide the incredible richness of Seder night. And yet, each will also be remarkably similar. The word "Seder" means "order" and you could walk into any of the countless Sedarim taking place around the world and almost certainly find a child asking Ma Nishtana?, four cups of wine and an abundance of matzah.
Pesach is the time when each one of us takes our place at the table of Jewish history. Many generations before us, some despite unspeakable hardship, made sure they could take their seats at this most fundamental of Jewish occasions and whatever our particular traditions, we play our role in ensuring that the generations which follow us will do exactly the same, everyone according to their own customs.
Emily Maitlis
● As a seven-year-old, Pesach used to feel like the longest night of my life. Little legs swinging on a chair for endless hours of prayer, preparation, and nearly always a grandparental family argument ending in a slammed door. I rather dreaded it.
Plus, as a picky eater I feared so many of the " special foods". It was something of an obstacle course of wayward napkin stuffing.
As a fortysomething, it feels completely different. My sister's emphasis is very much on the (exquisite) food and the storytelling - somehow she's made it fun again .
The message is there - and we quite often talk around the themes of slavery, modern-day slavery, what "exodus" means ("mum, is exodus the same as brexit?")
But it is so much happier, more relaxed and - yes - shorter.
Emily Maitlis is BBC television journalist
Lord Winston
● "Willoughby, Remove the Plagues". Each Seder in my house we deliver these words recalling Sir Moses Montefiore's command at his Seder to his doughty butler after reciting the Ten Blows received in Egypt, commemorated by little drops of wine dropped into miniature plague plates at each place setting around the table. These plates were inherited through my great grandfather, Sir Moses' rabbi. But as a medically qualified individual, I am nervous about this minhag. My grandchildren cannot resist licking their fingers after dripping this sweet wine into their little plates - might they come down with some terrible virus or develop boils by morning? Yet how reassuring that Pesach is about remembering and celebrating our continuity in spite of adversity.
Professor Winston is a doctor and television presenter
Ros Altmann
● Pesach is one of my favourite festivals. Not because I love matzah (I don't) and not because I enjoy changing everything over and cleaning the house from top to bottom (who does?).
I love Pesach because it brings our family and friends together. I normally make both Seders and, although exhausting, it's great fun. I compile our own Seder booklet each year with a few jokes, riddles and new songs to help keep everyone entertained.
We share the haggadah reading round the table, with some in English so everyone can participate. We've also added actions to some of the songs, which we first did to amuse the kids, but we still enjoy them as grown-ups now. The Pesach atmosphere is so special and I look forward to it each year.
Baroness Altmann is the government's pensions minister
Jonny Geller
● As someone who works with novelists for a living, I particularly love Pesach as it is the one festival we are commanded to sit down, lean in and tell stories. And they don't come much better than the story of the Exodus from Egypt. It's filled with great characters: a young, reluctant leader, a sociopathic villain, a formidable array of special effects and a chase scene to rival no other. I vividly remember Seders of my childhood, impatiently waiting for the plagues to be listed and imagining how I would have survived in the desert. Seder is a hugely important ritual, repeated verbatim the world over, celebrating the power of remembering the past through story. We learn about tolerance and injustice, survival and leadership. Most of all, I love that it is directed at children.
Jonny Geller is a leading literary agent
Hilary Freeman
● Pesach, to me, is the taste of my mother’s cinnamon balls, so popular that they are rationed in my family. It’s charoset, spread thickly on matzah for breakfast, made to my late grandfather’s recipe. There’s nothing stopping us making these foods all year round, I suppose, and yet - because this week is different from all others - we don’t. Pesach makes me acknowledge how lucky I am to have been born - both as a woman and a Jew - in England, in the latter half of the 20th century. Lucky, too, not to be one of the modern day refugees fleeing from another version of Pharaoh, their tiny children washed up on Mediterranean beaches, swallowed by a sea which did not part for them.
Hilary Freeman is the JC’s agony aunt. Her new novel, When I was Me, is out now, published by Hot Key Books
Paul Kaye
● I've always loved Seder night. It's such a wonderfully weird occasion full of pointing at random stuff, dunking little fingers, hiding matzos and generally slouching about. The Yiddish that was once spoken at the end of a very long table has long since gone and the very long table has become a little round one. Elijah doesn't appear to take a tiny sip from his glass anymore and all the obstreperous stuff we used to get up to when we were kids and get scolded for, has now officially become part of the evening's festivities. My Uncle Leslie still giggles when my dad says "more maror?", and I'm always fully convinced that I'll treat myself to eggs in salt water at some other point in the year, but I never do.
Paul Kaye is a comedian and actor
Debbie Wiseman
● When I think about Pesach it always evokes memories of family gathering together, but there was something about the tunes of Seder night that fascinated me as a child. I remember sitting at my grandparents' table and, as the youngest in the family, singing Ma Nishtana. With some reluctance I would get up and sing, but I found the sound of the minor Jewish lilt and its accompanying questions strangely enticing.
On reflection, it must have been something in the song's musical setting - deceptively simple questions set to a beautifully simple melody. A tune does not need complexity to be effective, and finding a memorable melody is my primary goal as a composer. With its melodies, questions and stories, Pesach epitomises this evocative simplicity.
Debbie Wiseman is a composer and conductor
David Solomons
● For me, Pesach is a mish-mash of haggadahs, all stained with charoset from a lifetime of family Seders. Except for the "good" one I got for my barmitzvah, whose page numbers don't match anyone else's. It's the widescreen Technicolor adventure story (which comes with dinner) I tell my three-year-old. It's the Rakusens logo, sour drops, trying to get out of singing the Four Questions. It's the 11th plague – kosher wine. It's Charlton Heston in a robe. It's the one time in the year my dad can be found in front of a hob (fried matzah, natch). It's the one, above all, that my mum in Glasgow wishes we were home for. As it is written on page 37 (It's not 37 in mine. Which bit are we at now?) "Next year in Newton Mearns".
David Solomons is an author and screenwriter
Rabbi Shoshana Boyd Gelfand
● Pesach is the birthday of the Jewish people. Despite its universal themes, it's the one moment of the year when I unabashedly celebrate my distinctiveness as Jew. Everything about Pesach forces me to do that - the cleaning, the Seder, eating matzah all week; all are part of a particularly Jewish ritual to celebrate our redemption from Egypt. While many others in history have drawn inspiration from the Exodus story, the uniquely Jewish way that we celebrate it makes this more than a story of freedom and liberation. It's the story of how we began as a people and started our journey together to Sinai. That's why I love it. (Not to mention the charoset is delicious!)
Rabbi Shoshana Boyd Gelfand is director of JHub
Jemma Wayne
● Passover means matzah. Matzah sandwiches (preferably wetted before buttering to prevent crumbling); matzah soaked in milk then heated to create breakfast mush; matzah "pizza". Matzah dipped in hummus. Matzah pudding. Matzah hidden in my parents' lounge, always inside the metronome.
The metronome is actually a good place for it: counting beats, tracking time. Because like all Jewish festivals, Passover involves looking back. And when we do on Seder night, we remember our slavery and our emancipation, our suffering in captivity, and the Egyptians' equal suffering through the stubbornness of their own leader. Themes not so distant from conflicts today.
And so Passover also means looking forward, to our responsibilities now we are free, to the suffering of those who aren't.
Jemma Wayne is a novelist
Mark Maier
● My head's spinning and the family's not even arrived. All 18 of them. They'll be late. There was nowhere to park! We won't eat till 11. I'm starving. I'm anxious. This cushion's too hard, the bitter herb's too bitter. I'm famished. Sprig of parsley and some salt water. That'll tide me over. The plagues. A plague of blood. A plague of boils. I'm not so hungry anymore. I'm freezing. Someone close the front door. Look if Elijah was coming, surely he'd be here by now. Must be the parking. Look I know, I shouldn't moan. Pesach is wonderful. Celebrating our liberation from Egypt but I'm very worried and my stomach's in knots. I hate doing Ma Nishtana.
Mark Maier is a comedian. His one man show, 'Mark Maier Greatest Shvitz', is at the Duchess Theatre on June 13
Jonny Wineberg
● Last year, we were home for Pesach for the first time for many years and it meant a lot of cleaning, shopping and cooking. We're doing that again this year and I am currently dusting and vacuuming robustly! Pesach mainly means time with family and we are also lucky enough to be sedering with good friends. We are fortunate to live in a vibrant community here in Manchester so will enjoy having people over and sharing food. It's a time to remember what we have been through as a people and to commit ourselves to preserving, and strengthening, our faith.
Jonny Wineberg is vice president of the Manchester Representative Council and co-chair of We Stand Together
Abigail Morris
● I love Pesach. Or, to be more precise, I really love Seders. I love that they're a mixture of the very personal and link to a much bigger narrative. The story we retell every year has different resonances for us both individually and collectively. It changes for us as we journey through life. (My early memories are of my Scottish cousins wearing kilts for first night). I saw my father and uncle playing around to disapproving looks from my grandparents and understood for the first time that my parents were children too. As a people our interpretations change with society. At the Jewish Museum the different haggadot reflect the time in which they were made. In one, the wise son is a communist, in another that's the wicked son. We have one made after the Shoah with the Egyptians reimagined as Nazis. So we make it our own as individuals and as a people. As we say: in every generation we experience it as if it happened to us. Chag sameach.
Abigail Morris is chief executive of the Jewish Museum in London
Debby Taylor
● Passover is about physical freedom, ritual, the memory of being a poor slave, questions, answers, family gatherings, and a story of hope that the future is better than the present. Our Aberdeen communal Seder was fully booked weeks ago. We will sit down in our communal hall having walked up our freshly painted staircase. The room should be warm as we've carried out some window repairs and fixed the fireplace. Some of our carpet is 70 years old and threadbare and our seats are just as old and uncomfy. But it won't matter as we sing our way through the haggadah, united with Jews through out the world in one voice, just as we as a people have done for over 3,000 years.
Debby Taylor is a member of the Aberdeen Hebrew Congregation
Hannah Brady
● From trying to reconcile my deaf identify with my Judaism to grappling with gender inequality in the community, Passover is a perfect opportunity for me to actively bring the contradictions of my identity together: remembering the joys of our many moments of historic Jewish liberation, while taking the time to deliberate how we must still continue to campaign for true freedom and equality for all members of the British Jewish community. Pesach truly is a time for self-reflection in a political as well a religious Jewish context.
Hannah Brady is president of the Union of Jewish Students
Tracy Ann Oberman
● Pesach is my favourite festival. It covers all bases - spiritual physical and intellectual. Spiritually it makes me feel part of something ancient and important: a story that has been told for centuries, in the same way and with the same ritual never ending. It's comforting. It reminds me of huge family Seder nights with my 90 year old Russian speaking great grandma at one end of the table and my baby cousin in a Moses basket at the other.
Intellectually it is all about debate and politics and history and the analysis of truth versus fiction. Did the Red Sea really part? What is the symbolic meaning of those plagues?
And physically it's a week-long reminder of the bloating and gut ache akin to how a fois gras goose must feel.
Tracy Ann Oberman is an actress and JC columnist
Annabel Karmel
● As a child I resented Passover as we would often be on holiday in France, and at breakfast while everyone was tucking into croissants, we would have to eat dry Matzah and jam. As a child I learned to take the Passover service with my brother and we would always compete over who could sing Chad Gad Ya faster. I became a musician and singing the songs after dinner was always a highlight for me but maybe not for everyone else who wanted to leave the table. Now I have written 40 cookbooks, I realise that you don't have to rely on matza brei and matzah balls. Passover food can be delicious.
Annabel Karmel is an author on baby food and nutrition
