On Passover night, one might expect that the book of Shemot, which details the journey of the Israelites from bondage to divine redemption, would play a central role in the telling of the Exodus story. Instead, however, the text expounded upon during Maggid is a recap of these events from “mikra bikkurim” (Devarim 26:5-9), the proclamation made by bearers of first fruits in the Temple. While one could argue that the selection of mikra bikkurim was made for practical reasons, noting that the passage describes in five sentences what spans several chapters in Shemot, I wish to argue that the purpose of this selection is not simply a matter of brevity; rather, it reflects deeply on the purpose of Passover night itself.

One similarity between mikra bikkurim and our experience on Passover night is the act of retelling. Unlike the generation described in Shemot, which lived through slavery and redemption, the Israelites bringing first fruits knew of those miraculous events only secondhand. Yet, despite this historical distance, subsequent generations were guided to consciously engage the narrative of their history through the proclamation of mikra bikkurim.

On Passover night, we too seek to personalize crucial events of generations past. Indeed, the Mishnah Pesachim (10:5) dictates that in every generation one must see oneself as if he or she personally left Egypt. Famously, Rambam (Hilchot Chametz’ U’Matzah 7:6) translates the word “lirot” —to see—into “li’harot” —to present oneself, as though he or she experienced the Exodus. Thus, mikra bikkurim reminds us of the need to integrate ourselves into our nation’s past and to internalize its lessons.

A further parallel between mikra bikkurim and the process of Passover night is the element of generational continuity. Since those reciting mikra bikkurim would not have lived through the actual Exodus, they actively connected themselves to the tale of their forefathers by beginning their proclamation with “Arami oved avi” —my father was a wandering Aramean.

Similarly, on Passover night, the focus is not solely on stating a historical narrative or on establishing a personal relationship to it, but also on passing on a legacy to the next generation. Indeed, the Torah repeats the injunction to transmit the Exodus story to our children four times. Interestingly, the act of passing on the Exodus story was deemed so critical to the divine plan, that God stated it explicitly as a purpose of His actions, even before the Exodus took place. As God tells Moshe, the wonders of the Exodus are (Shemot 10:1-2) “li’maan”—so that—we should tell bincha u’ben bincha—your children and your children’s children of God’s greatness that was witnessed in Egypt. In this way, mikra bikkurim highlights a primary purpose of recounting the Exodus story – to connect the next generation to the story of our national redemption.

Beyond modeling the way in which we should transmit the Passover story, mikra bikkurim hints to us the instinctive response that the retelling of the miracles of Exodus is supposed to elicit—that of abundant praise and gratitude to God. The mitzvah of mikra bikkurim, as Rambam writes in Sefer Ha’Mitzvot (Mitzvat Aseh 132), is not simply to tell the story of how God saved us from the brutality of Egypt, but to be actively grateful for all of the goodness that He has granted us by means of our redemption and subsequent nationhood.

Similarly, the Rambam writes in Sefer Ha’Mitzvot (Mitzvat Aseh 157), that the mitzvah of reciting the Exodus story on Passover night is not just to recall our historic journey to freedom, but also to offer praise for the kindness God has demonstrated by redeeming us. Thus, the reading of mikra bikkurim guides us to the ultimate goal of our recitation of the Exodus story—to feel compelled to give thanks to God for the kindnesses he bestowed on us and to burst forth in the songs of Hallel that follow.

A final reason why mikra bikkurim rightly serves as our central text on Passover night is that it highlights a crucial plot point which is missing from our modern Maggid—that of the arrival of the Jewish people to the Land of Israel. The text of mikra bikkurim culminates in a statement of gratitude for having been brought to the Land of Israel:

And you brought us to this place and gave this land, a land flowing with milk and honey.

Devarim 26:9

ויְבִאֵנוּ אֶל הַמָּקוֹם הַזֶּה וַיִּתֶּן לָנוּ אֶת הָאָרֶץ הַזֹּאת אֶרֶץ זָבַת חָלָב וּדְבָשׁ.

דברים כו:ט

Despite the fact that this declaration would have served as the climax of mikra bikkurim, our Haggadah texts stop short of this sentence. This glaring omission forces us to grapple with the discomfort that we no longer have the ability to celebrate Passover in all of its grandeur, with the Paschal lamb and Temple services that were once its central components. As a result, the Maggid of our Haggadah keeps us yearning, longing for a time when we will be able to celebrate not only our Exodus from Egypt, but also our return as a people to our Jewish homeland.