One goat, two coins: a Seder classic becomes a peace song, and then ....

From Aramaic, to Hebrew, to Arabic: The evolution of Chad Gadya in Israeli culture

Even in the midst of critically important world events—the war in Ukraine, the new wave of terror (with Israel getting the upper hand, perhaps?) in Israel and more, we turn our attention from the headlines to this season: to Passover, to the well-known song that concludes the Seder, Chad Gadya, and to a look at how a simple song’s evolution reflects the unique way that, even among secular Jews, contemporary Israeli culture is in constant dialogue with the richness of Jewish tradition.

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The Seder concludes with a few popular songs, best-known among them Chad Gadya. Often seen as a metaphor for the ways in which the enemies of the Jewish people consumed each other until God finally redeems the Jews (there are other interpretations as well), the “story” is fairly simple. A father buys one goat (chad gadya in Aramaic) for two coins (zuzim), and then a chain of destruction follows until God kills the Angel of Death. High poetry it’s not, but late at night at the conclusion of the Seder, it’s a bit of relief from the seriousness of most of the evening.

Here’s one translation of the classic text:

Chad gadya. Chad gadya. 

That Father bought for two zuzim, Chad gadya. Chad gadya.

Then came a cat and ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim, Chad gadya. Chad gadya. 

Then came a dog and bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim, Chad gadya. Chad gadya. 

Then came a stick and beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim, Chad gadya. Chad gadya. 

Then came fire and burnt the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim, Chad gadya. Chad gadya. 

Then came water and quenched the fire, that burnt the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim, Chad gadya. Chad gadya. 

Then came the ox and drank the water, that quenched the fire, that burnt the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim, Chad gadya. Chad gadya. 

Then came the butcher and slaughtered the ox, that drank the water, that quenched the fire, that burnt the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim, Chad gadya. Chad gadya. 

Then came the Angel of Death and killed the butcher, that slaughtered the ox, that drank the water, that quenched the fire, that burnt the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim, Chad gadya. Chad gadya. 

Then came the Holy One, Blessed be He and slew the the Angel of Death, that killed the butcher, that slaughtered the ox, that drank the water, that quenched the fire, that burnt the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the goat, That Father bought for two zuzim, Chad gadya. Chad gadya. 

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In retrospect, it’s not surprising that in Israel, a song about a conflict that never ends would end up focusing not on a goat, but on this place, and the conflict that even in the good days is woven into the fabric against which life here unfolds. In 1989, Chava Alberstein, one of Israel’s great contemporary singers, wrote a version of Chad Gadya that, as you’ll see in the lyrics that follow, is based on the original song, but then takes it in a very different direction.

We pick it up here with the final traditional stanza, and then what Alberstein added:

Then came the Angel of Death and killed the slaughterer
that had slaughtered the ox
that had drunk the water
that had quenched the fire
that burned the stick
that beat the dog that bit the cat
that ate the kid that father had brought
 
Our father bought for two zuzim
one kid, one kid
 
Why are you singing "Chad Gadya"?
Spring has not come yet, Passover isn't here
what has changed for you? what has changed?
I myself have changed this year
And on all nights, on all nights
I have asked only four questions
Tonight I have another question:
How long will the cycle of horror last?
Hunter and hunted, beater and beaten
When will this madness stop?
And what has changed for you. what has changed?
I myself have changed this year
I used to be a sheep and a calm kid
Today I am a leopard and a predator wolf
I've been a dove and I've been a deer
Today I don't know who I am
 
Our father bought for two zuzim
one kid, one kid
 
Our father bought a kid for two zuzim
And we're starting again from the beginning.....

Here is Alberstein singing her new version of Chad Gadya, with English subtitles included:

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So far, then, what we have is an ancient Jewish song, in Aramaic (the language of the Jews in this greater region for centuries), revised for currents in Israeli culture, with that revision, not surprisingly, written in Hebrew.

But given the richness of Israeli culture, the metamorphosis of Chad Gadya continues, with the Rana Women’s Choir, composed of Jewish and Muslim women, who sing the song in Hebrew and Arabic. There are several recordings of their performances online, but the one they did on Zoom during Covid is perhaps the best, because each person’s face is seen more clearly. You can probably pick out what’s Hebrew and what’s Arabic.

The woman who opens the new section (at 3:27) is singing in Hebrew, but she’s an Arab (you can tell from the accent). Then at 3:44, they all move into Arabic. The woman singing at 4:14, obviously an Arab woman, is singing in Hebrew.

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Alberstein’s song is good fodder for discussion at the Seder table. How do the various generations at the table feel about her revision? Does it feel sacrilegious? Compelling? Dated? What about the Jewish and Muslim women singing a Jewish “ritual” (not quite) song together? What do you take from their joint performance?

This image of shared memory, mourning and yearning becomes even more pointed in a few weeks, when Israel observers Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers. There’s a small but growing movement of Israelis who observe Memorial Day with Palestinians who have also lost family in the conflict. That’s way more edgy, and what various Israelis think about that, we’ll talk about soon enough.

For all those whose holiday it is, wishes for a joyous and meaningful Passover.

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Since many of our readers will be busy and otherwise occupied during the Passover holiday, during the weeks of April 18 and 25 we will not be posting regular columns and podcasts, though we will post something for Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day.

The regular schedule will resume on the week of May 2.

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“If Israel were destroyed, I would hope it would be the end of the Jewish people.”

In his newest book, A Complicated Jew: Selected Essays, the prolific, brilliant, creative and provocative essayist, Hillel Halkin, writes as follows:

A few years ago, I participated in a panel discussion about Israel and the Diaspora held in Washington, D.C. As I generally do on such occasions, I spoke my mind. When the time came for questions from the audience, a man rose and asked me:

“Even if you’re right about the inconsequentiality of Jewish life in the Diaspora compared with that in Israel, suppose, God forbid, that Israel should destroyed by a nuclear attack. Wouldn’t you be glad then that American Jewry existed, so that it wouldn’t be the end of the Jewish people?”

“To tell you the truth,” I answered spontaneously, “if Israel were destroyed, I hope it would be the end of the Jewish people.”

There was a shocked silence before another questioner was called on. When the evening was over, a fellow panelist turned to me and said, “I hope you didn’t mean that.” I thought for a moment.

“Yes,” I said. “I did.” If Israel should ever go under, I would not want there to be any more Jews in the world. What for?"

Ever since his book Letters to an American Jewish Friend, Halkin has been the Anglo voice speaking with prophetic urgency to American Jews. This essay struck me as even more pointed, so I reached out to discuss it with him, to ask him why he feels that without Israel, he hopes that Judaism would cease to exist. Here's an excerpt of our conversation, which I suspect could well be interesting fodder for your Seder table.

The full conversation will be posted, as always, on Thursdays, for subscribers.

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