This, writes Chaim Saiman, is the fifth question on everyone’s mind on Passover. Ancient rabbinic sources—cited in the haggadah itself—state that it is praiseworthy to elaborate at length on the story of the exodus, and Moses Maimonides in the 12th century mandated the practice as preceding the Passover meal. But the Shulḥan Arukh, a major 16th-century law code, cites another ancient tradition: that the seder should move quickly so that the children can fulfill the ritual commandment of eating matzah before their bedtime, with further discussion reserved for afterward. Saiman detects an underlying philosophical difference between the two approaches:

The view of . . . Maimonides and the haggadah itself is that what the seder is about is the retelling and discussion of the story of the exodus from Egypt to the point where one sees oneself as having been personally redeemed. Here, the entire family uses story, study, and song to relive the birth of Jewish nationhood. When successful, this is surely close to the seder’s ideal. There is, however, also a cost to setting ambitions so high: the kids might fall asleep and the adults may tune out.

The conception of the seder in . . . the Shulḥan Arukh is more modest. The seder starts promptly and is (relatively) short so that no one misses out on the essential, legally mandated, ritual elements. Then, once the seder is over, those with the ability to [do so] can stay awake all night discussing the laws of Passover. . . .

The difference between these two views of the seder also relates to what is being taught. According to the haggadah and Maimonides, the centerpiece of the seder is the retelling of the Passover story, a form of narrative. . . . By contrast, the Shulḥan Arukh emphasizes studying the laws of the Passover sacrifice. . . . The disagreement is really a debate over how to preserve and convey the essence of the Jewish experience. Through law or narrative, legal reasoning or theology? This tension is present in the earliest rabbinic texts, carried forward in the positions of the later great halakhic authorities, and is still present at our own seder tables.

While it is commendable that administrators of several universities finally called upon police to crack down on violent and disruptive anti-Israel protests, the actions they have taken may be insufficient. At Columbia, demonstrators reestablished their encampment on the main quad after it had been cleared by the police, and the university seems reluctant to use force again. The school also decided to hold classes remotely until the end of the semester. Such moves, whatever their merits, do nothing to fix the factors that allowed campuses to become hotbeds of pro-Hamas activism in the first place. The editors of National Review examine how things go to this point:

Since the 10/7 massacre, Columbia’s Jewish students have been forced to endure routine calls for their execution. It shouldn’t have taken the slaughter, rape, and brutalization of Israeli Jews to expose chants like “Globalize the intifada” and “Death to the Zionist state” as calls for violence, but the university refused to intervene on behalf of its besieged students. When an Israeli student was beaten with a stick outside Columbia’s library, it occasioned little soul-searching from faculty. Indeed, it served only as the impetus to establish an “Anti-Semitism Task Force,” which subsequently expressed “serious concerns” about the university’s commitment to enforcing its codes of conduct against anti-Semitic violators.

But little was done. Indeed, as late as last month the school served as host to speakers who praised the 10/7 attacks and even “hijacking airplanes” as “important tactics that the Palestinian resistance have engaged in.”

The school’s lackadaisical approach created a permission structure to menace and harass Jewish students, and that’s what happened. . . . Now is the time finally to do something about this kind of harassment and associated acts of trespass and disorder. Yale did the right thing when police cleared out an encampment [on Monday]. But Columbia remains a daily reminder of what happens when freaks and haters are allowed to impose their will on campus.