Why This Seder Night Is - And Isn’t - Different From All Others

There’s a unique sense of comfort in realizing despair is part of the tradition. As is hope.

A night to ask questions: The Seder rituals and symbols serve as prompts to evoke questions from children, including even the youngest.

I know I’m not alone when I confess that I’m approaching Passover this year with a heavy heart, the horrific events of the last six months foremost on my mind. I need not go into great detail, but consider: 

October 7. The hostages. World opinion morphing from support of Israel to condemnation. Anti-Semitism at an unprecedented high, even in the United States, with flagrant examples of Jew-hatred no longer taboo. Mainstream media focusing far more on the suffering of Gazans than on calling out Hamas for its diabolical strategy allowing – and encouraging – civilian death and destruction while the terrorists hide below ground.

When Israelis gather for the Seder this year, they’ll be thinking of those who are not at their table. When we read in the Haggadah of the miracles that brought the Israelites from slavery to freedom, our thoughts will turn to those innocents held hostage in the dark tunnels of Gaza. And many American Jewish families are bracing for an intergenerational squabble at the Seder over Israel’s role as victim or perpetrator of genocidal attacks.

(It is worth noting that the Haftorah read in the synagogue this Shabbat HaGadol, the Great Shabbat that precedes Passover, includes a passage that speaks to the widening generation gap among Jews today: “Behold, I will send you Elijah the Prophet … and he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to the fathers…” – Malachi, Ch. 3, v. 23-24. Perhaps on a night when families gather to share the Passover story together, the common bond will help heal their differences.)

Asking Questions Is A Sign Of Freedom

The calendar says this is the time for celebration of the core event in Jewish history, with its message of redemption. But how can we sing “Dayenu” when it’s not enough that Hamas is still active, hostages suffer each day, Iran has joined the attack, a war with Hezbollah seems imminent, and much of the world has lost patience with Israel’s struggle?

Those thoughts are hard to confront. But in reflecting on the Passover story and the Haggadah, I found a measure of comfort in realizing that the delicate balance between faith and doubt, hope and despair can be gleaned from the construct, content and order of the Seder service, with its experiential qualities.

Above all, it is a night to ask questions. The Seder rituals and symbols serve as prompts to evoke questions from children, and the youngest at the table take center stage when they ask The Four Questions. It is a sign of freedom and liberation to be able to ask questions, and the emphasis is more on the asking than on providing answers.

From the outset of the Seder, we are reminded that the Jewish people have endured hardship and prejudice since before we were a nation. Indeed, the Pharaoh of Egypt is the first anti-Semite on record. Fearful, for no reason, that the Israelites would be disloyal, he decides to drown all the male babies and enslave everyone else. The suffering of the Israelites was so intense that it stirred God to action. As described in the Torah, when Moses first encounters God at the burning bush, he is told that God has “seen the affliction of My people” and “heard their cry … I know their pain” and will deliver them to “a land flowing with milk and honey.” (Exodus Ch. 3, v. 7-8)

One of the first things we do at the Seder is break the matzah in half, reminding us that the world is broken. We set aside half as the Afikoman (a Greek word for “dessert”) to be the last morsel eaten at the end of the evening, a hint at the ultimate redemption for a troubled people and world.

The Haggadah narrative begins with a three-fold statement – a declaration:  “This is the bread of persecution that our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt”; an invitation: “Let all who are hungry come and eat”; and an observation: “This year we are still here – next year in the land of Israel. This year we are still slaves – next year free people.”

We honor the memory of ancient suffering by experiencing it, at least symbolically, in eating the bitter maror as a taste of slavery. We are called on to reach out to others less fortunate, inviting the needy to share our meal. And we are promised freedom in the future, even though today we are “slaves” – if not literally, then to our work, our fears, our phones.

One of the traditions of the Seder is the opportunity to add elements that reflect the moment. This year many of us will incorporate symbols reminding us of the painful reality of the war: an empty seat at the table; Psalms and prayers for the release of the hostages; adding questions about the silence of former allies; and placing a cup on the table not only for the Prophet Elijah but for those – the fallen, the wounded, the captives – who cannot be with us.

Moments Of Empathy And Animus

Throughout the evening, we toggle between past, present and future, challenged to see the parallels – and differences – between tragedies our people endured over the centuries and the trauma with us now. Different today is that the Jewish people have a state of their own, one with power – military, as well as political – and a place to take them in when no one else will have them.

Given the peril of pogroms that our ancestors faced, and how they somehow observed and preserved Jewish rituals like the Seder, we, too, can sing “Dayenu” even if our cup of gratitude is not full.

Perhaps most remarkable is that those who came before us not only survived but maintained their humanity, incorporating into the Seder the inherent belief that every person is created in the image of God. 

And so it is that one cup of wine is not full when we recite the Ten Plagues. The tradition is to pour off a few drops during the recitation as a sign of empathy for the Egyptian who endured those misfortunes. The message some of us may take away here this year is to keep in mind the civilian population of Gaza when observing the ritual.

Another example of compassion is found in the fact that we do not recite the full Hallel prayer of thanksgiving on the last six days of Passover because, according to the Talmud, it was on the seventh day that the Egyptian soldiers drowned when the waters of the Red Sea receded.

But our tolerance is not endless. Later in the Seder, we offer a passionate plea that our enemies be punished by God for their oppressive acts against us. Compiled from verses in Psalms and added to the Haggadah in the Middle Ages when the murderous Crusades took place and pogroms were common, the demand states: “Shvoch Chamascha, Pour out Your wrath on the nations that do not know You … for they have devoured Jacob and destroyed his home.” (Psalm 79, v. 6)

No doubt we will be thinking of the vicious destruction of the homes and lives of many hundreds of innocents on October 6. Though we are prohibited from acts of revenge, we ask God to “pour out upon them Your indignation and let Your fierce anger overtake them.” (Psalm 69, v. 25) 

On the one hand, spilling drops of wine as an act of grace; on the other, pleading with God for heavenly justice by destroying our enemies.

Israel Leads The Way

Living with complexity, even contradiction, is the human condition. We experience joy and sadness at the Seder as we do every day. The Jewish people have always exhibited remarkable resilience in not only surviving for thousands of years but in striving to compartmentalize and balance the high and low moments that are part of the rhythm of our lives.

Israel leads the way. In 2023, a year of constant strife among Israelis over the policies of its government, followed by a sudden, vicious attack and war, the Jewish state ranked 5th in the world happiness index. (The U.S. was Number 23). Surely one reason why Israelis retain optimism is that theirs is a society of purpose. 

Whether or not one sees signs of fulfillment of a Divine promise in the modern State of Israel, it became a reality in the aftermath of the Holocaust and a haven for European survivors as well as Jews fleeing persecution in Arab lands. Its national anthem is “Hatikvah,” the hope, and its focus is on ensuring a future for the Jewish people.

How many of us in the Land of Free have, in the wake of this outburst of unimaginable anti-Semitism, come to reconsider Israel as an option for ourselves, our children, our grandchildren?

It is but one of the endless questions that will be with us this Passover.

May we be blessed through its healing qualities to find answers that will bring peace to our people and our troubled world.

Chag sameach.