Deep-Rooted Traditions

As I gathered with my family for this year’s Seder, the weight of our shared history felt particularly heavy. The Haggadah’s refrain, “In every generation, they rise against us, to annihilate us, but the Holy One, Blessed Be, saves us from their hand,” resonated more deeply than ever.

My nephew, Rabbi Yair Silverman, highlighted another crucial aspect: “In every generation, one is obligated to see himself as though he, personally, had come out of Egypt.” For my parents, Holocaust survivors from Hungary, this sentiment was a constant presence. Today, I reflect on how our current uncertainties might be our generation’s “narrow straits”—our Mitzrayim.

In Israel, Passover transcends being merely a holiday; it becomes a collective experience. Nearly all Jewish Israelis—95%—scrub their homes of hametz (leavened bread) and unite for a Seder, regardless of their level of religious observance. This shared ritual is a testament to our common heritage, much like the 97% who uphold the practice of circumcising newborn boys. These traditions underscore our collective identity.

Observance and Celebration

The essence of the Seder lies in retelling our story—our escape from Egyptian bondage. We savour symbolic foods: matza, the unleavened bread, and bitter herbs, or “maror,” representing both our suffering and our liberation.

Passover spans seven days (eight outside Israel) and begins and ends with days akin to the Sabbath. Work halts, schools close, and shops shut their doors. The intermediate days are semi-festive; while many shops and eateries stay open, schools and workplaces often pause. This period is a time for leisure and connection, with families venturing into the countryside, visiting museums, and enjoying complimentary attractions.

Traditionally, my family would escape to the Dead Sea or Northern Galilee. But this year was different. Amid the ongoing conflict with Hamas and Hezbollah, safety concerns prompted us to stay closer to home. Instead, we chose a few days by the Tel Aviv beach, where we encountered displaced families whose struggles often go unnoticed in the broader narrative.

Life Amidst Conflict

Despite the turmoil, life on Tel Aviv’s beaches thrived. People walked, jogged, and enjoyed the sea. Families played in the sand, couples strolled hand in hand, and children laughed in the waves. It was a reminder that joy and normalcy persist even in the shadow of conflict.

Yet, the shadow looms large. Over 130 Israeli citizens remain captive in Gaza’s underground tunnels—a reminder of the high stakes we face. As a nation, we continue to pray for their release and peace. The threat of terrorism is ever-present, but so is our belief in Israel’s future.

Ancient Prophecies and Contemporary Realities

A video circulating on social media featured a Talmudic passage predicting a time when world leaders would be at odds, with Israel caught in the middle. Yet, it also spoke of Israel’s redemption, free from suffering. This vision offered me renewed hope—a belief that, despite the chaos, a divine plan may be unfolding.

As Israel remains a focal point on the world stage, we have a unique opportunity to share our message of peace and unity. The ancient prophecies remind us that we are part of something greater. We can only hope for the day when these visions are fulfilled, with peace reigning and nations uniting in brotherhood.

The Weight of a Simple Question

Ancient texts continue to speak to us, especially in times like these. They remind us that, despite the turmoil, there’s a larger narrative, a sense of divine providence, and an enduring destiny for the Jewish people. With the world’s gaze on Israel, we bear the responsibility of sharing our timeless message of peace and unity. When these prophetic visions materialize, where peace takes root, nations transform their weapons into tools for sustenance and brotherhood.

For a glimpse into how the everyday mood in Israel has been shaped by current events, a passage from a Times of Israel article captures it well:

“As we approach the seder, the night of many questions, I am struck by the one question that has haunted the last six months. It has choked us for air, narrowed the passage of the esophagus, magnified the racing beats of the heart, made the dreaded lump of the gut ever heavier and left the most articulate dumbfounded. A simple question. A frequent and ordinary one. Suddenly unbearable.

‘How are you?’

In Israel, this baseline greeting of civil society has become the mourner’s mirror, frightful to look into. When trying for an authentic answer, one is left to confront themselves, as with the forceful wet slap of a wave that unsettles the balance of our precarious footing.

With the shock and trauma of grief, horror of the unknown, and fear of what is yet to come, one popular response has emerged. The beloved poet Haim Gouri, depicting the challenges of social etiquette during an entirely different time in his poem Bakasha- Request ‘שלומי כשלום עמי’ ‘I am as my nation is.’ This reply deflects but also expresses the challenges of the moment from within an awareness of our social context. The blurred borders of our personal and communal identities at once horrify and console. I feel as my neighbor and nation feels. As such, I am not alone.”