In just a few days, Jewish families will gather around the Passover table. Guided by the words of the Haggadah, we move not only through the story of our ancestors but into the heart of our shared history. Though some traditions may feel distant or less relevant today, the seder remains deeply meaningful. But why?
For me, it’s because the seder isn’t just a ritual—it’s a living legacy. The Haggadah’s core instruction is simple yet profound: “Tell the story to the children.” The seder becomes a thread weaving us across generations, keeping the story of our redemption alive. As the Torah says: “And on that day you shall tell your child, for this (reason) G-d has taken me out of Egypt…” (Exodus 13:8). Through this retelling, we pass down the story not just as history, but as personal experience.
From Despair to Glory
The Mishnah teaches that the seder must begin in the depths of despair and end in the heights of glory. We don’t shy away from the bitterness of our past. Instead, we face it head-on, acknowledging the pain of slavery through the “marror” (bitter herb) on the seder plate. But then, we move toward the light. The seder doesn’t only remember hardship; it transforms it, turning suffering into a promise of glory.
That’s the power of the ritual: it carries us from darkness to light—from bitter oppression to hard-won freedom. And by reflecting on both, we remember that redemption is always within reach and that our shared journey, like the Exodus, continues to unfold.
A Tradition for Everyone
The seder is a celebration that speaks to all ages. Whether you’re a child asking the Four Questions or a scholar exploring the Mishnah, there’s a place at the table for everyone. As Rav Yosef Tzvi Rimon notes, the Haggadah is crafted to engage each person, regardless of age or background.
For children especially, the seder engages the senses. The soft cushions we lean on remind us that we are free. The Four Questions (Ma Nishtana) stirs curiosity. And the seder plate, with its symbolic foods, becomes a visual storybook. The matzah recalls the haste with which our ancestors fled Egypt. The sweet haroset, a mix of nuts and dates, stands in for the mortar used by enslaved Jews. The egg and shank bone echo the ancient Passover offering—a tangible link to that long-ago night.
It’s a feast for the senses and the soul, connecting young and old to our legacy. The youngest voice chanting “Why is this night different?” isn’t just tradition—it’s the heartbeat of our future, carried forward by each generation.
The Story, the Texts, the Songs
As the seder unfolds, we go deeper. We break the matzah and recite: “This is the bread of poverty our ancestors ate…” It is a simple line, yet it calls us to remember when freedom first became real. It’s a reminder that even in struggle, redemption is possible.
For those who seek more, the Mishnah and Talmud offer layers of meaning—encouraging thoughtful discussion about the Exodus and its lasting relevance.
Then come the songs of gratitude. Dayenu—a melody of “enough”—walks us through the gifts we’ve received: liberation, Torah, and the land of Israel. With each verse, we pause and feel the weight of blessing, filling the room with joy.
Personal Reflections on Redemption
As the seder draws to a close, we often share personal stories of redemption. In my family, we remember how we survived the Holocaust and made our way to Canada, where we could finally live in freedom. These stories bring the Exodus into the present, weaving our personal journeys into the wider tapestry of Jewish survival and hope.
Redemption from Egypt is etched into every Jewish prayer, but on this night, we tell the story aloud. We pass it on—ensuring our children carry forward the legacy of freedom and faith.
Next Year in Jerusalem
As we sing “Next year in Jerusalem!” we look ahead—not only to the next seder but to the journey still unfolding. We call out to the future, embracing both the memories of our past and the hope for what’s yet to come. The seder teaches us that the story isn’t over no matter where we are. And redemption—personal, communal, eternal—is always within reach.