There is no denying that as Jews, we seem to have more family and social events than other cultures and religions. Aside from our holidays, we simply have many, many occasions surrounding our life cycle. I imagine that we’ve all seen those memes/Instagram posts describing certain characters that we all tend to see at certain life events.
Every kiddush we go to, there is always the old man eating the herring, or that little kid hoarding all the candy. There’s that person at the shiva house asking the socially off questions to the aveilim and there’s the petite warm alte tante at the bar mitzvah giving everyone brachos. While most might laugh and even mock these cast of characters, at this stage in my life, I find it heartwarming and likely even tear up. But it doesn’t stop there; as these hectic weeks preceding Pesach, there’s also the older woman who has made Pesach for about 30 years still gathering recipes from anyone standing at the butcher counter and the clueless teenager/husband trying to find kosher l’pesach soy sauce. These characters are simply everywhere we go and there is no denying that most of us love it!
This always makes me think of the beloved “Sesame Street” song with the lyrics “These are the people in my neighborhood.” Despite replacing the grocer with our Instacart delivery person and the doctor with the PA at urgent care, there is still something comforting about those words “a person that you meet each day.” The familiarity of our lives often makes it easier to navigate.
Conversely, change is hard for everyone. Having some sense of expectation helps us feel more prepared. So when we are a kiddush anywhere in the world, we are always going to see that kid hoarding the nosh and while we roll our eyes, we appreciate the familiarity. Our lives on a macrocosm level can unify us no matter what which enables us to feel part of the greater Jewish community. For most, now more than ever this is something we all crave—the achdut of our people.
While all Jewish holidays are so deeply tied to tradition, Pesach generally hits more intensely as the family minhagim can be so specific. And I’m not just talking about the Seder; it’s surrounding all the songs and activities and, of course, the food encompassing the entire holiday.
But probably the biggest part of our Pesach tradition is the people at our Seder table. Whether it’s listening to your grandfather lead the family in Kadesh or the voices your “friend who has become family” uses for Chad Gadya—it truly is the people who create the memories, which in turn creates that mesorah we cherish so deeply. Psychology tells us that we now call this a core memory—the vision, the smells, the voices of those people that are stored deep in your heart and soul. As I get older, all these core memories have a deeper meaning and I find myself concerned about the memories I am creating. Especially at the Seder, as present as I am in the moment, I think about what I will take with me to the next Seder. And with those thoughts, I think about the people I am with and the people who are no longer with me.
Often, I think about meaningful events in my life and want to almost recreate that event. You remember how when you had that awesome time during the last week in camp with this crew who you swore would be in your life forever. So the following summer, you wanted to be with the exact same people and you actually arrived at camp and the bunk is perfection, but something was off. People change and human dynamics will inevitably shift. It is seemingly to recreate any event in our lives and expect the same outcome. If camp is simply our mashal, then the Pesach Seder is our nimshal as it is our new reality every year. As Pesach is in the springtime when so much around us is changing, it’s almost our responsibility to embrace that shift. As much as it’s our natural inclination to crave routine and familiarity, the opportunities for growth from change are endless. Even if we are with the same people year after year, and the characters can be the same, the feelings elicited are bound to be different.
Being cognizant of all that change at a Seder table can be heartbreaking.
The Seder is a natural time and place for introspection, so all the change is magnified. There are so many different types of experiences of the Seder that it’s a microcosm of our whole world. We might sit down at the Seder and see what’s not there. The people whom we physically lost over the past year, or the people at our Seder who are physically there, but are going through so much pain that they are not as present as we pray for them to be. We can be looking at ourselves and wondering how we ended up in that exact spot in that exact moment. On the flipside, we might be at a Seder that is so beautiful and wonderful and like nothing we ever could have imagined and davened for that we simply feel overwhelmed with gratitude for Hashem placing us in this place at this moment. But it doesn’t need to be one or the other. Most of us are bound to feel all of this even within those short few hours of the Seder. While there are actions and words throughout the Seder specifically intended to elicit the feelings of slavery to freedom, the experience can be deeply emotional and meaningful.
How are we supposed to make any sense of this? The good and the hard—all of these emotions can be so overwhelming. If you look at the pesukim describing the historical events of Yetziat Mitzrayim through Kriyas Yam Suf, there is one anecdote that seems out of place. In the middle of this, there is a simple pasuk that describes Moshe carrying Yosef’s bones with him. But why isn’t this pasuk earlier in sefer Shemos at the time when bnei Yisrael was actually leaving and not now after all this time traveling? When we look at what Yosef represents to us, we have learned that he was someone who always seemed to be on a detour. He was born to a wonderful family; he finds himself alone in the palace in Egypt. Yosef was at the top of the caste system in a foreign land, and then winds up in the dungeons. Yosef is the epitome of the detour truly being the happy path.
We need to find that bitachon to remind ourselves that wherever that Seder table is, that’s where we’re supposed to be. It may not be clear to me how I ended up in a specific experience, but it’s the trust I have in Hashem that is enough to not need to be able to answer why. The deep faith of not needing to ask why it is easier said than done and is something I work on daily. The Seder is a chance for me to renew my approach to that question and truly acknowledge and appreciate those around me and the people who will genuinely miss those special nights. Yehi ratzon that we are all zoche to see the character we all cherish most at the Seder—the young child saying the Ma Nishtana—transition from little sibling, cutie niece or nephew to grandchild and great-grandchild.
Rachel is a graduate of Bruriah High School, Michlala and Baruch College, CUNY. She currently works in the tech sector and is a very proud wife and mother.
