Earlier this week, I read an article about a massive piece of an Iranian ballistic missile that had landed in an Israeli schoolyard. The article quotes children who ask, “If this is shrapnel, then what counts as an entire missile?”
As we approach Passover — a holiday that invites our children’s questions — this is not one they should ever have to ask.
Wednesday evening, Jews everywhere will sit for our seders and fulfill the mitzvah of "Ve'higadeta Le'bincha," tell your children. We are meant to tell our story, teaching through songs and ritual foods what it was to be enslaved, as if we ourselves were in Egypt, so that they — and we — better understand how precious our freedom is. Why we can never take it for granted.
But this year, we don’t have to reach back at all. The story is not only in the Haggadah; it is unfolding around us. Seders in bomb shelters and safe rooms. Heightened security at Jewish institutions globally. Shrapnel and discarded yellow ribbons taking their place alongside the maror and salt water.
Who can forget that for the last two Passovers, we were consumed with the plight of the hostages and the families facing empty seats at their seder tables. Since then, of course, we’ve witnessed the miraculous return of the last hostages.
How joyous this seder will be for them and their families — a modern-day Passover redemption story. And yet, we also know that they must still carry with them the pain of captivity.
Within the arc of the original exodus, redemption is not a single moment, and what seems like the end is not the end. We are freed from the shackles of slavery only to find the Red Sea before us. The sea splits, only for us to come face to face with a howling wilderness. Manna is given to sustain us, only for us to wander the desert for 40 more years. Each miracle is met with a new challenge.
So, yes, the hostages are home, but the road to recovery is incredibly daunting. The displaced have returned, but entire communities must be rebuilt. A soldier survives battle, but the emotional and physical scars remain…a Red Sea.
This story of our redemption, with all its many chapters, is one that has been lived and relived — carrying us from Egypt to Israel, across the world, and back again. The Jewish people have always known this. It’s why we tell and retell it. To better understand how to live. How to be resilient. How to have faith when the odds seem insurmountable.
And so, we return to the first and most enduring command: Tell your children.
Today we need our children to be proud, literate Jews — grounded in our foundational story and able to see themselves in it. We need them to appreciate how the oldest words still speak to this moment. Not only on these nights, but every day.
We will teach them, and they will teach forward. Telling the story of ancient Egypt. Of modern Israel. A story that is both told and still being written.
This year, the seders of our brothers and sisters in Israel will be like few other seders before. Likely, they will echo what our ancestors lived through that first night, fleeing Egypt, unable to wait for the bread to rise. Only now with sirens and heavy weaponry overhead.
Children will ask, “How is this night different?” and parents will have difficult answers.
We pray for their safety. And we extend our strength across the ocean.
And when we gather for our seders next year, may we tell our children that the words “Next year in Jerusalem” are more than a declaration of hope. May these words be made real — in an Israel that is more secure. In a region that knows greater peace for all.
And may our very youngest ask the kinds of questions that children should ask, growing up in a world knowing only freedom and redemption.
Shabbat shalom and chag Pesach sameach