A Note to my Seder Guests
This is what I sent out to our guests for Wednesday night
Dear Friends and Family,
Before I offer this Passover message, I want to wish my Christian friends a joyous Easter and my Muslim friends a blessed Ramadan.
On Wednesday, we Jews will replay last year's seder, our parents' seder, our great grandparents' seder, our rabbinic sages' seder—all as we harken back to that fateful night when all of us left Egypt. At the Miller table, we will be blessed with four generations of family, extended family, and friends.
Those breaking matzah with Judi and me come from Brooklyn, the Bronx, Pittsburgh, Alabama, Georgia, New Jersey, the District of Columbia, Maryland, Virginia, Quebec, Iran and South Africa. No matter where we might have once resided, each generation before us has reenacted the journey from Egypt to Jerusalem. At my table, each of us has made their own physical and spiritual journey to get to where we belong--together on seder night.
Our service will be informal. We will skip some and add some and encourage discussion too, mindful of the fact that my most important guests are 7 years old and younger. I have fond remembrances of my childhood seders, and I want to create precious memories for our precious little ones. So if we skip around a little, it is with that greater goal in mind.
I have been thinking about this year’s seder and its meaning for me during these fraught times.
For Judi and me, this is the first time in four years that we are approaching normal. Three years ago, we were shut down and we Zoomed ourselves from Egypt to Jerusalem. Two years ago, still not comfortable, we sedered outside in the dark with coats and jackets. Last year, I was between surgeries hobbling around with a walker, now !thankfully! a thing of the past. This year we are together, and as far as I know, everyone is in a good place. What a blessing!
One more thought for 2023/5783. Here in the United States, and in Israel and pretty much in every corner of the world, the ether is filled with division and derision. It feels like the centrifugal force of political and social tornadoes are casting us apart from each other with record force. My hope is that on Passover night, we can pause the existential worries which bring us spiritual sadness and dismay.
We say, “All who are hungry, come and eat.” And friends, I think we mean it. At our seder table, we lovingly include everyone, even those we disagree with.
When we fled Egypt, we were all pitiful slaves. None of us had a political or theological axe to separate us from the others in our group. We were just desperate to get out, away from Egypt, away from Pharaoh, and to be slaves no more. The seder is a powerful script, a message of what happened to us as a people, whether we were from the tribe of Dan in the north, Judah in the south, Reuben and Gad to the east or Asher and Zebulan on the coast. In our escape, we were tribes forged by adversity, one people trying our hardest to keep our spirits up as we made our way together to Jerusalem.
At seder time, 5783, let's try to go back in time to that precious moment when we were committed to our helping each fleeing slave cross the sea in our desperate search for freedom. Use the holiday and the experience of being together to remind ourselves how important we are to each other. None of us could survive the desert alone. We needed each other then.
We need each other now.
Come to the seder table with a generous spirit. God is depending on each of us, and we are, as always, depending upon each other too.
Happy Passover. Next year in Jerusalem!
Jonathan