Our Story, Their Story: Passover.25

Our Story, Their Story

Passover 2025

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

“In each and every generation, we are obligated to see ourselves as though we had left Egypt” 

(from the Passover Haggadah)

With Passover starting this Saturday evening, there's a lot to think about and be grateful for. We have been re-enacting the Exodus from Egypt for thousands of years now. The service may have changed somewhat—certainly from Temple times to post-Temple times, and to this day. In ancient days, sacrifices were offered at the Temple in Jerusalem; Passover was one of the Shalosh Regalim (the three pilgrimage holidays), which made it not only a family feast but also one in which the entire community and even nation participated. And though the content and order of the Seder (Seder actually means "order") were compiled over the first three centuries of the Common Era, the text we know as The Haggadah first appeared in the 9th century. Since then, and especially over the last one hundred years, the Haggadah has seen many modifications. We've shortened it for the sake of young children, translated it and added our own family histories. Today the Haggadah is published in more languages and editions than any other book in the world! And yet the essential storyline remains the same; the symbolic foods on our Seder plates remain the same; the traditional menu items, passed down from generation to generation, remain the same.

All that is because the story of the ancient Israelites leaving Egyptian slavery and marching towards freedom is still our story today. Nations have come and gone; empires have fallen by the wayside; tyrants have risen—in every generation, as the Haggadah reminds us—to annihilate us. Yet, through God's grace and miracles, we are still here, still on our historic path towards a promised land.

There have been setbacks. There have been expulsions, pogroms, Inquisitions and forced conversions. Even when the Shoah--the Holocaust--ended, leaving only a fraction of our people still alive, we still picked up and, as in previous times, started anew. In the 80 years since the end of the Shoah, with each passing year and decade, we felt stronger and more confident. Some of us even thought that the hate and violence were behind us, never to be repeated. Tragically however, just over 18 months ago, on Oct. 7 2023, the dream that some of us had proved an illusion. The latest war on Israel and the Jews (and it isn't only about Israel, make no mistake about it), as well as the incredible surge in antisemitism that we are witnessing on college campuses, city squares and elsewhere all over the world, have awakened many of us to a new-old reality. 

Passover this year will be sadder for many families. There are still hostages languishing in captivity in dark tunnels. There are still bodies held for ransom by evil terrorists. This year, too many families will be sitting down to a Seder meal with sadness in their hearts. Too many festive tables will be surrounded by empty chairs waiting for the hostages' return, or else serving as a sad memorial for the thousands who were murdered on that dark Saturday, a day that was supposed to be a joyful holiday but which turned instead so tragic and horrific.

Our singing of Dayenu this year will gain new meaning. In addition to "it would have been enough," this time it will also mean, "enough already!" And yet, even as we sing about one miraculous Redemption after another, we will remind ourselves that though our journey is not yet complete, we can—and must!—expect miracles. This isn't only faith. It's our history. It's our story, the ongoing story of the Jewish People.

As in all previous generations, our youngest child will begin the Seder with questions. And we will answer. We will respond with increased confidence and joy. We will carry on our people's and family traditions, and add to them our own stories. Because we are still here. The march towards freedom began more than 3000 years ago, and we are the newest generation to set foot on the path forward, still emerging from darkness to light, from a "narrow place" (Mitzrayim, the Hebrew name for Egypt) to the wide open and free spaces (Merchav-Yah, Ps. 118:5) promised by God to our ancestors, to us and to our children.

May we continue to rise from sorrow to joy, united in faith and love. A zissen Pesach! May our Passover be sweet and joyful. 

© 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman