01 Apr THEN AND NOW

Pesach. So many special recollections. Warm
memories of family gathering together. A
beautifully set Seder table. A bubby’s special
Pesach recipes. Singing the familiar Seder
songs. A night to follow time-honored
traditions, passed down from generation to
generation.
Pesach. A time to cherish the children. To
encourage their questions and motivate their
participation in the Seder.
The Seder connects us to our past. Our family
had a custom of re-enacting the Exodus,
bringing the Pesach story to life. We children
would wrap a matzoh in a napkin, and while
holding it over our shoulder, we would walk
around the dining room table.
“Where are you coming from?” our parents
would call out.
“We are coming from Mitzrayim.”
“Where are you going to?”
“We are going to Yerushalayim.”
Even the “foods of the Seder” are a link to our
nation’s experience in Egypt. Matzah, lechem
oni, the poor man’s bread, baked hastily as

they rushed out of Mitzrayim. The bitter
marror, the mortar-like charosses, and the
salt-water “tears”, have us imagining the pain
and oppression our people endured. Rabbi
Eliyahu Dessler zt”l teaches that by fulfilling
the mitzvos of Pesach, Matzah, and Marror
we create a connection to our redemption
from Egypt.
At our Seder, my mother, Rebbetzin Esther
Jungreis a”h, would speak words that
penetrated our hearts and souls, as well as
those of the guests who joined us. She
explained that we must feel our peoples’
suffering. That it wasn’t just the generation of
the Exodus, but “b’chol dor vodor – in every
generation” there are those who rise up
against us.
The words of the Haggadah are unfolding
before our very eyes. We are faced with the
cruel enemy of our generation. Hamas,
Hezbollah, the Houthis, and Iran. At the same
time blatant acts of Jew hatred are increasing
worldwide. Anti-Semitism isn’t just
something of the past, but continues to
manifest itself to this very day.
My grandmother, Mama, a”h, shared with me
stories about her life in Hungary, and
experiences during the war. My grandparents,

mother and uncles, were all in
Bergen-Belsen. Difficult,
desperate days. Days of
starvation and deprivation. How
painful it is for a mother to hear
the cries of hungry children and
have nothing to offer.
Mama shared with me how the
Nazis distributed some water in
dirty tins. She found some
weeds, pulled them out of the
ground, and mixed them
together with their ration of
water, telling my mother and
uncles that it was like “vegetable
soup”. When Mama told me this
story, she tearfully said that she
couldn’t believe what the Nazis reduced her
to.
Years later, while sitting at the Seder, Mama’s
story came back to me. It is the story of
karpas, a vegetable dipped in salt water.
Something grown in the ground, mixed with
tears.
Karpas. When Bnei Yisroel were in
Mitzrayim, they didn’t have the luxury of
steak dinners or takeout, but ate what they
were able to dig up from the ground.
They ate with tears streaming down their
cheeks. Tears of pain and sadness. Tears
from the hard labor imposed upon them.
Then and now. What happened in ancient
Egypt, replayed in Bergen-Belsen. Like the
women in Mitzrayim who searched for food
to nourish their families, my grandmother
searched for something to feed her children.
And now, I think of the hostages who shared
stories of starvation and torture at the hands
of the Hamas terrorists in Gaza.
Karpas is also symbolic of the greenery of
Chag Ha’Aviv, Pesach, Holiday of
Springtime. While we recall the pain of our
people, we are also a nation of emunah and
bitachon, a nation that believes in new
beginnings. A nation of Chag Ha’Aviv, the
miracle of spring. As the plants and trees
blossom, we look forward to the season
ahead. We dip the karpas, fresh greens, in
salt water, as if saying that despite all the
tears, all the pains and challenges of life,
everything is going to be okay. HaShem is
with us, guiding us every step of the way.
We are a nation that believes in the power of
spring, of having hope for the future.
Every year, come Pesach, my husband
would share Seder stories with our children.
One of our favorites, is the heartrending tale
by Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach z”l, entiled The
Last Seder in Warsaw. It is about a family in
the Warsaw Ghetto making what they feared
was to be their final Seder. A little boy,
Moishele, is asking the Ma Nishtana. He
then says, “Tatte zeese, my dear sweet
father, I have one more question…. Will you

be alive next year at the Seder to answer
me?… Will I be alive next year to ask the Ma
Nishtana?… Will any Jew be alive?”
Moishele’s father answered, “I don’t know if
I will be alive. But I know that there will
always be a Moishele somewhere… A
Moishele who will ask the Ma Nishtana.
Because HaShem, the Ribbono shel Olam,
promised us that there will always be a
Moishele.”
The Haggadah tells us “B’chol dor vodor
omdim aleinu l’chaloseinu, In every
generation there are those who rise up to
annihilate us.” From Egyptians to
Babylonians. From Greeks to Romans. From
the Inquisition to the Pogroms. From the
Nazis to the radical Islamists. “V’Hakodosh
Boruch Hu matzileinu mi’yadam, But
HaShem saves us from their hands.”
There is yet another dor vodor, from
generation to generation, mentioned in the
Haggadah. “B’chol dor vodor chayov odom
lir’os es atzmo k’ilu hu yotzoh mi-Mitzrayim,
In every generation, a person is obligated to
see himself as if he personally left Egypt.”
(Masechet Pesachim 116b; the Pesach
Haggadah).
Each of us has to see ourselves as if we
actually experienced Yetzias Mitzrayim. Just
as we recall the miracles of the past, Seder
night is also a time to be grateful to HaShem
for guiding each of us through life’s trials and
tribulations. We all have our struggles and
challenges, but like our ancestors thousands
of years ago, we, too, sing Hallel to thank
HaShem for His guiding hand in our own
lives.
Against all odds, Klal Yisroel has not only
survived, but we have thrived and flourished.
The Seder night is a night to connect to the
past. A night to have faith in the future. A
night to know that no matter what, HaShem,
is always watching over us. A night to truly
believe, shelo yichbeh neiro l’olam vo’ed,
that the lamp of Klal Yisroel will never be
extinguished. A night to trust that there will
always be a Moishele.