28 Mar WE ARE MOISHELE

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. 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
teaches that by fulfilling the mitzvos of
Pesach, Matzah, and Marror correctly we
connect to our nation’s redemption from
Egypt.
At our Seder, my mother, the Rebbetzin
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,
omdim aleinu l’chaloseinu, there are those
who rise up against us. 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 “vegetable soup”.
Years later, while sitting at the Seder,
Mama’s story came back to me. A 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, charcuterie boards or
takeout, but ate what they were able to dig
up from the ground.
They ate with tears streaming from their
eyes. Tears of pain and sadness. Tears from
the hard labor imposed upon them. When
Mama related that story, she remarked
that she couldn’t believe what the Nazis
reduced her to.
What happened in ancient Egypt,
replayed in Bergen-Belsen. Like the
desperate mothers in Mitzrayim who
searched for food to nourish their
families, my grandmother searched for
something to feed her children.
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. 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.
One of my husband’s favorite Seder
stories that he loves to share with the
children is the beautiful tale by Rabbi
Shlomo Carlebach z”l, The Last Seder in
Warsaw. It is about a family making
what was to be their final Seder in the
Warsaw Ghetto. A little boy, Moishele, is
asking the Mah Nishtanah. 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 Mah
Nishtanah?… 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 Mah Nishtanah.
Because HaShem, the Ribbono shel Olam,
promised us that there will always be a
Moishele.”
“B’chol dor vodor chayov odom liros 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. Despite our
struggles and challenges, like our ancestors
thousands of years ago, we too sing Hallel
to thank HaShem for His guiding hand in
our own lives.
“Bechol dor vodor omdim oleinu
l’chalosainu, In every generation, there are
always those who rise up to destroy us.”
From Egyptians to Babylonians. From
Greeks to Romans. From the Inquisition to
pogroms. From the Nazis to today’s battle
with radical Muslims and other forms of
terrorism. “V’HaKodosh Boruch Hu
matzileinu miyadam, but HaShem saves us
from their hands.”
Against all odds, Klal Yisroel has not only
survived, but has 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 light of Klal Yisroel will never be
extinguished. A night to trust that there
will always be a Moishele.