The Seder, the sirens and the state 

The story of Pessah reinforces the resilience of the Jewish people
and teaches that after hardship comes joy and hope. 

by Stewart Weiss
March 29, 2010
http://bit.ly/seder-sirens-state

There was a time in Israel, back in the “good old days,” when 
almost every car here was equipped with a manual transmission. 
Today, it’s quite the opposite; standard automobiles come with 
fully automatic transmissions. In fact, I had to place a special 
order, and wait an extra month, in order to get my car with a 
stick shift. Maybe that’s the contrarian in me - I like the feel and 
control of shifting gears more than the convenience of putting it 
in “drive” and letting the engine do all the work.

But it’s not only about cars. This is a particularly useful skill in 
navigating the highway of Israeli life, where we are constantly 
called upon to “switch gears,” particularly on an emotional and 
psychological level. The highs and lows which confront us in 
this unique country require a special kind of dexterity. One day 
we are riding along on positive economic news or celebrating 
our latest Nobel Prize winner; the next day we are facing 
condemnation by foe and (presumed) friend alike. In other 
countries it’s the weather which is unpredictable and 
ever-changing; here we go way beyond meteorology when 
it comes to sudden storms.

If ever a season of the year exemplified this phenomenon, 
it is the one now upon us. In a span of just 16 dizzying days, 
we will go from the joyous celebration of Pessah to the somber 
ceremonies of Holocaust Remembrance Day and Yom Hazikaron 
(Remembrance Day for our fallen soldiers), and then to the 
raucous celebrations of Yom Ha’atzmaut. The continual flame 
that burns throughout these days - from the candles kindled for 
the Pessah holiday, to the memorial lights for loved ones lost, 
to the fireworks that light up our national birthday - sometimes 
warms our hearts, while at other times sears our souls.

How do we do it? How do we cope with all these intense, 
diametrically-opposed feelings packed into one tiny slice of the 
year? How do we maintain our spiritual equilibrium and balance 
the agony and ecstasy of life in the Holy Land?

The answer is the Seder. This unique event, so carefully crafted 
and encompassing so many different elements within its fourteen 
steps, is a microcosm of all the extraordinary experiences that 
Jewish life sends our way. Think about it: There is the 
camaraderie and compassion that calls upon us to share with 
others, by inviting perfect strangers to our Seder table so that 
no one goes hungry. There is the emphasis on family, as even 
the estranged or assimilated child has a seat reserved (indeed, 
current surveys indicate that more than 90 percent of Jews in 
Israel will attend a Pessah Seder). And there is enthusiastic 
revelry, characterized by uplifting songs throughout the Haggada, 
the year’s most elaborate meal and no less than four toasts to 
our good fortune and God’s saving grace.

We openly acknowledge, with gratitude, all that we have been given.

But there is also recognition of what we lost along the way: 
the slaves who suffered, the Jews who never made it out of Egypt. 
Even the innocents who were caught up in the Ten Plagues are 
remembered through the bitter herbs, the salt water and the 
spilling away of some of our wine. At most Seder tables there is 
also an empty chair. It can represent the long awaited yet still 
absent Messiah, the child lost during the pogrom, the Inquisition or 
Shoah, the once-proud Diaspora communities from Alexandria to 
Zimbabwe whose synagogues are now ghostly silent.

Perhaps, above all, there is hope - the sincere belief that, come 
what may, we Jews will persevere over the enemies of each 
generation, renew our faith in the ‘Great Liberator’ and reclaim 
our heritage and homeland. This hope is symbolized by our 
welcoming of Elijah, the prophet who will announce the final 
redemption; by the singing of “Next Year in Jerusalem,” and, 
at many modern-day Seders, by the closing of the Haggada 
with “Hatikva” - the Hope.

Each year, as the wailing sirens usher in Holocaust Remembrance 
Day and Yom Hazikaron, I ask myself, “How will we ever reconcile 
the grief with the glory? How will we dry the tears shed for so many 
tragedies and move on to happier times? Is it right, is it proper? 
Is it fair to those who fell?”

Then I think of the Seder. In Egypt, too, many died and many more 
suffered. And yet, when all is said and done, this is a supremely 
happy night. We pay our respects to those who perished, but we 
do not dwell forever on it. We see the events of the Exodus beyond 
just the slavery. We also witness the liberation, the splitting of the sea, 
the giving of the Torah on Mount Sinai, the entrance into Israel, 
the building of the Temple. In that bigger picture, there is joy and 
there is hope.

And so, on Holocaust Remembrance Day, I can remember amid 
the mourning the Warsaw ghetto fighter who battled the Nazi beast 
and set the standard for bravery, encouraging resistance throughout 
all of Europe and epitomizing the Jewish courage which defied 
all odds and helped us win independence. And by reflecting on 
the fallen soldiers on Yom Hazikaron, I see a strong and vibrant 
nation that is surrounded by threat and terror and yet refuses 
to kneel in fear - a nation that has surpassed our most optimistic 
expectations and is nothing less than a walking miracle.

Most Haggadot end with “Chad Gadya.” Seemingly a harmless 
children’s ditty, the song describes the little goat that faces fire 
and beast and butcher, and even the angel of death. But the song 
is far from simple, for we, the Jewish people, are that goat. 
We have faced all those challenges and more, as we watched 
mighty civilizations come and go. It defies all logic and reason, 
but the one little kid on the block refuses to disappear. 
He will return, year after year, to sing the song of the Seder.