Hunger

We now enter the part of the seder that fulfills the mitzvah of reciting the Exodus story year after year. Why do we never tire of this?

בְּכָל-דּוֹר וָדוֹר חַיָּב אָדָם לִרְאוֹת אֶת-עַצְמוֹ כְּאִלּוּ הוּא יָצָא מִמִּצְרַיִם

b'khol dor vador chayav adam lir’ot et atzmo keilu hu yatzah mimitzrayim,

In every generation, each person is obligated to see themselves as if they had participated in the Exodus from Egypt,

It is a call to empathy, to feel the suffering and redemption of our ancient ancestors as our own. 

It is also a command to to bring the story's meaning into our contexts, as we imagine ourselves being lifted out of despair and into freedom. This year, we face despair previously unseen in our lifetime: the reverberating trauma of October 7, ongoing war in Gaza, a thousand Israelis lost or in captivity, a thousand more displaced from their homes, tens of thousands of Gazan lives lost, the sanctity of each individual life superseded by the gross injustices of warmongering and nationalism.

The Talmud teaches us that whoever destroys one life has destroyed an entire world. In the same breath, we are told that whoever preserves one life has saved an entire world. When we despair over the sheer size of worldwide injustices, we must remind ourselves that we are obligated to use our voice and our actions tirelessly, no matter how small we think our impact may be.

Raise the glass of wine and say:

וְהִיא שֶׁעָמְדָה לַאֲבוֹתֵֽינוּ וְלָֽנוּ

V’hi she-amda l’avoteinu v’lanu.

This promise has sustained our ancestors and us.

The glass of wine is put down.