Special Recollections of Passover –  “We Are Moishele”

Special Recollections of Passover –  “We Are Moishele”

By: Chaya Sora Jungreis-Gertzulin

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.

Wishing all my readers Shabbat Shalom and Chag Kosher V’Sameach!

Chaya Sora