Seder of a Lifetime: Insightful Advice Leads To A Watershed Moment For A Family

What’s your special Seder memory?

We all have one. Maybe more than one. 

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The Pesach Seder is considered the most widely-observed Jewish tradition. Across the gamut of affiliation, it seems that every family has a Seder, or at least remembers growing up with one. 

They come in all shapes and sizes.

I know families who continue into the wee hours of the morning, with the adults regaling the youngsters with stories and songs. 

I know others who rent a hall and hire a caterer, hosting scores of family and friends. 

I know people in the US who only observe one Seder and others who celebrate the more traditional two. 

True story: I even know people who serve crab for the main course. 

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Inextricably bound to Pesach are cherished stories, which contain marvelous, colorfully-embellished tales and family lore as diverse as the characters who populate them. 

I’ll share a couple of my own memories.

Moving the clock back 30 years, to the mid-90s, I met Jason, a pre-med student at Johns Hopkins University. Jason had little Jewish education beyond a rudimentary ability to read Hebrew. But he was no slouch, pulling a 4.0 GPA at a top-tier school. 

He showed up at a weekly study session for those who wanted to learn more about Judaism one-on-one. His goal: to learn the Kiddush for Pesach, which was a scant few months away. His grandfather had always led the Kiddush at their family Seder, but the patriarch had passed away that year, and Jason was anxious to pay tribute to his memory by pinch-hitting for him at the table.

I made Jason a cassette tape of the Seder Kiddush for him to practice between sessions. Impressively — but unsurprisingly for a bright Jewish boy achieving perfect grades at a world-renowned university — Jason returned the second week having already mastered the Kiddush. 

Our initial mission was accomplished, but Jason was happy to continue, and we studied the weekly Parsha together in the months that followed. By way of appreciation for my time, Jason gifted me a lovely Kiddush cup, which is still part of the rotation on our Shabbat table. 

Our special Kiddush cup, a gift from Jason

When it came time for medical school, to my shock and his dismay, not even students with perfect grades get into their dream school, and Jason ended up not being accepted to any of the domestic medical schools. I was actually thrilled when he ended up in Sackler School of Medicine in Tel Aviv. It was nice to know that he would spend his next few years enveloped in a predominantly Jewish cocoon. If only we had lived here in Israel back then, we could have continued to foster the bond of friendship we had formed. 

As I write these words, I am searching the web for Jason, because it’s time to reconnect!

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Sticking with memories as an adult, the COVID Seder I shared only with my wife was delightful. We took turns reading commentary from a new Haggadah compiled by a friend. The gems it contained were enlightening and meaningful, and helped transform what could have been a lonely, sad experience into a joyful Yom Tov memory. 

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Let’s move back further in time now, to 1980. 

I was attending Yeshiva in Israel. Yeshiva boys and seminary girls who remain in Israel for Pesach face numerous dilemmas. Often, their schools are closed for up to a month, and, like squirrels hoarding acorns, they must scurry to and fro to different hosts, frenetically fending for themselves. It’s hard to impose on families when they are themselves overwhelmed with Pesach preparations. When Pesach arrives, the intrepid students must then seek out the elusive second-Seder, which is not celebrated by the locals in Israel. 

Another issue can be finding lodging for parents visiting from their home countries, who may not have the means to stay in a hotel or wish to be closer to their children. 

To address this issue, one of the nearby Yeshivas had an enterprising idea: they would become a hotel for Pesach! Since their students were not around over the holiday, they could rent the dorm rooms out as guest rooms, and the dining room would serve as the communal dining hall. Food would be served, and each family could make their own Seder at their table.

Thinking back on it now, ‘hotel’ might be an overly generous characterization. How exactly do you disinfect a dormitory room which has been inhabited all year by 18-year-old boys? On the other hand, perhaps it was the signature “eau de bochur” fragrance that was part of what made it such a bargain. 

I’m not sure how the star-rating system works for hotels, but I’m confident that it would have been difficult to beat the value of this solid 1-star facility!

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In my quest to find a second Seder to attend, Mike, a friend from Yeshiva, invited me to join him and his parents, who were guests of the ersatz hotel. Mike had become observant in high school, through the aegis of NCSY, and was now in Yeshiva to take an enthusiastic deep dive into Jewish learning, understanding and growth. 

With the school year already in its final season, Mike’s parents, who were not religious, had made it clear that he was expected to return home to Dallas to complete his college education. They had indulged his desire to spend a gap year in Israel, but now it was time to return to real life. 

Mike had tasted the sweet waters of Torah study, and was thirsty for more. In a scenario which has played out countless thousands of times in countless thousands of families over the years, Mike’s parents were insisting that they knew what was best for him, while Mike was trying to impress on them how much he was gaining from his days in the Holy Land.

To be honest, I was dubious about what kind of Seder awaited me there, and I wasn’t convinced that I wanted to take him up on his offer. Plus, I had what appeared to be an even better offer. My Chavruta (study partner), who was married and lived in the neighborhood, was making a second Seder for those who needed. Surely, that Seder would be more uplifting and meaningful. 

Fortunately, I did not have to solve the quandary of which evening to attend on my own. The Rosh Hayeshiva of Chofetz Chaim, Rav Henoch Lebowitz, zt”l, was in Israel at the time. After Minyan, I joined the estimable line waiting to speak to him. When it came my turn, I asked for his sage council:

“My friend invited me to a Seder with his non-religious parents. I don’t expect much from it on a personal level. But maybe I can help out, and say something or do something to make a Kiddush Hashem (sanctification of G-d’s name). On the other hand, I can go to my Chavruta’s Seder, where there will be plentiful, free-flowing words of Torah and a more proper holiday atmosphere. Should I sacrifice my own advancement and go with my friend, or take the more growth-oriented option with my Chavruta?”

Without hesitating, the Rosh Yeshiva smiled, looked me straight in the eyes, and replied: “Kiddush Hashem is the greatest thing in the world,” he told me. With that, he shook my hand, and greeted the next person in line. 

I had my answer. I would be going to Mike’s Seder. 

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I often refer to Rav Lebowitz’s response as one of the greatest pieces of advice I have ever received. 

Mike’s family Seder was exhilarating. 

The conversation was engaging and thought-provoking.

The songs were lively and spirited.

The food, the wine, and the laughter flowed.

The spirits soared. 

As the Seder concluded, Mike’s parents shared their own conclusion: they decided to let Mike stay in Israel for another year. 

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That night turned out to be pivotal not only in Mike’s life, but that of his entire family. 

Mike went on to become a Rabbi and a Mohel.

Rabbi Mike’s parents became observant.

Rabbi Mike married one of my wife’s dearest friends from high school, and we are all in touch to this day. Today, he leads NCSY and JSU in St. Louis, enhancing and bolstering the Jewish commitment of teens who will lead the next generation through the most uncertain days that U.S. Jewry has ever faced. 

He has performed over 25,000 circumcisions, from Alaska to Rome to Buenos Aries. Not to mention 40 out of the 50 US states. 

Rabbi Mike, at the bris of twin boys

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What a night. What a Seder. What a life.

I take no credit personally — it was a magical, perfect storm. The wind in the sails of that storm emanated from the words of the Rosh Hayeshiva, urging me to attend their Seder. I am honored to have been there to witness it.

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At the time, Mike was unaware that it would be the Seder of his lifetime.

Mike’s parents had no inkling it would be their Seder of a lifetime, either.

And in a life replete with special Seder experiences, in some ways that evening became the Seder of my lifetime, as well.

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What’s your special Seder memory?

For me, it’s about following a piece of simple, yet life-altering advice, which I’m happy to share: When in doubt, Kiddush Hashem is the greatest thing in the world!