The Empty Seat at the Seder

In the past few weeks I have had multiple conversations with the same difficult theme. Let me share two of them. 

Who knows 59?  59 is the number of hostages still being held in the dark tunnels of Gaza.  59 is the number of families who will sit at the seder later this week without their loved ones.  As one recently freed hostage exclaimed at a rally, “How can we celebrate freedom as they are trapped in hell?  What kind of freedom is this?”  We all feel the absence of the hostages but for the families, the pain is acute.  People across Israel will have photos of the hostages at their seder tables, yellow ribbons tied to their chairs, or simply pray for their safe return but 59 families will sit down to a seder with an empty seat.  

By the end of 2024, the terrible attacks of October 7th and the ensuing war have left over 1,100 bereaved parents, 2,500 bereaved siblings, 180 army widows, and 500 orphans.  Unfortunately, today, that number is even higher.  The sense of pain, loss, and yearning for loved ones is on a scale that has been unknown in my lifetime.  It is the equivalent of every household in a small town losing a family member. Hundreds of widows and orphans will muster the courage this Passover to recount the exodus alone.  At thousands of seder tables across Israel there will be an empty seat this year.   

Just a week ago, I saw a neighbor respond to a post online asking people to support widows of the war.  He commented that, at the same time, we must not forget that there are other widows and widowers.  With all of the attention on those who lost loved ones in the war we have a tendency to overlook those who lose spouses or others to illness, accidents, and many other causes.  These people, and others who lost a loved one this year, also face the seder with an empty seat at the table.   

Not to equate one type of pain to another but we can all identify with those around us who are missing a loved one.  

My grandfather was a very important figure in my life.  As a child, I remember sitting on his lap while he told me stories from his time in the American army during World War 2. We built amazing structures with blocks and when I was a bit older we spent hours in his basement building projects in his home carpentry shop.  In addition to all of the special experiences that I shared with him and my grandmother he was a fixture of our Passover seder.  His seat was at the head of the table, opposite my father, and as he sat there the look on his face expressed, without words how seeing the next generation at the seder table was a miracle of the first degree.  Seeing his pride as the children sang ma nishtana and the songs at the end of the seder was a vote of confidence that I carry to this very day.  This faith in the future, and the importance of investing in young people, is a value that was imbued in our family from generation to generation.

I remember the year that my grandfather passed away.  I was 15 and as Passover approached we all knew that there would be a very important empty seat at the seder.  That year no one could sit in his chair.  No one could fill his shoes.  We all felt the need to sing a little louder and to share a few more insights to fill the void but the absence was palpable.  That year we all shed a few extra tears as we ate the marror.  We felt the bitterness of the past and the present.  Over the years, things have changed.  Children have been born and the memories of life overpower the memory of loss but I still recall the experience of that seder and the searing sense of absence.    

One lesson from the story of the exodus is that we left Egypt so we can have more sensitivity to the pain of others.  “You shall not pervert the judgment of a stranger or an orphan, and you shall not take a widow’s garment as security [for a loan]. You shall remember that you were a slave in Egypt, and the Lord, your God, redeemed you from there; therefore, I command you to do this thing.”  (Devarim 24:17-18)

We dip a vegetable in salt water so that we remember the tears of our ancestors in Egypt and become sensitive to the tears of others.  We were once slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt.

We eat the marror (bitter herbs) at the seder to remember the bitterness which our nation faced in slavery and also we are left with a bitter taste in our mouth because there is bitterness which we must see around us today.  We were once slaves to Pharaoh in Egypt.

Unfortunately, we cannot fill the seat at the seder for all those who are missing someone at their tables but there is something that we can do.  Let us recall the message of leaving Egypt and view it as a call to action.  Let’s pick up the phone to make a call of kindness before or after the holiday.  Let’s make dinner for a friend who is missing a loved one just to say that I’m thinking of you.  Let’s send a text just to let someone know that they are not alone.  Let’s not forget that the message of Passover doesn’t begin or end with the final day of the holiday.  For all those who are missing someone in their lives, the seat will still be empty after the seder but it is up to us embrace them with kindness.