[Sing] Ma nishtana halayla hazeh mikol haleylot (How is this night different from all other nights?) Ready or not, we’ll be singing that at our Seder tables soon, because the 1st Seder is right around the corner. Seders bring a smile because they carry joy, memories, and meaning. But they can also bring a little apprehension—not because we don’t love one another, but because we live in a time when people feel strongly, speak quickly, and sometimes listen selectively. Add a few cups of wine and a hot-button topic like: Israel, Iran, politics, affordability, social media—you name it—and suddenly the Seder table can start to feel like a debate stage.
We’ve experienced quite a couple of weeks with the war between America and Israel against Iran. Then just the other day there were 3 terror attacks on American soil one after the other. Last week I spoke about the war, today I’d like to put that aside for a moment and focus on the upcoming festival of Passover and what we can do to make it more meaningful.
I begin with a story from Time Magazine (12/13/24) of an intentionally unnamed father of a 28-year-old son who’s hurting. He’s a retired police officer, who proudly voted for Donald Trump each time he ran and never hid his political beliefs from his family. “My son and his wife say that since I’m a fan of Trump, they’re no fan of mine—and they cut me off,” he said. “Now I can’t see my only grandchild, who I was so close to. It’s crazy, and it’s tragic.” The article continues: “According to our research, 1 in 2 adults is estranged from a close relative … 1 in 5 directly cite political differences as the reason … and half report that the break occurred within the past year.”
The Wall Street Journal tells the story of Isaac Pollak, an ardent Republican who was headed on a business trip to Asia during the Presidential election. He gave his wife his absentee ballot and asked her to mail it. His wife, Bonnie, a Democrat, wrestled with a question: “Should I be loyal to my spouse, respect his rights and mail the ballot, or should I be faithful to my beliefs and suppress his vote?” What do you think she did? She later admitted, “I decided to do what felt right to me. I threw it in the trash!”
A University of Michigan survey found that nearly 1 in 4 couples have different party affiliations. So what happens at the Seder, after a few cups of wine, when gun-toting, right wing, Tea Party Uncle Yahoo comes face to face with socialist, left-wing Auntie Woke? What should we do? Let me tell you what we should do! We should shift the talk from Donald Trump and those accused of suffering from Trump Derangement Syndrome—to Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Antonin Scalia.
Both Ginsburg and Scalia were highly acclaimed Supreme Court justices. When Scalia passed away, tributes poured in from across the country. He was a hero of conservatives—a strict constitutionalist who voted against many of the social changes of the court. But what was most remarkable was that one of the most moving tributes came from his rival on the Court—Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
On the law, these 2 agreed on very little. Scalia was one of the Court’s most conservative members; Ginsburg, one of its most liberal. And yet they were the dearest of friends. They spent New Year’s Eve and attended operas together with their spouses. In fact, an opera was written about them, with the tenor Scalia and the soprano Ginsburg singing a duet: “We are different, yet we are one.”
How did they do it? Ginsburg’s grandson said, “I never heard them talk about anything political or ideological—because what would be the point?” That is one wise strategy: don’t discuss matters that you know may lead to an argument and turn your relationship into a perpetual argument.
But Scalia took it a step further when he said, “If you can’t disagree ardently with your colleagues about some issues of law and yet personally still be friends, get another job, for Pete’s sake!” And Ginsburg went further still: “We disagreed now and then. But when I wrote for the Court and received a Scalia dissent, my opinion ultimately released was notably better for it.” Do you hear what she’s saying? Not only can you be friends with someone with whom you disagree—you can be sharpened by them. You can learn from each other.
This is why the Talmud describes the disagreements between the 2 great schools of Jewish law—Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel—as a machloket l’shem shamayim (a disagreement for the sake of Heaven). They argued passionately, but without personal rivalry or rancor. Tradition counts more than 300 disputes between them, and yet they still married one another’s children and ate in one another’s homes—even when they disagreed about marriage law—who could marry who—and kashrut—what you can and cannot eat. They understood that no one has a monopoly on truth.
My friends, Passover—and also simchas like a wedding—is a time when families gather. Even without politics, there’s usually plenty to disagree about. Today it can feel even more stressful—as the modern family brings together people with different habits, backgrounds, and expectations. As one rabbi put it: Whether it’s Uncle Charlie’s complete disinterest in the Seder and inability to read Hebrew; or cousin Lucy’s explicit request that we hurry up the Seder part so we can eat; or complaints about the extra stringencies Uncle Yossi brings—each year thinking up a new one; or the lengthy Torah commentaries on the Haggadah that cousin Chani likes to share—what are we to do?
Some of us—especially those who love Israel deeply—may sit with relatives or guests who challenge everything we believe, asking: “How can we celebrate a holiday of freedom while complicit in Israel’s oppression of Arabs whose land we’ve occupied? Or how can we support Israel and President Trump who have mercilessly attacked Iran who didn’t attack them?” If you disagree, it can be infuriating. So, what are we to do? I’ll tell you: take a deep breath think about the 4 sons.
The Passover Haggadah speaks of 4 sons: the wise, the wicked, the simple, and the one who does not know how to ask. They’re so different—yet they all belong at the Seder table. No matter what we think of one another, the Seder’s message is clear: No one is written out of the story … no one is excluded! So, how do we make that happen this year?
One approach is to “hit pause”—like friends who stop following each other online for a while … or relatives who agree to keep certain topics off-limits … or siblings who decide, “We love each other too much to turn every visit into a referendum.” That boundary can be healthy; it can keep a relationships intact.
But from my perspective as a rabbi and a therapist, family is different. You can’t unfriend a mother or father. You can’t block a son or daughter. The Seder—or a simcha—is precisely the night to refuse to give up on one another. So let’s learn from Ruth Bader Ginsburg who famously said: “You can agree to disagree without being disagreeable.” You can walk shoulder to shoulder without seeing eye to eye. And who knows? If we practice listening—really listening—we might even learn from each another. The Seder is an opportunity to cross social and political divides and remember what we share. We share our story, our people, our good intentions, and, most of all, our love.
The special Torah portion (Exodus 12) for this Shabbat HaChodesh tells us that on that last night in Egypt the Jews were commanded to take a lamb, roast it, and eat it seh labayit (a lamb for each household). At that 1st Seder, the Paschal lamb was eaten as a family: parents, children, grandparents. We no longer have korbanot sacrifices, and most of us no longer have the blessing of having all our family at one table for the Seder. As for the Paschal sacrifice, I guess we’ll wait for Mashiach (Messiah) to renew it. But as for bringing families together—we must not wait.
We begin the Seder by declaring: Kol dichfin yeytzey v’yeychol (Let all who are hungry come and eat). All are welcome— Democrats and Republicans, observant and non-observant, relatives who are on the “outs” and those who are “in” … let all who are hungry—and who is not hungry for love?—come and be with us, welcomed with open minds, open hands and open hearts.
There’s a popular Hebrew word, taken from Arabic, Sulha, which means “to make up” or “make peace.” The Seder—or a simcha—is our opportunity to do just that. If we do, we’ll fulfill the popular festival greeting: Moadim l’simcha, “May our festival be filled with joy.” May it be so this Passover—Amen!
