“It was wildly celebratory and the most memorable Seder of our lives.”

Those were the words sent to me by a dear friend from our Hyde Park community, just after the first days of Pesach.

I read them slowly, over and over again, letting them sink in.

Because this was the very Seder we weren’t at.

For twenty-five years, we have never missed a Pesach with our students at the University of Chicago. Every year, without exception, our home and Chabad House have been filled with the energy of preparation, cooking, setting, organizing, and tending to every detail for the hundreds of students who join us for the Sedarim and Pesach meals.

It’s always filled with joy, meaning, and Jewish pride.

This is not just what we do, it is who we are.

There was only one exception aside from Covid. In our eleventh year running our Chabad House on campus, Pesach fell during spring break. We were excited for the change and imagined what a quiet family Seder might feel like. But even then, community members joined us, and throughout the night, our young children kept asking about “their” students, Rachel, Ben, Sam, Sarah, and so many others they saw week after week.

To them, a Seder without students simply didn’t make sense.

So this year, as our twenty-fifth Pesach approached, we expected more of the same, a full, vibrant holiday shared with our extended Chabad House family.

But Hashem had other plans.

Just days before Pesach, our daughter and son-in-law, Velvil and Estie Kahanov, Chabad emissaries in Jacksonville, Florida, welcomed a baby boy. The bris would take place during Pesach, in a year when the first days of the holiday flowed directly into Shabbat.

The only way to be there was to join them for the Sedarim and the first days of the holiday.

Of course, we were going.

There was no question.

And at the same time, leaving our students without Sederim, without meals, without a Pesach experience was never an option.

So the question wasn’t whether.

Our children, who grew up around these tables, watching and absorbing what it means to give, stepped forward.

Our daughter, Mussie, and her husband, Mendel Rapoport, Chabad emissaries for the graduate community at UChicago, led a large, beautiful Seder for the graduate students.

The Seder for nearly 150 undergraduate students, which my husband and I had always led, would now be run by our children, Shmulie, Zelda, and Mendel, ages 21, 18, and 13, together with a friend, Shmuel Jacobs, who flew in to support them.

It was no small undertaking.

And yet, they stepped right in.

They ran the Sedarim. They organized, led, served, and uplifted. They continued into the second night, then straight into Shabbat, the many additional meals and services, and even the post-Shabbat dinner for students committed to keeping kosher for Pesach.

And my husband and I, hundreds of miles away, sat at a very different Seder.

For the first time in our lives, it was small.

Just the two of us, our daughter and son-in-law, their 18-month-old, and a newborn baby less than a week old.

It was intimate. Quiet. Deeply special.

And yet, throughout the Seder, my thoughts kept drifting back to Chicago.

Was there enough matzah? Enough wine? Were the students taken care of?

And then I reminded myself, there was nothing I could do.

And the students and our community were in the best hands possible.

As soon as Shabbat ended, the messages began to come in. Students shared how meaningful the seders and meals were, how special it felt.

And then that message:

“It was wildly celebratory and the most memorable Seder of our lives.”

In that moment, everything became clear.

People often ask, “What will Jewish continuity look like? What about the next generation?”

After this Pesach, the answer feels so simple.

Let them see what it means to be a Jew, not just in words but in how we live, inspiring Jewish pride, Jewish values, mitzvot and a sense of responsibility.

And most importantly, trust them, empower them to lead.

Because they are not just the future of Judaism, they are already carrying it forward today.

This Pesach, we saw it with our own eyes.

Our children didn’t step up because they were asked. They stepped up because this is who they are, raised in a life of giving, of Jewish pride, of love for Torah, mitzvot and for every Jew.

If we want Jewish continuity, we don’t need to look far. We need to invest in our children, believe in them, and give them the space to rise.

Because there is no greater nachas than watching your children step forward, take responsibility, and carry our people, our Torah, and our traditions into the future.

We didn’t miss the Seder.

We witnessed the future.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)