When I was in rabbinical school, I spent the weeks leading up to Passover tucked away in the stacks of the library, surrounded by haggadot. There were haggadot from every corner of the Jewish world, across the centuries with various artistic styles and interpretations. Some were ornate and others were simple. Contained within each book was the same story but told through the nuanced voices of the community it represented. I was mesmerized. Over time, I’ve become something of a haggadah collector, an aficionado, really. Whenever I travel I look for one to bring home. It’s a way of encountering a Jewish community through the way they choose to tell this foundational story by what they emphasize, what they add, how they understand freedom and memory in that particular moment. Over the years, I’ve created my own haggadot, adding something new each year to honor the moment we find ourselves in, reflect the challenges we face and the aspirations of who we hope to become.

When I was in rabbinical school, I spent the weeks leading up to Passover tucked away in the stacks of the library, surrounded by haggadot. There were haggadot from every corner of the Jewish world, across the centuries with various artistic styles and interpretations. Some were ornate and others were simple. Contained within each book was the same story but told through the nuanced voices of the community it represented. I was mesmerized. Over time, I’ve become something of a haggadah collector, an aficionado, really. Whenever I travel I look for one to bring home. It’s a way of encountering a Jewish community through the way they choose to tell this foundational story by what they emphasize, what they add, how they understand freedom and memory in that particular moment. Over the years, I’ve created my own haggadot, adding something new each year to honor the moment we find ourselves in, reflect the challenges we face and the aspirations of who we hope to become. Last night, at our Seder, we used what may be the most meaningful haggadah I’ve held in a long time, the one Asher made in class this year at Temple Beth El’s Early Learning Center. Elements of the story are written in his handwriting and the faces of his friends are woven into the pages of the maggid section. He held it so proudly and led us through the Seder, each page bringing delight! This wasn’t just something that happened to our ancestors long ago, this was his story to tell. The power of the Seder ritual, as we read the haggadah, is that we are not just telling a story, we are entering it. The people gathered around the table become storytellers, given the awesome responsibility to retell a story that is not fixed in time. Rather, it lives and breathes through the people who tell it. Each generation doesn’t just inherit the story; it interprets it, wrestles with it, and reshapes it in response to its own realities. This Shabbat, Chol HaMoed Pesach, we step outside the regular Torah reading cycle and return to a different moment in our story. We are brought back to the aftermath of the golden calf. In the midst of this painful moment, a remarkably tender scene emerges. Moses turns to God with longing and vulnerability, and asks: “Let me know You. Let me see You.” It is a powerful question, one that does not distance Moses from God, but deepens their relationship. In that moment, something new begins and their story is renewed through the courage to ask, to seek and to understand more deeply. God’s response reshapes the very nature of that knowing. “Seeing” is not possible, but something else is offered: “I will make My goodness pass before you.” Out of crisis comes compassion, and a new way forward emerges. This is the story of our people, one that takes us from narrow places and leads us to expanded awareness, greater understanding, and a deepening resilience of spirit. The same is true for the way we tell and retell our story throughout the generations. Every community reshapes the story. Every family adds its voice by singing, asking questions, reinterpreting and reimagining. We weave our own experiences into the ancient narrative and share our own journeys of redemption from all that binds us. Whether we are reading the story from a haggadah that’s been passed down through the generations or one made by children filled with color, each telling becomes another step in the unfolding journey of our people. Passover is a holiday rooted in questions. It begins with questions; it is sustained through questions and it invites us to keep asking. Questions open space to help us listen more deeply, see more clearly, and connect more fully to ourselves and to one another. A good question does more than seek an answer, it creates the possibility for a new story to emerge. Here are 4 questions to think about over Shabbat: Where in my life am I being invited to grow? What has been a recent moment of challenge or uncertainty and what could it be asking of me? When have I experienced goodness in my life recently and how might I become a source of that goodness for others? What is unfolding in my own journey right now, and what question might help guide me toward what comes next? Ask the questions and don’t feel like you need to answer right away. The questions themselves are the beginning of the next chapter of your maggid, the story you are living.  Shabbat Shalom. Rabbi Laila Haas The post Passover: The Holiday Rooted in Questions: Shabbat Message by Rabbi Laila Haas appeared first on Temple Beth El of Boca Raton.