4/02/2004 12:58:00 PM

She'ayno Yode'a Lish'ol - For Those Unable to Ask

I have, for a number of years now, been called to lead the family seder, at least in one half of our clan. This is, I suppose, the continuation of a tradition that has spanned three generations now. My grandfather, Ben Steinberg (of blessed memory), led the seders for the extended family when I was a boy. I remember vividly the joy and pride he felt when my aunts - both blessed with beautiful voices, one of whom is now a professional singer - chanted the Shochayn Ad in heavenly harmony. I always sat immediately to his left... and never once was able to spy his hiding of the afikomen.

My father conducted, and still conducts, the second seder, although the numbers at my parents' seder have dwindled over the years to include immediate family only. My father's is a participatory, if scripted, affair, with each person's part being indicated in the carefully marked up Haggadot. Everyone reads in turn - mostly in English - but, of course, one of the obligations is to tell the story of the Exodus from Egypt "so that everyone will understand," and for those who attend my parents' seder, English is the language of understanding.

So here am I, the third generation of seder-leaders. In my view, the admonition to ensure that "everyone will understand" takes on an interpretive obligation. The challenge for me is to find some deeper meaning to the story of the redemption in a way that, through the evening, everyone will be touched or inspired with at least one new idea or insight that might inspire them along the way to their own redemption from whatever enslaves them. So each year, a couple of weeks before Pesach, I continue my annual study, contemplation and thinking about fusing ancient traditions, centuries of thought, philosophy and scholarship, and application to modern life in the celebration of the seder.