Pesach provides a marvelous glimpse into tradition and change.
Like no other festival she is abundant with rituals and glorious memories. A celebration unique in reminding us of the passage of years. The departure of beloved players but the arrival of cherished new ones. It is a holiday of musical chairs. Once we sat at the end of the table yawning, battling heavy lids but now we are at the head of the table leading the Seder. Once we asked the manishtana, now we answer it. Once we hid the afikoman, now we negotiate to get it back. Once we gobbled up chocolate matza, now it is gluten free and whole wheat.
Once upon a time was long ago and yet, it feels so near. Loved ones long gone and yet we sense their presence with each page turn of the Hagaddah. With every melody. With every lifting of the kiddish cup. The sages teach wisely and sweetly, Dor Dor Vedorshav, that we are to adjust and not long for what was nor diminish where we are but cherish our place in time and rejoice. Nevertheless, there is a stubborn, nostalgic throb when reminiscing the past. I no longer hear the voices that once filled the dining room, but, when I am serenaded by my two-year-old granddaughter Harlow, clapping her hands and singing dayeiunu with delicious enthusiasm I think of today and don't miss yesterday quite as much.
Dor Dor Vedorshav.