The Night of Eternity

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

In the years before the war, a young bochur learning in the famed Mir Yeshiva was presented with a rare and amazing opportunity. He had been invited to spend the nights of Pesach at the Sedorim of the great Chofetz Chaim.

For the young talmid, it was the opportunity of a lifetime. To sit at the table of the towering tzaddik, to watch how he performed each of the night’s mitzvos, to absorb the kedusha of his Seder, who would even consider giving that up?

And yet, there was another pull. His parents expected him home for Yom Tov. His father would lead the Seder, as he had since the young man was a child.

Torn over what to do, he brought his question to his rebbi, the mashgiach, Rav Yeruchom Levovitz.

Rav Yeruchom listened carefully. The bochur likely expected a nuanced answer, perhaps even encouragement to seize the rare chance to be in the presence of the Chofetz Chaim.

But the mashgiach’s response was clear and unequivocal.

“You must go home,” he said. “On the night of Pesach, there is a special obligation to hear the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim from your father.”

The young man may have missed a once-in-a-lifetime Seder with the Chofetz Chaim. But instead, he strengthened his place in the unbroken link between father and son, a link that is the very foundation of our people, stretching back to the time our nation left Mitzrayim.

The mitzvah of the Seder is not simply to recount history. If that were the case, everyone could fulfill it alone, reading the Haggadah by themselves.

The Torah frames the entire obligation of discussing Yetzias Mitzrayim by stating, “Vehigadeta levincha—You shall tell your son.”

Chazal derived from this posuk that the obligation to recount Yetzias Mitzrayim is not merely a directive to recite, but to transmit. The story of Yetzias Mitzrayim is meant to be handed from one generation to the next, alive, personal, and rooted in relationship. A father does not just convey information. He conveys identity.

At the Seder, a child does not simply learn what happened. He learns who he is. He hears not just that the Jews left Mitzrayim, but learns it from his father, who has an obligation to demonstrate, as the Rambam says, as if he himself left Mitzrayim, just as his father did, and just as his father did before him. We are all part of that story.

And that can only happen across the table, face to face.

The bochur in Mir was not wrong to want to be by the Chofetz Chaim. But Rav Yeruchom was reminding him that even the greatest Seder cannot replace the one place where the Torah says the story must be told: from father to son.

Every father at the Seder becomes a link in a chain that stretches back thousands of years. Every child who listens becomes the next bearer of that chain.

The questions, the answers, the niggunim, the family minhagim—they make us who we are and weave together the fabric of continuity.

In a world that is constantly changing, constantly pulling in new directions, the Seder night stands apart. It is the night when we reaffirm what we have received and pass it on.

The most powerful forces are those that take place in the Jewish home, laying down foundations and then strengthening them year after year. It is the way the father makes Kiddush. The way he leans over his Haggadah searching for a vort or a story to share. The way the children say Mah Nishtanah. The way the father strains to eat the marror and finishes eating two kezeisim of matzah in the prescribed time, bechdei achilas pras. And of course, it is the way he tells the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim and brings it to life.

It is the same story repeated year after year, but every year it is different. Each year, there is more to the story, more to discover, more the son understands. Each year, a deeper connection is formed—to his father, to the mesorah, to the emunah, to the mitzvos.

It is moments such as these that have carried us through thousands of years of golus, persecution, and upheaval. These are the moments that have ensured that, no matter where we have been, we have never become disconnected from where we came. Our mesorah continues, growing stronger with each passing year, son by son, father by father, family by family.

This is why we say that Pesach, the Yom Tov of emunah, as expressed throughout the Seder, the matzos, the marror, and the arba kosos, is also the Yom Tov of chinuch. This is why the entire concept of the Seder and the discussion of Yetzias Mitzrayim is rooted in the posuk, “Vehigadeta levincha,” instructing us to tell our children the story of our redemption from Mitzrayim on the night of Pesach.

Since it is all about speaking to our children, it must be done in a way they can accept and believe.

Thus, we proclaim in the Haggadah that the Torah speaks to all types of children: “Keneged arba’ah bonim dibra Torah.”

The Seforno (Shemos 12:26) discusses the question of the wicked son, the rosha, and explains that he is asking why the Korban Pesach is different from the korbanos of every other Yom Tov. Why is it, he asks, that every person has to go through the trouble of bringing their own korban?

We answer him that the geulah from Mitzrayim was not only a national redemption, but a personal one. Hashem saw how each person suffered and what each one was going through, and He redeemed the people one by one. Therefore, the Korban Pesach is not a communal offering, but an individual one.

Every person carries his own struggles, his own questions, his own burdens. And the message of the Seder is that Hashem relates to each person individually and responds to each one in the way that is best for him.

Similarly, there is no single answer for every child. Each son asks in his own way, and each must be answered in his own way.

Therefore, there isn’t one answer for all. The answers are specific to each son. The mesorah is passed down one by one, from one individual father to his individual sons—the same mesorah, but given to each one in a way he can understand.

The sefer Menucha Ukedusha, authored by a talmid of Rav Chaim Volozhiner, emphasizes that the Torah elaborates on the mitzvah of vehigadeta levincha through the framework of the four sons so that no father will ever feel exempt. If his son is wise, a father might be tempted to say, “He knows it already.” If the son is wicked, he may think, “Why waste my time?” If the son is a simpleton, he might feel that the effort is not worthwhile.

Therefore, he writes, the Torah addresses each of these attitudes and rejects them. There is no child who is beyond the reach of the Seder, and no child for whom the discussion is unnecessary.

And we see this with our own eyes.

Our children and grandchildren come home from school, from their rabbeim and moros, with pages and pages of vertlach, stories, songs, and information. We are amazed by their capacity to absorb, to retain, and to repeat. The more they are taught, the more they take in.

No effort is ever wasted. No word of Torah is ever lost. When a father speaks, when he explains, when he sings, when he tells the story, it takes root. Sometimes that is immediately obvious, and other times it comes later, but always, something endures.

This is especially so on the night of Pesach, when the holiness that enveloped Am Yisroel as Hashem separated them from the people of Mitzrayim to make them His nation becomes tangible once more. On this night, once again, we are raised from the tumah that surrounds us, and we—father and son—are better able to transmit and receive kedusha. In this heightened state, the father is better able to transmit, and the child is more receptive to receive, the eternal truths of our mesorah.

Seforim frequently quote Rav Chaim Vital, the Alshich, the Ramchal, and others who say that the energy of the miracles commemorated by a Yom Tov is present each year on the day of its occurrence. The night of the Seder is called Leil Shimurim, the “Protected Night,” because on that night, the Jews were spared and safeguarded in Mitzrayim. That same protective energy is present again each year, infusing the night with kedusha and spiritual strength.

So, at the Seder, as we recount how Hashem freed us from Mitzrayim, we recite with joy the passage of Vehi She’omdah and proclaim, “Shebechol dor vador omdim aleinu lechaloseinu,” that in every generation, those who seek to destroy us rise up. Our challenge is seemingly constant. The enemy changes names, faces, and methods, but the threat endures. Each year, a new rosha or force dominates the headlines, wielding threats and intimidation, testing our resolve.

Our zaides and bubbes faced the Romans, the Inquisition, the Crusades, the Communist oppressors, the Nazis and many others. Through each trial, we endured. Though some generations suffered more visibly than others, we always emerged standing, and our people’s spirit grew stronger. Yet, their descendants, their ideas, and their efforts persist, rising in every generation to challenge our growth and attempt to extinguish our light.

Each generation has its own unique challenges. Alongside physical threats, new dangers come in subtler forms: shifting cultures, evolving technologies, and ideologies that can distance us from Torah. And yet, just as Hashem sustained us in the past, He sustains us today. The Seder reminds us that no matter the method or era of the threat, our survival is assured, our faith enduring, and our mission to live as free Jews remains undimmed, even amidst war or adversity.

We live in a time of freedom and plenty, but there are ill winds blowing, and the freedoms we have been enjoying may be at stake.

For decades, Iran has threatened to destroy Israel. They have pursued nuclear weapons and built a vast infrastructure of missiles, rockets, and drones. They have funded and armed terror groups, including Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Houthis, to attack Jews. They have targeted the United States, which they call the “Big Satan,” murdering hundreds of Americans and attempting to assassinate the president and other prominent leaders.

Six American presidents and dozens of American and Western leaders have declared, for decades, that they would never allow Iran to obtain nuclear weapons. Even the United Nations has issued many proclamations over the years warning Iran against going nuclear because of the danger that would present for world peace and stability.

The threat was escalating, and President Trump worked with Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu to counter the growing danger. Last year, the United States and Israel took action to prevent Iran from reaching the brink of nuclear capability. Either that effort was not effective or Iran had sufficiently recovered from the attacks to again approach the precipice of obtaining nuclear weapons. They had to be stopped. The United States and Israel, as of this writing, are engaged in a war to counter this existential threat.

We recognize the hand of Hakadosh Boruch Hu in all that is happening, and there have been many evident miracles in this war, even as Israel is under relentless rocket attack and there have been several korbanos, many wounded, and much damage. American soldiers have been killed and wounded in the effort, which is costing billions of dollars and has raised the price of oil and gasoline.

Though we do not know the outcome, we trust that with Hashem’s help, we will prevail over those who seek our destruction.

Already, the president’s enemies are condemning him for the action he was forced to take after his attempts at diplomacy were rebuffed. The Democrat Party has turned not only against the president, but also against Israel, and virtually everyone who wants to run for elective office in that party takes an anti-Israel stance.

Anti-Semites on the right and left are blaming the war on Israel and claiming that the Jewish country dragged the United States into the war and that now Americans will pay the cost of it.

We do not know where all of this will lead, but we do know that “shebechol dor vador” resonates so powerfully as we sit down to the Seder and proclaim, from father to his children, from one generation to the next, that our emunah is strong and we know that Hakadosh Boruch Hu will redeem us from our golus as He redeemed our forefathers in Mitzrayim.

At the Seder, we tell our children the story of our geulah from Mitzrayim. We dip karpas in saltwater and marror in charoses to provoke questions. We eat matzah, the bread of the geulim. We drink the arba kosos, each one representing a different one of the four leshonos of geulah. Every gesture, every word, recalls the miracles of the past and strengthens our hope for the future.

The Seder, with its questions and answers, with its sacred mesorah and mitzvos, is a reminder that just as Hashem redeemed us then, He continues to redeem us today and will redeem us fully very soon.

We proclaim our belief that this year will be the year of our final redemption—that this war may be the last war, that this enemy may be our final enemy, that the suffering we endure may be the final suffering. We believe that we will be redeemed, each of us, everyone, emerging from our personal Mitzrayims, bekarov, with the coming of Moshiach Tzidkeinu in this month of geulah.

When we recite Shefoch Chamoscha and pour the cup for Eliyohu Hanovi, we open our homes and our hearts, ready to follow him out the door to the geulah sheleimah.