The first one in my family to become observant was my brother Brad. In the mid nineties, he left New York for a trip to Israel to learn at Ohr Somayach in Jerusalem. As I recall, it was a six week, intensive introduction and it was so successful, that he came back to New York, packed up his apartment, put his stuff in storage, and returned  to Israel for two years where he studied and learned and amassed an amazing corpus of knowledge. (I have always been very envious of his having done that. While my own learning has been largely hit and miss, he had a phenomenal structured experience with some of the best speakers and teachers of the time). 

In the spring of 1999 or 2000, my parents rented an apartment in the Har Nof neighborhood of Jerusalem and stayed there for a month over Pesach. I took a week vacation from my residency in Boston and met them there. It was incredibly memorable for me on so many levels. Seeing my brother and how much he had learned impressed me to no end. (As an aside, Brad took me to a shabbos tisch at the Bostoner Rebbe’s shul. After hearing the Rebbe give a long vort in Hebrew and Yiddish (which I did not understand a single word), Brad introduced me to him, at which point the Rebbe introduced himself to me in English with a thick Boston accent. Over that trip, Brad gave me a copy of The Ohr Somayach Haggadah based on the writings of Rabbi Uziel Milevsky. To this day, it is one of my favorite haggadahs. I want to share one of its numerous insights with you.

By the way, Happy Birthday, Brad. I love you.   

When to Tell the Passover Story. 

The Haggadah contains an intriguing passage that appears to question when we should begin telling the story of the Exodus. “You might think that one can relate the Haggadah from Rosh Chodesh Nissan onward,” it suggests, wondering if the obligation might begin at the start of the month, two full weeks before the Seder.

This seemingly odd question actually reveals something profound about how Jewish tradition understands education and memory. The commentary introduces us to the concept of “hechsher mitzvah” – the necessary preparations that make fulfilling a commandment possible. Just as building a sukkah is preparation for dwelling in it, and baking matzah is preparation for eating it, we might think that engaging children with the Exodus story should begin well before Passover night as preparation for the Seder.

However, the Haggadah rejects this approach by emphasizing the phrase “because of this” in the biblical verse “You shall tell your son on that day, saying: ‘It is because of this that God acted on my behalf when I left Egypt.’” The word “this” implies something tangible and present – specifically the matzah and maror (bitter herbs) on the Seder table. Since these ritual objects are only present during the Seder night itself, that is when the story should be told.

Drawing on the Rambam’s wisdom, the text explains that abstract ideas disconnected from concrete actions and objects eventually disappear. The physical elements of Jewish practice – the matzah we eat, the wine we drink, the bitter herbs we taste – anchor our stories and values in sensory experience. Without these tangible connections, even the most powerful narratives fade from memory. 

This is why the Torah insists that the telling of the Exodus story begin “when matzah and maror are placed before you.” The story’s meaning is inseparable from its symbols. When we point to the matzah and say “this is the bread of affliction,” or taste the bitter herbs to experience the bitterness of slavery, we create an indelible memory that can be passed down through generations.

The Haggadah thus teaches us that effective education isn’t just about words and ideas – it’s about creating experiences that engage all the senses. The Seder, with its foods to taste, songs to sing, and rituals to perform, isn’t just telling a story; it’s immersing us in it, ensuring that the lessons of freedom will endure for generations to come.