Four Generations, One Table: Bridging the Gaps at the Passover Seder

Rabbi Dr. Shmuly Yanklowitz, Uri L’Tzedek Founder & President

Each year at Passover, getting everyone in the family around the same table is a challenge. Logistically speaking, there are long distances, inflated travel costs, and competing schedules. Should we be fortunate enough to get the whole family to a seder, we are presented with an even more challenging distance to navigate: the generational gaps that can cause so much tension and alienation within the family. 

 Though there have been generational shifts throughout history, we live in a time when these shifts are happening more often and more rapidly than ever before.  Scholars tell us this is primarily due to the accelerated rate of technological shifts. Just as the dishwasher, washing machine, and airplanes were game changers for previous generations, the internet, and now various versions of AI, have been game changers in our lifetimes. The difference is, the rate of change and innovation is unprecedented: the ways in which we work, connect socially, gather knowledge, and relate to ourselves are unrecognizable from even twenty years ago. Not to mention the sociological shifts of political dynamics and religious cultures. Indeed, disruption has become the norm. It is family units who experience this most acutely, making Passover a time where we risk having more disconnect than connection. 

 Most Passover tables will fall into one of three categories:

1. All the generations, from grandkids to grandparents, are aligned religiously, politically, and socially. This is relatively uncommon.
2. One’s children or grandchildren become more fervent religiously or politically in a way that that creates a gap.
3. Or, they become less fervent politically or religiously in a way that creates a gap.

How can we remain authentic to who we are in that experience while creating space for the other family members to be authentically themselves? Furthermore, while celebrating authenticity, how do we also connect across those divides in a way that feels natural and meaningful? There are several answers to this.

The first answer to all of this is love, a spirit of love. A story is told about Rav Kook being approached by a distraught member of his community who said, “My child is leaving Jewish practice. What do I do, Rabbi?” Rav Kook’s answer was there is only one thing to do: to love that child more fiercely. The first and most important thing is that the Passover spirit is infused with love. We say 

chag kasher v’sameach, wishing people a kosher and joyful Passover, but maybe we should add the word “loving” into there. We will never go wrong when we ground ourselves in love.

 The second answer is that we should loosen our grip on those around us. So for example, if our children do not want to be at the seder, we cannot force them to feel otherwise. Rather than trying to strongarm others into feeling enthusiastic, we should let our own enthusiasm become contagious. By letting ourselves fully immerse in chag, we show others how much we care instead of telling them how much they should care. Similarly, we can empower people to show up as they are. For example, you might invite everyone to prepare something personal to share during seder. This communicates from the onset that we want them to bring their full selves.

This leads me to the third answer: we must not be fear driven. By “fear driven,” I mean either being afraid of being ourselves and expressing what matters to us, or being afraid of someone else doing that. We want to get in the mindset that it is okay for people to show up as they are. I understand that this is easier said than done. When you feel the fear impulse creeping up, I suggest taking a moment to observe the fear. By pausing between feeling and action, we may be able to better regulate our difficult emotions. Even if we can’t completely remove our fear and anxiety, especially when the stakes are so personal, we can become more aware of what we are feeling and how it is affecting our behavior.

Finally, four, lean more into the experience than identity. This is to say, drop the partisan labels, denominational identities, and ideological commitments that extend well beyond the Passover table. This night is not like other nights. Embrace the timelessness of ritual, putting outside affiliations on pause, however briefly. In a sense, the generational gap can be seen as a religious experience in and of itself. Rather than a problem to overcome, we might see this gap as part of the experience that God is giving us. The charge of l’dor vador anticipates both continuity and difference. It’s right there in the first Mishnah of Pirkei Avot: Torah was received by Moshe then transmitted to Joshua, who transmitted it to the elders, who transmitted it to the prophets, who transmitted it to anshei knesset hagadolah. The process of transmission is itself sacred, containing both connection and generational gaps to navigate..

This Passover, think of your seder table as a micro of the macro (i.e., the Jewish people). After all, the disparity between generations is not a new challenge. We have always been multitudinous. When the Jews were leaving Egypt, God held open the sea for all of us, a diverse multitude, to be in the experience of deliverance together. Moshe held together these various generations as best he could. We are told that we were forty years in the desert because that is the time it takes a generation to die out. Meaning, there was a disparity between the generation born into a slave mentality, and those who would be born into a sovereignty mentality. Despite these generational differences, we were and are all one people.

 Each year, we are told to feel as if we ourselves are leaving mitzrayim. The experience of a seder table that is at times more cacophonous than harmonious is a true mirror of the multitude that crossed Yam Suf. Let the solidarity that binds us to all these generations help you be gentle with yourself this Passover as you navigate your own generational gaps.