Defiance. Redemption. Destiny.

Tonight, as Passover will begin here in Israel, I will feel it differently.

Not as a story I was taught. Not as a ritual I inherited. As reality.

I will sit at the Seder table with my family, lift the matzah, and I will not just remember slavery. I will confront it. “Ha Lachma Anya.” This is the bread of affliction. Dry. Simple. Unimpressive. And yet it will carry the full weight of what was done to us. I will hold it like evidence in a trial that never truly ended. This is where we came from. This is what we survived.

And before we will even speak of freedom, we will say something that should unsettle every comfortable society: “Kol Dichfin Yeitei Veyeichol.” Let all who are hungry come and eat. Before redemption, responsibility. Before sovereignty, moral obligation. A Jewish table is not complete if it is closed.

Then my child will ask, “Mah Nishtanah?” Why is this night different from all other nights?

And everything will hinge on that question. Because we are not a people built on silence. Not on blind obedience. On questions. If the next generation will not ask, then we will have already failed. This is how we transmit truth. This is how we survive.

And the answer will come, simple and brutal: “Avadim Hayinu.” We were slaves. Not a metaphor. Not symbolic. Slaves. Owned. Crushed. Without control over our own lives. Judaism will not allow us to soften that truth because identity built on comfort does not survive.

And then the line that has followed us through every century will rise again: “V’hi She’amda.” In every generation they will rise against us to destroy us.

This generation will be no exception.

We are living it now. The threats are real. The enemies are not theoretical. And yet… we will still be here. Still standing. Still building. Still defending life. Not because history is kind, but because we refuse to disappear.

“Dayenu.” It would have been enough. A strange declaration until you understand what it does. It trains us to recognize miracles even when they are incomplete. A people who can say “enough” in the middle of redemption cannot be broken by a world that is not yet perfect.

Rabban Gamliel will demand something uncomfortable and intellectual. If we do not explain Pesach, Matzah, and Maror, we will not fulfill our obligation. Symbols without meaning are empty. Ritual without understanding is hollow. We are required to think. To articulate. To pass it on.

And then the demand intensifies: “B’chol Dor Vador.” In every generation, we must see ourselves as if we personally left Egypt. Not remember. Not commemorate. See ourselves. Live it. Carry it. Freedom is not inherited. It is relived and defended.

Then the Haggadah will refuse to sanitize reality: “Shefoch Chamatcha.” Pour out Your wrath. It is uncomfortable because it is true. Evil exists. There are those who stand against everything this night represents. And justice is not a dirty word.

And still, the night will not end there.

It will move into Hallel. Into praise. Because survival itself will demand recognition that something beyond human strength has carried us. And then “Chad Gadya,” a strange, layered song that will move through cycles of violence and consequence, leaving us somewhere between innocence and deep understanding.

And finally, the line that has carried us across exile and return: “L’shana Haba’ah B’Yerushalayim.” Next year in Jerusalem.

Not as poetry.

As destiny.

And here I am. In Israel. Living minutes from where the Beis HaMikdash stood and will stand again. Not imagining Jerusalem. Living it.

But this story does not end at the Seder table.

Because not all of our heroes will come home whole.

In this generation, the cost of survival is visible. Sometimes in ways words cannot capture. And just beyond the headlines, something extraordinary will be happening quietly.

At Na’aleh Therapy Farm.

There, healing is not be abstract. It is physical. Grounded. Real. Soldiers and survivors reconnect to life through the land, through animals, through the simple act of working with their hands. No speeches. No politics. Just dignity being rebuilt, one step at a time.

This is what “Kol Dichfin” looks like in practice.

This is what responsibility will mean.

And this is where you come in.

You do not have to stand on the sidelines. You can help us grow the flock. You can help us heal Israel’s heroes.

And when you come to Israel, you will not just visit.

You will come to the farm.

You will work the land with your own hands.

You will stand in the soil of Israel and take part in something real. Something ancient. Something alive.

This will not be symbolic.

This will not be distant.

This will be now.

Hours before Pesach will begin in the Holy Land, I ask you to stand with us. To give. To build. To be part of this story that refuses to end.

Help us grow the flock.

Help us heal Israel’s heroes.

Chag Sameach.

May God bless us all with peace, with strength, and with healing.

And may God bless you for standing with us in these very trying times.

The Na’aleh Therapy Farm is a Unity Warriors healing mission. All donations are 501(c)(3) Tax Deductible.