Walking to synagogue on a Shabbat morning after Purim, I finally began to understand the meaning of Akedat Yitzchak in our tradition. While rabbis, myself included, often engage in apologetics and attempts to reconcile the story of Abraham being willing to take the life of his own child, what was happening in the world had finally given me a whole new lens through which to view the Akeda.

Why was it that Shabbat morning? It was the week after the Iran war had begun, and several synagogues around the world had been attacked. Temple Israel in Michigan had been attacked by a Hezbollah-linked individual, as he nearly killed one hundred and fifteen Jewish children who were inside the building when his attack struck. If it were not for the courage and speed of the armed guards on site, the outcome of this attack would have been beyond horrific. There were also attacks on synagogues in Europe and Canada during that week. Iran had activated all of the sleeper cells it had at its disposal and asked them to attack Jewish institutions.

Israel’s Foreign Ministry issued a warning telling Israelis abroad not to attend synagogue on that Shabbat or display Jewish symbols in public.

Waking up Shabbat morning, I wondered with my wife if I should take our children to synagogue that Shabbat as I do every week. We agreed that we simply cannot let a madman sitting in the IRGC headquarters in Tehran decide for us whether or not we take our children to synagogue in the US. I remembered how much my grandfather and great-grandfather had done to defy the Soviet NKVD and uphold Jewish life in Russia despite the danger it involved, and was sure that we would not cower now to any vague IRGC threats.

We got our girls ready, and I began walking with them to synagogue. As Mark Twain said: “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.” As I walked, I felt weary. Here I was taking my children to synagogue, looking visibly Jewish on a week when the Islamic Republic of Iran had activated its global network of sleeper cells. How much safer would it be if we didn’t go to synagogue? How much safer would it be if we were not visibly Jewish?

Despite the fact that the risk was statistically negligible and minute, and that we are blessed to live as Jews in an era of extraordinary safety, this small discomfort made me think of the centuries of Jews who chose to raise their children despite the extraordinary danger for themselves and for their children.

The instinct to protect our children is one that is stronger than our instinct to take care of our very selves, and yet Jews throughout the centuries who could have easily changed their faith and abandoned their Judaism, Jews who loved and cared deeply for their children, chose to hold on to their faith, despite everything that would mean for their children.

It was there that I began to understand the place of the Akeda in Jewish tradition, especially Sephardic Jewish tradition. Yes, Ashkenazi communities, like all others, do read the Binding of Isaac story on the first and second days of Rosh Hashanah, but Sephardic communities focus on it even more and for a good reason.

Most notable among these differences between Sephardic and Ashkenazi liturgy is that of Et Sha’are Ratzon, a heartbreaking liturgy describing in detail the Binding of Isaac and its meaning. The liturgy is very different from Ashkenazi........

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