A few days ago, I read an article seeking a contemporary message in the Haggadah. When we read this book every year at the Passover seder table, with 4 questions officially included and random other questions intermittently part of the tradition, the simple story resonates: We were slaves in Egypt. We ate matza because the bread didn’t rise in time. We journeyed through the desert. Happy ending: we’re free.

But many grope, pull at loose threads, seek meaning beneath the superficial tale. For this holiday of asking questions, this is symbolic of something that should be shared by Jews – that “together” from the government chorus line.

But “together,” shared? Only the polygon. Polygon? The latest jargon for outlines of an area under missile attack.

The article about the Haggadah, though, focused on matzah as the poor person’s bread and how the Hebrews fleeing Egypt, eating it, clung to hope. It reminded me of a cynical remark I made earlier in the week to our granddaughters’ uncle from the other side. Last year, he led a large family seder for all of us. He is a high-ranking officer with a professional military career. We met him briefly off the highway to pick up........

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