Passover preparations have begun everywhere. Every family has its own traditions — the recipes passed down without written measurements, the songs sung slightly off-key but with great conviction, and the family games (Jeopardy!) that have become as anticipated as the meal itself. In our home, the wine has been ordered, as has the brisket. The chicken soup is already in the freezer, and my husband has already started working on the Haggadah for this year. Our mention of the hostages will be briefer than last year, but we will of course still honor the ordeal they endured. We will turn our thoughts to our family members and friends in Israel who live day to day with one foot in a shelter and the other in an uncertain future.

We will gather around the Seder table grateful for so much. Grateful to all be together and in good health. Grateful to be safe. Grateful to be able to celebrate a Jewish holiday in freedom, and grateful for the Jewish education that gave our children the tools to truly participate in this evening, to understand what they are celebrating and why it matters. We will end, as we do every year, with a wish: Next year in Jerusalem.

Our wishes for the coming year are both global and deeply personal. We wish for the war in Iran to be over, for Israelis and everyone in the Middle East to live in peace and safety, for every person’s right to life to be honored, for autocracies to lose their grip, and for the fragile beginnings of lasting harmony in the Middle East to take hold.

As I look around the table, I will find myself wondering what the year ahead will bring for each of us — and whether there is anything that should not be left unsaid. The older I get, the more I understand that this particular gathering — these exact people, in this exact moment — is not something to take for granted.

This is where the Seder becomes something more than a meal and a ritual. It is a rare gift: people you love, gathered in one room, with nowhere else to be and no reason to rush. The Seder is long by design. Lean into that. Use the time.

For those with young children at the table — perhaps attending their first or second Seder — the lessons are beautifully simple. Freedom is good. Family being together is good. We were once not free, and now we are. That is worth celebrating, worth singing about, worth staying up past bedtime. Let them feel it in the sweet desserts and the songs and the faces of the people who love them most. Those early Jewish impressions go very, very deep.

For those of us with adult children at the table, the opportunity is richer and more urgent. The world they are inheriting is complicated — full of conflict, noise, and competing demands on their attention and their conscience. The Seder cuts through all of that. It is one of the few moments in the year when the generations are truly in the same room, unhurried, sharing the same story. Use it to go beyond the text. Talk about what is happening in the world right now, and what your family believes about it. Talk about Israel — your connection to it, your fears for it, your hopes. Talk about what it means to be Jewish in 2026 and what that involves: the pride, the complexity, the responsibility, and the belonging. Ask your adult children what they think. You may be surprised by what you hear.

And ask the harder questions too. What are we doing, each of us, with the time and resources and talents we have to make the world better? The telling of the Passover story is not a passive exercise. What does it ask of us today? What does it ask of the next generation sitting at your table?

Before you take your seat at the Seder table this year, ask yourself: When my children are leading their own Seders one day, what do I want them to know about the Jewish people and what do I want them to remember about me? How do you instill your story into their lives and into their actions? What should they carry with them about your love of Israel, your sense of responsibility to the wider world, and your belief that they — the next generation — have a real role to play in repairing it? The Promised Land was never just a place. How do you guide your children and grandchildren toward their own promised land — a life lived in service of something larger than themselves? This year, before the evening ends, invite everyone at the table to make one commitment — one thing they will do in the coming year to make the world a little better.

In our home this year, we will go around the table and each person will be asked to name one commitment — one organization they will donate to or volunteer with before we gather again next year. They will write it down, we will collect the papers, and we will read them aloud at next year’s Seder. It is a small ritual. But small rituals, repeated year after year, are how values become a life.

The Seder has survived for thousands of years because every generation made it their own. Now it is your turn. Settle into the evening. Let it be long. Speak your values out loud, ask the hard questions, and trust that the next generation is listening — because they are. The generations around your table will not always be the same. Use the time. 

Karen Kolodny is the former CEO of the JCC of MidWestchester in Scarsdale, NY. She is a consultant in the Jewish nonprofit sector, is 21/64 certified and a Chartered Advisor in Philanthropy®.  

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)