Leave a Seat or Two Empty This Seder

Sadly, I am updating something I wrote in 2003, when Palestinian terrorists were targeting Israelis, as they still are today. I suggest saying it at the beginning of the Passover Seder:

Once again, during this year’s Seders, we will celebrate our joyous holiday of liberation with heavy hearts. Even as we revel in our freedom, some of our brothers and sisters in Israel, both Jewish and non-Jewish, are in pain. This year, as in previous years, we must reclaim our symbols, remember our losses, reaffirm our commitment to Israel, to the Jewish people, and to a true peace, which allows Israelis to live with no threat against their lives, from near or far.

Over the years, and in this particular evil surge since Oct. 7, when the Palestinians turned toward violence yet again, too many have died, too many have been injured, and 245 were kidnapped, with 133 still not free or unaccounted for. Far too many Seders will have empty chairs: Missing husbands, fathers, brothers, sons; missing wives, mothers, sisters, daughters. 

How agonizing is it to know that they will never come home! How agonizing is to imagine them celebrating the holiday of freedom in captivity, simply because they are Jewish!

The Seder’s power comes from its ritualization of memory. It is a primal, sensual, literal service. The Seder plate, evoking the mortar used in building with charoset, and the tears shed by the slaves with salt water, helps us visualize the trauma of slavery. The physical acts of reclining, of eating special foods, of standing to greet Elijah the prophet, help us feel the joy of Yetziat Mitzrayim, of leaving Egypt. And, in an affirmation of the importance of peoplehood, we mark this special moment, not as individuals but as a community.

In that spirit, we cannot proceed with business as usual during these challenging times. We must improvise a new ritual that marks our present pain, that illustrates our vital connection with Israel and Israelis today.

Let each of us, as we gather at our Seders, intrude on our own celebrations by leaving one setting untouched, by having one empty chair at our table, as many of us have had in previous years. Although this year, as we lament kidnapped brothers and sisters, and mourn murdered loved ones too, we might consider two empty chairs.

Let us take the time to learn the name of at least one victim murdered since last Passover, or one victim murdered years earlier, one Jew who cannot celebrate this year’s holiday, one family in mourning, one family with an empty seat at their table and a hole in their hearts.

Let us take a moment to reflect on our losses. And let us take the time to learn the name of at least one victim murdered since last Passover, or one victim murdered years earlier, one Jew who cannot celebrate this year’s holiday, one family in mourning, one family with an empty seat at their table and a hole in their hearts.

Let us call out the name of Koby Mandell, age 13, an American immigrant murdered in May, 2001, whose father, Rabbi Seth Mandell, noted the empty seat at his Shabbat table and shared the pain of watching other boys grow up, watching their voices deepen, their shoulders broaden, their gaits quicken, even as his son lay dead.

Let us call out the name of Hadar Goldin, a 23-year-old soldier killed by Hamas in August, 2014 but whose remains Hamas holds in a cruel assault on Hadar’s family and civilized norms.

Let us call out the names of Rabbi Eitam and Naama Henkin, ambushed in October, 2015, slaughtered in their car’s front seat as their four children sat in the back.

Let us call out the name of Ezra Schwartz, an 18-year-old Boston kid enjoying his yeshiva “gap” year, gunned down at a traffic stop.

Let us call out the name of Awad Darawshe, 23, an Israeli medic working at the Nova concert festival this Oct. 7, who refused to leave, telling friends, “I speak Arabic, I think I can manage.” Hamas terrorists killed him as he bandaged a wounded concert-goer.

Let us call out the names of Ben Mizrachi, 22, originally from Vancouver, and Itai Bausi, 22, friends simply attending the Nova concert. As good Zionists and trained Israelis, Ben, who moved to Israel and served as a combat medic, and Itai, who was a Duvdevan commando, plunged into action, trying to save others. Killed in a hail of bullets, both are now buried in their beloved kibbutz, Kvutzat Yavne.

Let us call out the names of Sgt. Eden Alon Levy 19, Cpt. Or Moses, 22, and Lt. Eder Ben-Simon, 20, three Home Front Command soldiers who died saving over 90 recruits when eight Hamas terrorists stormed their base from the beach.  

And let us think for a moment, about a 10-year-old Bedouin girl, whose house collapsed just days before Passover, injuring her badly, because the Islamic Republic of Iran unleashed a barrage of missiles against the Jewish State, demonstrating that the intense hate against Jews and anyone in Israel, crosses the 1,157 miles separating Tehran from Jerusalem. 

As we call out these names, let us commit to some action to embrace the victims’ families. Moreover, let us build a friendship with Israel and Israelis, which is not just about politics and not solely about mourning.

And as we call out these names, unlike our enemies, we don’t call for vengeance.

Instead, as we mourn, let us hope; as we remember the many lives lost during this crazy, pointless war, let us pray more intensely for a just and lasting peace, and for an end to the global scourge of terrorism afflicting Jews and non-Jews.

Professor Gil Troy, a Senior Fellow in Zionist Thought at the JPPI, the Jewish People Policy Institute, is an American presidential historian and the editor of the new three-volume set, “Theodor Herzl: Zionist.”