As a child, after days of helping my grandmother clean and watching her cook with that sacred determination that only a Jewish grandmother can possess, we would finally gather around the seder table—where my grandparents, both gifted storytellers, led joyful, musical seders filled with guests from all walks of their lives. Just as the candles were lit and the first glasses of wine were poured, my grandfather would lean forward with that familiar twinkle in his eye and ask, “Nu, if you were leaving Egypt tonight, what would you take with you?” He asked it every year, and every year, we’d give new answers—beloved books, old family photos, the best Legos that my brother and I cherished. I think now, as I prepare for Passover myself, how that simple question held such depth; it was a child’s game but also a spiritual challenge.
This holiday asks us to imagine ourselves as if we, too, were leaving Egypt: “In every generation, each person must see themselves as though they personally came out from Egypt” (Pesachim 116b). And when envisioning not just our ancestors but really ourselves walking toward liberation, we are encouraged to think about what we would bring with us, not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually. Our ancestors took their unrisen dough and their faith. What will we take? What memories, values, or truths must we carry forward on your own communal journey to freedom this year?
In Berakhot 9b, the sages teach: “Whoever extends the telling of the Exodus story is praiseworthy,” because each telling invites us to reflect anew upon what liberation demands of us. Our ancestors brought only what they could carry, and the rest—the faith, the courage, the memory of what they had endured—was packed not in bags, but in hearts. The rabbis knew that the real weight of the journey was spiritual. What values do we pack for the road ahead? What traumas do we need to release? What wisdom do we refuse to leave behind? The Exodus is not just about fleeing oppression—it’s about shaping the soul for the responsibilities of freedom.
May this Passover be the most meaningful and memorable yet. As we open our doors to Elijah and raise our voices in song, may we also open our hearts to the enduring promise of redemption. Though peace still eludes us in the Promised Land, we do not give up on that vision (I know this is what I carry with me most particularly this year). Like our ancestors, we continue the journey—generation after generation—guided by hope, courage, and the unbreakable belief that liberation is possible. Chag Pesach Sameach.
—Cantor Emma Lutz