Zvi Zameret, Israeli educator, Yad Ben Zvi Institute - in "A Night to Remember"
To reach "next year in Jerusalem, I need the year that has passed"
The present! - how can we limit our lives in Israel to the present' alone? And if there is nothing beyond 'now, then why live in such a difficult country?
"I believe in the past, the present and the future," said Yitzhak Tabenkin, the great kibbutz educator: "Every time I hesitate on a major question, I ask the advice of two people: my grandfather - for his opinion, and my grandson - how will the decision affect his future?" It's important to me that in answering any question, I consider both previous generations and possible effects on the future ones; not merely my own immediate future, but the farthest foreseeable unfolding of events.
I'm afraid of two things of those who ask only how things have always been done and put only historical eggs in their basket. And I'm afraid of people who consider any future harm that may result from their decision unimportant, whose only questions are "Will I get something out of this? Will I achieve immediate gratification?"
To reach "next year in Jerusalem, I need the year that has passed"
The present! - how can we limit our lives in Israel to the present' alone? And if there is nothing beyond 'now, then why live in such a difficult country?
"I believe in the past, the present and the future," said Yitzhak Tabenkin, the great kibbutz educator: "Every time I hesitate on a major question, I ask the advice of two people: my grandfather - for his opinion, and my grandson - how will the decision affect his future?" It's important to me that in answering any question, I consider both previous generations and possible effects on the future ones; not merely my own immediate future, but the farthest foreseeable unfolding of events.
I'm afraid of two things of those who ask only how things have always been done and put only historical eggs in their basket. And I'm afraid of people who consider any future harm that may result from their decision unimportant, whose only questions are "Will I get something out of this? Will I achieve immediate gratification?"
David Grossman, Israeli novelist and peace activist - in "A Night to Remember"
The end? It's only the beginning
Exodus is charged with tension: between the miserable, childlike' state of the children of Israel, a people physically and spiritually enslaved, and the exalted role God has chosen for them, heedless of the pace of their spiritual and moral development. Perhaps this is the truly demanding journey made by the children of Israel: from clan to nation, from slavery to freedom.
Here in my study in Jerusalem, in Israel, in the promised land" to which the Jews have returned time and again from exile, I think about my ancestors, the children of Israel, during those first days after the maelstrom that uprooted them from Egypt. They are in the desert, and the desert is empty. They are being led, like an immense herd, to an unknown destination. What can they cling to? They escaped bondage in Egypt but also abandoned their daily routine, their habits and customs, a familiar place and the social Interactions and hierarchies that had become fixed over the course of generations. Suddenly everything is new and strange. Nothing can be taken for granted.
What had appeared to be the end of the road, now appears to be its beginning
Stunned, they stride onward, as if in a void. They follow their leader and he tells them they are at long last free men, but perhaps free is the last thing they feel or want to be. Every day brings new experiences, new religious regulations and laws, and strange food - enough for one day - that falls from the skies. If they have any spirit left they will realize that a miracle has befallen them, that they are privileged to have been given the chance to reinvent themselves, to be redeemed. If they dare, they can fashion a new identity for themselves. But to do so they must fight the ponderous gravity of habit, of anxiety and doubt, of inner bondage
The end? It's only the beginning
Exodus is charged with tension: between the miserable, childlike' state of the children of Israel, a people physically and spiritually enslaved, and the exalted role God has chosen for them, heedless of the pace of their spiritual and moral development. Perhaps this is the truly demanding journey made by the children of Israel: from clan to nation, from slavery to freedom.
Here in my study in Jerusalem, in Israel, in the promised land" to which the Jews have returned time and again from exile, I think about my ancestors, the children of Israel, during those first days after the maelstrom that uprooted them from Egypt. They are in the desert, and the desert is empty. They are being led, like an immense herd, to an unknown destination. What can they cling to? They escaped bondage in Egypt but also abandoned their daily routine, their habits and customs, a familiar place and the social Interactions and hierarchies that had become fixed over the course of generations. Suddenly everything is new and strange. Nothing can be taken for granted.
What had appeared to be the end of the road, now appears to be its beginning
Stunned, they stride onward, as if in a void. They follow their leader and he tells them they are at long last free men, but perhaps free is the last thing they feel or want to be. Every day brings new experiences, new religious regulations and laws, and strange food - enough for one day - that falls from the skies. If they have any spirit left they will realize that a miracle has befallen them, that they are privileged to have been given the chance to reinvent themselves, to be redeemed. If they dare, they can fashion a new identity for themselves. But to do so they must fight the ponderous gravity of habit, of anxiety and doubt, of inner bondage
Mishkan HaSeder
When observing the seder in Israel, it is customary to add another word to this final wish: “Next year in a rebuilt Jerusalem!" Even when we have arrived in the Promised Land, our longing for wholeness and fulfillment is never extinguished. To be Jewish means preserving a constant posture of yearning and hope.
When observing the seder in Israel, it is customary to add another word to this final wish: “Next year in a rebuilt Jerusalem!" Even when we have arrived in the Promised Land, our longing for wholeness and fulfillment is never extinguished. To be Jewish means preserving a constant posture of yearning and hope.