Before Shabbat

I have no start date for a first Passover memory. But I can trace the first inklings of Pesach via my sense of smell. Whenever the kitchen begins to fill with the aromas of brisket, chicken soup, and matza balls, I am transported to another time, a naïve, preverbal Edenic realm.

In psychoanalysis, this concept came to be known as thalassic regression. It is understood as a metaphorical way of representing the primal human need to return to a state of comfort and security, often associated with early infancy, the mother figure, and the return to the womb. It can be interpreted as a broader symbol of the desire for a sense of oneness and wholeness.

Yep. That’s it, alright. The scent of matzah balls cooking, tightly sealed in the pot of soup, and the saltwater perfectly represent the womb. And the karpas, dipped in the salt water, all lead to life renewed. I am pointed back to the earliest moments of peace and serenity. This is remarkably meaningful and metaphorically delightful because these feelings of wholeness and wonder are central to the Passover experience. Finally, achieving redemption after wandering and slavery leads us to joy.

I know. Of course, there are plenty of Pesach symbols of woe and bitterness, like maror and haroset. But you don’t have to wander too far to find

The messages of Passover are so multi-layered and dynamic. On one level, we revel in our origin story from ancient times that defines who we are: a people who emerged from the bottom of the heap and rose to the top. A people redeemed by God then accompanied to the Promised Land. Zoom in a bit, and we see a story of individual struggle, ripping off shackles of spiritual and physical enslavement: addiction, PTSD, depression, and more. If our forebearers, with their limited sense of self, could nonetheless get it together to see a future, then why not us? And then there’s the ongoing saga of a broken world and our obligation to help fix it. In our privilege, our bubble of relative prosperity and safety, don’t we have the obligation to pay it forward? Passover reminds us of our covenant with God and our fellow human beings. As the great Jewish poet Emma Lazarus wrote in 1883, “Until all of us are free, none of us are free.”

Whatever your first memory is of Passover, I hope it’s a good one. The scent of holiday food and the promise of gathering around the table inspire you. Whether your seder is 4 hours or 25 minutes, the very fact that you’ve decided to make the time to reflect on all of these is, well, dayeinu.

The Stern Gang wishes you a zissen Pesach, a sweet Passover!

I am a TikTok patron. There, I said it. Some of you may scoff. Some may wonder, “What – exactly! – is a TikTok?” And some of you may wish to high-five me.

TikTok is a social media platform of short-form videos, usually under 2 minutes. I won’t wade into the controversy over its alleged threats to American security. I won’t dissect the Congressional bill passed last March demanding Chinese owners sell TikTok to U.S. interests within 9-12 months or face a nationwide ban. I certainly won’t analyze the executive order signed on the president’s first day that paused enforcement for 75 days. And just recently, the president extended TikTok’s Saturday deadline by another 75 days to find a new owner, pushing the final reckoning to mid-June.

I’m relieved that TikTok has another reprieve. I don’t pretend to grasp the political calculus behind it – especially amid escalating tariffs and U.S.-China competition. But I confess: I’m captivated by TikTok. The hypnotic cascade of stories flowing one after another, utterly without pattern or logic, curated only by mysterious algorithms tracking my interests, is mesmerizing. Yes, some content is vapid. Some is pure sensationalism. Yes, it has devoured hours I might have spent reading. But…

TikTok opens unexpected windows into diverse worlds. I stumble upon explanations of cosmology. Debates about Zionism. The secret to a perfect sear on steak. The craftsmanship behind an authentic Hasidic sable shtreimel. More importantly, I glimpse the raw humanity of strangers – their suffering and their triumphs.

Last week, my “for you” feed surfaced a video of Bubba Cashman, a boy of perhaps six. He navigates the world in a specialized walker, his legs braced and immobile. He lives with severe spina bifida, a birth defect where the spine and spinal cord form improperly during fetal development. His father Chase instructs him with unflinching directness. There’s no coddling here. Chase teaches Bubba to maneuver his walker over a curb – a maneuver requiring him to lift the walker’s front while leaning back to prevent falling forward, all without the use of his legs.

I’m transfixed because Chase refuses to sugarcoat reality for his son. Bubba absorbs his father’s lesson with grave intensity, then tries and tries again. The sheer force required to lift his body is staggering. Each attempt brings him tantalizingly close before he fails. And then fails again.

The exhaustion and frustration etched on this child’s face is unmistakable. After perhaps the sixth attempt, he breaks. Tears flow as he reaches toward his father. But Chase doesn’t immediately rescue him. “It’s hard. I know it’s frustrating. The world is not always going to be set up for you.” Only when Bubba is truly spent does Chase lift him from the walker and envelop him in an embrace so genuine it pierces through the digital divide.

The human condition isn’t about glory and reward. Often it’s about unbearable struggle. It’s what drives parents to flee persecution, traversing deserts and swollen rivers with children on their backs in pursuit of freedom. It’s the mud from which we fight to rise, the bondage from which we break free. It echoes the words we recite upon completing a book of Torah: Hazak, Hazak, ve’Nithazek. Be strong, be strong, and so shall we all be strengthened.

One father’s fierce determination to prepare his son for an unaccommodating world challenges each of us to persist, to rise above our circumstances and glimpse, even fleetingly, the indomitable human spirit. Bubba’s struggle illuminates the Passover story we retell: from the depths, we will rise.