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Pesach: Memory Inscribed In the Heart Not On Paper
As we prepare for Pesach, I find myself, once again, thinking about memory, which has long captivated me—not just as an educator or a Jew, but as someone who cherishes the heart and soul of our people. And for me, that is the essential difference between history and memory.
I was a history major and my education degree is in teaching secondary history, so I am the first to recognize that history is important. It provides the facts—mainly through primary sources—the context and the timeline. But memory is where meaning lives. Memory is not just about what happened; it is how it lives within us and creates meaning. Memory connects us not only to the past, it connects us to one another. It transforms events into a shared identity. And without it, history alone can become lifeless—and maybe sometimes dangerous.
On Pesach, we don’t simply recall the Exodus from Egypt as a moment in time. We return to that time and live it. We become part of it. The Haggadah doesn’t say, “Remember what happened to them.” It commands us:
On Pesach, we don’t simply recall the Exodus from Egypt as a moment in time. We return to that time and live it. We become part of it. The Haggadah doesn’t say, “Remember what happened to them.” It commands us:
"בְּכָל־דּוֹר וָדוֹר חַיָּב אָדָם לִרְאוֹת אֶת־עַצְמוֹ כְּאִילוּ הוּא יָצָא מִמִּצְרָיִם"
“In every generation, each person must see themselves as if they personally went out of Egypt.”
This is not history. This is a lived and shared memory. And that is why it is so powerful.
One of the things I love most about Jewish life is how memory is woven into almost everything we do. We put on tefillin in the morning and remember the Exodus. And because the Exodus is our seminal memory, we remember it daily in Tefillah and Kiddush. We mark our holidays not just by dates, but by reliving stories. We break a glass under the chuppah and remember Jerusalem. We recite Yizkor not as a eulogy, but over the continuing living connections memory provides that death cannot deny.
At Schechter Bergen, I see every day how memory creates meaning even when students don’t even realize their connected links to the past. When students sing the same melodies their grandparents sang, when they study texts their ancestors studied, when they speak of Israel with love and longing, not as a place on a map but as part of who they are, they are engaging in the sacred act of Jewish memory. And it connects them not just to our past, but to each other in ways they might not even understand yet, but it is entering their hearts each and every day, for memory becomes more treasured as we grow and age.
When memory is forgotten, threats against us increase and this is what we are witnessing at this time, underscoring the need to make sure each generation remembers our story and who we are.
We have more access to Jewish history than ever before. However, history without memory becomes vulnerable to manipulation, distortion, and erasure.
We are seeing this today in alarming ways. The world is increasingly questioning and in some cases deliberately erasing the ancient, unbroken connection of the Jewish people to the Land of Israel. Our ancestral homeland, the land promised to Abraham, the land prayed for by generations in exile, the land reclaimed in blood, tears, and ultimately joy, is falling victim to revisionism and being branded as foreign, imposed, invented. Worse, many Jews without memory, mimic the same distortions and lies.
This isn’t just a political distortion. It is literally a war on memory. And when memory is lost, truth becomes fragile and identity easily crumbles. That is why Judaism insists on memory, not only to preserve the past, but a strong, passionate memory protects the future.
On Pesach, we pass on not just a story, but the very heart, soul, and essence of our people by sharing and renewing our collective memories.
Many of us are blessed to sit at the Seder Table surrounded by generations, sometimes physically, sometimes spiritually and we retell a story that defines who we are. We don’t engage with textbooks, rather we engage with songs and symbols, rituals, props, and questions, foods and feelings, both familial feelings of seders gone by and by the collective feelings of the Jewish people.
Many of us are blessed to sit at the Seder Table surrounded by generations, sometimes physically, sometimes spiritually and we retell a story that defines who we are. We don’t engage with textbooks, rather we engage with songs and symbols, rituals, props, and questions, foods and feelings, both familial feelings of seders gone by and by the collective feelings of the Jewish people.
This is how Jewish memory works. It is inscribed in the heart not on paper.
Our children don’t just learn what happened: they learn that it happened to us. They learn they are part of something bigger than just them and something that is beautiful, sacred, and enduring. And we truly strive to make sure our children learn that their job is to also remember - and to make sure the memory continues.
In our world of data, and information overload, we must cherish memory first. In a time of so much forgetting and revisionism, we must choose to remember. In a moment of uncertainty, we must choose to remind ourselves and our children who we are, where we come from, and what amazing and endless story we are part of.
This Pesach, may we not only recall our past, but feel it. May we nourish the memory that has sustained us for generations, so that we can pass it on from heart to heart.
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