Holidays & Others

This year, many Israelis find themselves in an unfamiliar and unsettling reality. Travel is restricted. Flights are limited or unavailable. The option of “getting away” for Pesach—so common in recent years—has suddenly disappeared. For some, this evokes disappointment, even a sense of confinement. Yet perhaps this moment invites us to rediscover something essential about Pesach—its deep and enduring connection to the home.

For the first Pesach was not only a festival of redemption; it was an experience of safety, protection, and intimacy within the home.

A month ago, my wife and I spent Shabbat in a charming hotel in Yafo. Searching for an inspiring place to daven (pray) on Friday night, we were directed to a nearby synagogue called Zichron Baruch. We decided to give it a try.

What we encountered there was unlike anything we had experienced before. The davening was electric—overflowing with energy, joy, and uplift. It blended the warmth and melodic richness of the Sephardic tradition with the soulful intensity of Carlebach-style song. The synagogue was packed with young men and women from every conceivable background. Everyone sang. Everyone participated. There was no rabbi presiding from the front—just a community that seemed to have built itself organically, animated by a shared love of Judaism, Israel, and one another. Strangers were welcomed with radiant smiles. The atmosphere pulsed with authenticity and belonging.

I have always found the custom, in Ashkenazi circles, of reciting Yizkor on the Jewish holidays to be somewhat jarring. After all, the festivals are meant to be occasions of joy and celebration, filled with song, community, and gratitude. Yizkor, by contrast, is a solemn memorial prayer—an intimate moment of remembrance for departed parents and loved ones. Why, then, would such a somber prayer be inserted into the liturgy of our most festive days?