“You, who are on the road, must have a code you try to live by And so become yourself, because the past is just a goodbye…” ~ Graham Nash, 1970 Of all the holidays in the Jewish calendar year, Pesach is the most closely related and connected to Israel, the Zionist story, and our sense of Jewish peoplehood for Diaspora Jews. We can also read closely the central themes of the Pesach seder as being deeply relevant for this moment in history. As a pilgrimage holiday, we are on the proverbial “road,” and the Haggadah serves as a code to try and live by. Two of the main themes of the Pesach seder are: בְּכָל־דּוֹר וָדוֹר חַיָּב אָדָם לִרְאוֹת אֶת־עַצְמוֹ כְּאִלּוּ הוּא יָצָא מִמִּצְרַיִם… “In each and every generation, a person is obligated to see oneself as if he/she/they left Egypt…” This is conveniently juxtaposed with: וְהִיא שֶׁעָמְדָה לַאֲבוֹתֵיֽנוּ וְלָנֽוּ. שֶׁלֹא אֶחָד בִּלְבָד, עָמַד עָלֵיֽנוּ לְכַלּוֹתֵנֽוּ. אֶלָּא שֶׁבְּכָל דּוֹר וָדוֹר, עוֹמְדִים עָלֵיֽנוּ לְכַלּוֹתֵנֽוּ. וְהַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא מַצִּילֵנוּ מִיָּדָם. “And it is the (Promise) that sustained our ancestors and us, for not one (enemy) alone stood up against us to destroy us. But, rather, in each generation, there are those standing up against us to destroy us. But the Holy Blessed One saves us from their hand.” We also have a recurring motif of groups of four: four questions, four cups of wine, and four children. I wonder, how many of us regard ourselves as one or more of the four children? I’m confident that at some point in all of our lives, we have each felt like or acted as – the wise, the wicked, the simple, and the one who doesn’t know how to ask – and at times, I have felt like more than one at the same time. The Four children of the Haggadah—the Wise, the Wicked, the Simple, and the One Who Does Not Know How to Ask—are archetypes that reflect different attitudes within the Jewish community in our relationship with Zionism. Just as these four children engage with the Exodus story and the narrative of Pesach in distinct ways, Jews today are called upon to engage with the question of Israel and Zionism with similarly diverse perspectives. The Wise child, who asks sincerely about the laws and traditions of Judaism, can be likened to the thoughtful Zionist, who seeks to understand and engage critically with the ideology and practice of what it means to support Israel and constructively critical of its ruling government’s policies. This individual does not accept Zionism or those policies blindly but rather studies their implications, moral responsibilities, historical necessity, accomplishments, and foibles. The Wise Child need not be a notable intellectual or a scholar but one who balances Jewish tradition and ethics with contemporary political realities, striving for a just and ethical Zionism that aligns with Jewish values. The Wicked Child is a bit of a misnomer. Is it wicked, after all, to pose challenging and critical questions? No. We celebrate that. We have based our entire dialectical tradition on questions and answers and debate for “the sake of heaven.” But our tradition tells us that these children are not necessarily wicked because of their skepticism or questioning, but rather because in their question is the innuendo suggesting that they have removed or separated themselves from the Jewish people. Some may compare these children to those in our community who actively oppose the Jewish state and distance themselves from Jewish collective identity, fate, and common purpose. Just as the Haggadah admonishes the wicked child for saying, “What is this to you?”—implying that they do not see themselves as part of the Jewish story. The issue that we are seeing is not a matter of policy critique but rather the rejection of Israel’s significance to Jewish life. The problem, in my opinion, is the conclusion that some come to reject the place of Israel in Jewish life – which many genuinely come through an embrace of specific Jewish values. Of course, everyone is free to come to their own conclusions and let that be a discussion after studying and evaluating Jewish sources and tradition. We are hearing many in our midst and from our communities critiquing the fundamental essence and purpose of Zionism and Jewish Nationalism altogether as a flawed endeavor or an unnecessary and harmful political project that, in their eyes, is a betrayal of Judaism’s ethical mission. At this particular moment, some see only one set of victims – either the Palestinians or Israelis.  Not seeing ourselves in the remaining 59 hostages or feeling connected to them as fellow Jews and only to the other and the inability to see the other as part of shared humanity is what is particularly challenging in this moment. The Simple child, who asks only, “What is this?” reflects the uninformed or indifferent Jew, someone who does not engage deeply with Zionist or anti-Zionist discourse in any way. This could be the Jew who supports Israel out of instinct and heritage but has not examined the complexities of the issue and rarely finds nuance in their own discourse. Alternatively, it could be the disengaged individual who does not regard Zionism as relevant to their Jewish identity, viewing it as merely another political matter rather than as an existential and moral one. This “simple child” may simply not have the background to internalize fully the magnitude of this moment in Jewish history or how we modern Jews are affected and included in this ancient story. Finally, the One Who Does Not Know How to Ask represents those Jews who are unaware of the debate about the meaning of Zionism and Jewish peoplehood altogether, either due to lack of exposure to the competing arguments or because they find the issues involved too confusing and overwhelming to engage with. In our era of polarized discourse about the place of Zionism, Jewish nationalism, and the State of Israel in Diaspora Jewish life, many Jews, particularly younger generations, feel unprepared to navigate the Zionist and anti-Zionist arguments, unsure of where they fit in the conversation. This child reminds us that education and open dialogue are essential to help all Jews find their place in the unfolding story of Jewish history. Journalist and author Adam Kirsch makes an important distinction in his recent Sapir Journal article: “These examples suggest a way we can think about today’s debates over Israel and Zionism. A disagreement among Jews is a Jewish disagreement insofar as both sides are committed to the well-being of the Jewish people. This commitment needn’t be exclusive; Jewish ethics have always insisted on balancing the obligation to oneself with the obligation to others. As Hillel famously said, we must ask both “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?” and “If I am only for myself, what am I?” Anti-Zionists tend to focus on [a response to] the second question [as exclusively universalists] and scorn the first [that they regard as myopic and self-centered particularists]. But Hillel recognized that self-assertion and self-defense are not merely selfishness; they are themselves moral obligations [that we make to our own people]. Jewish history amply teaches that when Jews do not or cannot act for ourselves, no one else will be for us.” One helpful distinction, Kirsch continues, is, “when an argument displays no genuine and realistic concern for the Jewish people — when it is animated solely by abstract ethical concerns, or sympathy for Palestinian suffering, or animus against the Israeli government — then it doesn’t exist within Jewish peoplehood but stands outside of Jewish peoplehood, even if a Jew is making it. Such critics do not practice what the political philosopher Michael Walzer calls “connected criticism,” the kind that comes from within a community and wants to improve it. Indeed, for some of them, the main purpose of speaking out on Jewish issues is precisely to advertise their lack of connection — to show the world that they are ashamed of the Jewish people or the Jewish state and should not be held responsible for it. But as history shows, and as we are learning again in our own day, enemies of the Jews do not make such fine distinctions.” The Haggadah – in keeping with sound and contemporary educational practice – demonstrates to us that we must meet each child where they are and answer them according to their ability to comprehend and internalize the concepts and the layers of complexity. So, too, must we in the Jewish world engage with these different perspectives on Zionism with thoughtfulness and nuance. Rather than maligning or dismissing opposing views, our task is to foster conversation, connection, and action, ensuring that all Jews—regardless of their stance—feel part of the broader Jewish narrative, namely, seeing ourselves as having been slaves in Egypt and as part of a people who in each generation face an existential threat. In the words of the great sage Graham Nash, “…I realized that if we didn’t teach our children a better way of dealing with our fellow human beings, humanity will never succeed”. As we remind ourselves each year, each of these four children (or so we assume) is sitting around the table as we recline, sing, eat, and retell our story. That means that each of us can take action by saying that we want to be counted among the Jewish people and have our voices heard. Whether we are critical, hesitant, cynical, or simply unaware, participation in the World Zionist Congress elections by voting “Reform” is the most important thing we can do to stay connected, to be a part of the Jewish people, and connect our fate with those past and future, near and far. It is also the most important and effective thing we can do to influence the nature of the soul of the Jewish State. May this holiday provide a sense of comfort to all those struggling and a sense of bravery to tackle the inner voices within us and engage with those with whom we may differ. Shabbat Shalom.