Seder

“I don’t want to forget.” She said quietly, then asked herself aloud, “how could I forget?” She was 86 years old. Very active, swimming every morning and avoiding the doctor with a passion. She was vibrant, practically glowing as she told us about her grandchildren and her plans to join some of them for the Pesach (Passover) holidays. We had come to talk with her, as part of our education in the first year of medical school, they wanted to be sure we could have a normal conversation with another human being, an invaluable skill for a doctor.

 She had lived in Israel for the last 64 years, since the country’s infancy. In a way, she was also an infant when she came, her life being drastically changed by outrageous and heinous crimes against her people. Indeed, the whole world suddenly seemed different, as nations across the globe realized their naiveté; their childishness in thinking that progress and technology would bring peace while hate still ran rampant.

            Originally from Budapest, she was only 17 years old when the Nazis invaded her country in March of 1944. Within months, they would slaughter 600,000 Hungarian Jews, including many of her family, in the horrible death throes of their empire. She, her mother and sister would be sent to Auschwitz. But in March 1944, she didn’t know where she would be sent or who would be killed, she just knew the uncertainty and inner turmoil that accompanies being a hated people under the authority of a conquering army.

            In Hebrew, the word for the traditional Pesach meal is “seder,” which means “order.” When she was young, her family would have an extravagant seder every Spring. Her face lit up as she remembered the finery, the laughter, the crowd of people, her father’s hospitality and the wonderful meal. It was a true time to rest, and to remember, as it says in Deuteronomy 16:3 “[T]he day when you came out of the land of Egypt.” The seder is long, stretching many hours, with many traditions, filled with enjoyment, friendship and peace.

 The first seder was not eaten in such a way. There was a haste, for the people were in a situation of uncertainty. In their hearts, they were in turmoil, eating with their staffs in their hands, feet shod and ready to flee the oppression of the Egyptians. They would eat the meal each year in peace and remembrance, in quiet, and in order but only after the Lord had delivered them with His outstretched arm.

            The seder of 1944 must have been similar. The order was observed, but fear and uncertainty reigned in their hearts. As she explained that evening meal to us, she told us that there was no laughter. In the few short weeks of the occupation, some familiar faces were already missing from around the table. There was no rest, and their hearts were in turmoil.

            The story she continued to tell us was amazing. Survival in a concentration camp, fleeing a forgotten homeland without proper documentation, coming to a brand new country, assailed on all sides by her enemies, managing to start a new life with only the clothes on her back. There was tragedy, and there was affliction, but now, as she contemplated this year’s seder with her family, she was at peace, thankful for the order in her life now.

            2000 years ago, the Pesach seder was shared by a Teacher and his disciples. It had been promised in the Scriptures (Jeremiah 23:7-8)  “Therefore, behold, the days are coming, declares the Lord, when they shall no longer say, ‘As the Lord lives who brought up the people of Israel out of the land of Egypt,’ ⁸ but ‘As the Lord lives who brought up and led the offspring of the house of Israel out of the north country and out of all the countries where he^[a] had driven them.’ Then they shall dwell in their own land.” And though the students didn’t realize it, the Teacher was going to bring that to pass that very day. The Pesach of old was truly glorious, but this new salvation would outshine and outlast that, as God ultimately delivered His people, and ushered them into His Kingdom, and through this Teacher, would redeem the entirety of the created earth into a new creation for them to own and inhabit. The Teacher’s heart, however, was in pain, he knew the Scriptures, and the many curses from God’s hand He would endure to inherit the blessing. He did not deserve the exile, but would take the exile for His people. Later that evening, in His fervent prayer, He would sweat drops of blood. The disciples were in turmoil as well. They had just learned that one of them would betray their Teacher to His death. There was no laughter, no order, only unrest in their hearts as each asked, “Is it me, Master?”

            But just like the Pesach of their forefathers, this tumultuous meal had to be endured for true rest to be enjoyed. The story which followed is the greatest the world has ever seen. Betrayal by a friend, a farce for a trial, unjust condemnation, murder, the wrath of God, and resurrection to a new life, the inauguration of the kingdom of God.

            The followers of that Teacher still eat that meal, remembering our King, proclaiming that story until the day He comes. We enjoy our fellowship with Him and with each other around the table now, but it is not complete. We long for the day when His promise is fulfilled, (Matthew 26:29) “I will not drink again of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father's kingdom.”

            Amen, come quickly Lord Jesus.