Tradition!

Tradition!

As we sat around the table on the eve of our Passover Seder, I felt the history of generations in the room, and I was surprised by how moved I was.

Jonathan's mother lit the candles (a woman's role) and read in Hebrew from the Haggadah (she keeps her Jewish talents well hidden). And Theo, his yarmulke perched precariously on his head at a jaunty angle, read the four questions unassisted.

I thought I would weep.

Why was it beautiful?

Was I just experiencing a Fiddler on the Roof Moment? A Sunrise Sunset emotion?

Is that what ritual does? It makes you reflect back onto all the other times you have done the same thing? And then to reflect on what has changed, and what has remained the same?