March 23, 2026|ה' ניסן ה' אלפים תשפ"ו Not a Perfect Seder - An Opportunity-Filled One By Rabbi Jonathan Muskat

As we approach the Seder night only a week and a half away, many of us are carrying a sense of uncertainty. Pesach is meant to be a time of family, connection, and cherished memories, but for some, plans have changed. Families who hoped to be together are now apart, trips to and from Israel have been canceled, and expectations we built up are not unfolding the way we imagined. For many, that disappointment is very real.

But Pesach itself reminds us that Jewish life has never depended on perfect circumstances. Bnei Yisrael left Mitzrayim into uncertainty, without knowing what lay ahead, and that is precisely where our relationship with God was born.

Last year, I participated in a program called “A Perfect Pesach,” a pretty ambitious title. It sounds nice, maybe it’s good marketing, and I’ll admit, the food was pretty good. But the truth is, for many of us, this year will not be a “perfect” Pesach. Certainly, for our brothers and sisters in Israel who have been spending their days running to and from their safe room, it is anything but perfect. And for all of us, whether our plans have changed or not, the goal of Seder night is not to recreate a perfect experience, but to create a meaningful one.

So the question becomes: how?

We may have many activities planned over Pesach for our families, but Seder night is different. It is the centerpiece, the moment that can shape the entire experience. And we have to ask: what are we trying to accomplish? What messages do we want to communicate – to our children, our guests, everyone at the table?

We begin Sefer Vayikra with korbanot, and the Torah deliberately opens with the korban Olah. Why?

Rabbenu B’Chayei explains:

לפי שהמחשבה היא ראשית הכל, וחטא המחשבה קודם לחטא המעשה, על כן היה בדין להקדים עולה.

Thought is the beginning of everything, and the sin of thought precedes action, so the Olah comes first. It atones for hirhurei ha-lev, for what is happening internally. Before a person acts, there is already a subtle shift in mindset. The Olah addresses that root.

The message is clear: if we want to change our actions, we must begin with our mindset. Avodat Hashem is not just about behavior. It is about what is happening inside: our thoughts, priorities, and perspective.

But there is another way to understand why the Olah comes first.

We often think of korbanot as a response to sin. But that is not the full picture. A Chatat, for example, is brought for a Shegagah, an unintentional sin, when a person wasn’t fully aware: “I didn’t realize,” “I wasn’t paying attention.” The korban awakens responsibility. It pushes a person to live more consciously.

Korbanot are not just about fixing the past. They are about refining who we become.

So why is the Olah first?

Rabbi Ari Kahn suggests that the Olah is different. It is not primarily about wrongdoing, but about missed opportunity, a failure not of doing wrong, but of not doing enough right, of not fulfilling a mitzvat asei, a positive commandment.

The Torah’s vision of a person is not just someone who avoids sin, but someone who asks: am I doing enough good? Have I missed opportunities? Have I allowed moments of growth to slip by?

Chazal teach that the Olah comes, among other things, for what we should have done, but didn’t.

And that is a striking way to begin a sefer about avodat Hashem.

Not with sin.
Not with failure.
But with missed opportunity.

Because the Torah is teaching a mindset:
Life is not just about avoiding aveirot. It is about recognizing and seizing opportunities.
The tragedy is not only what we do wrong.
It is what we could have done, and didn’t.

And that idea can reframe everything, including the Seder.

On the night of the Seder, we do so many unusual things:
we lean, we dip, we ask questions, we create energy and curiosity.

Why?

Because we don’t want to miss the opportunity.

We have one night a year to transmit our mesorah, to make an impression, to build emunah, and we are afraid of losing that moment. So we do everything we can to make it alive, to make sure it lands.

But perhaps the Seder is teaching something deeper.

It is not just about this one night. It is meant to model how we should live all year.

On the Seder night, there is a unique mitzvah of sipur yetziat Mitzrayim – to tell, expand, and relive the story. But throughout the year, there is a daily mitzvah of zechirat yetziat Mitzrayim – to remember it.

The Seder is a concentrated version of what the entire year should look like:
one night of sipur – full, vivid, engaged – meant to shape a year of zechirah – a life of awareness.

A life of noticing opportunities:
to connect, to grow, to inspire – and not let them slip away.

How do we convey that message to our children and to others at our seder table?

The Torah describes korbanot with the phrase: lirtzono – brought willingly before God. Rav Yaakov Tzvi Mecklenburg explains:

 שכל כוחותיו החומריים והרוחניים יהיו נכנעים ומסורים לעבודת השם.

Every part of a person, physical and spiritual, fully devoted.

A korban is not just about the act – it is about the person behind it. You can do everything right, but if you’re not in it, something essential is missing.

And that is the challenge.

Judaism can feel like obligation – what I have to do. But avodat Hashem was never meant to feel like pressure alone. It was meant to feel like opportunity.

That is what the Olah teaches.
And that is what the Seder teaches.

Not just: what do I have to do tonight?
But: what opportunity do I have tonight – and will I take it?

And that shapes how we pass this on to our children and to others under our influence.

We invest so much in making the Seder meaningful for them. But the most powerful thing they see is not what we create – it is who we are.

If we are inspired, they feel it.
If it feels like a burden to us, it feels like a burden to them.

Because children don’t just hear what we say – they sense what we are.

You see this at a Shabbat table. Some parents only sing Shabbat songs when their children are present – singing for them. That has value. But it is not the same as a home where the parents sing Shabbat songs because they themselves are moved, where the singing is real and consistent, whether or not the children are watching. Children sense that difference immediately.

This is the meaning of lirtzono – bringing ourselves fully into the experience.

Not performing.
Not going through the motions.
But being present.

So what is the goal of the Seder that we are all preparing for and that will soon be upon us?

Not perfection.

But putting our whole selves into it – 
into the conversation,
into our children,
into our relationship with God.

Because if the Seder becomes real for us, it won’t remain one night.

It will shape how we live the rest of the year.

And then we won’t just avoid missing opportunities.

We will build a life filled with them.