Sitting at my Seder table with my two eldest daughters and my wife, I was struggling to find something to say that would provide meaning to this moment.
Here we were: alone, beginning a Passover unlike any other we had ever experienced and, please God, will ever experience.
Moments before Passover began, I found out about another friend’s father death. This had been the latest in the string of horrible news coming out of my neighborhood in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, and many other areas of New York. Our only real guest, it seemed, was the virus that had ruined our Seder.
Read Full Article »