Something was missing for Sarah. Someone like you helped her find it. I think you know what I mean!

Dear Friend,

I want to ask you something.

How much does it cost to always say YES when someone reaches out the night before Passover — nervous, not sure if there's room, not sure if they're even welcome?

How much does it cost? And how much is it worth?

I'll tell you in a minute. But first, let me tell you about Sarah.

Sarah (not her real name) grew up Jewish. Grandparents' house, long seders, the whole thing. She knew the songs. She knew the smell of the food. She knew the feeling of sitting around a table that felt like it had been set for a thousand years.

And then life happened.

Sarah moved to a new city. She got busy. The years went by. And somewhere in there, without really deciding to, she just drifted. She didn’t choose to stop participating. She just missed. For several years in a row.

Until last year. The night before Passover, Sarah wrote us an email.

She hadn't been to a Jewish event in years. She didn't know if we'd have room. She didn't know if she'd know anyone. She wasn't even sure she'd feel comfortable. But something pulled her to write anyway

Life was okay. But something was missing. A connection. A wholeness. A core of meaning.

"I want to get back into Judaism," she wrote. I’m guessing you’ve known people like Sarah who “woke up” like she did. They felt the pull of her heritage again. Maybe you have felt it at some point in your own life.

So you know how important Passover can be. It can be that moment when you find yourself all over again.

And that’s why I’m hoping you can make a Passover donation to make sure we are there for “Sarahs” who come to us this year.

I think about Sarah's email a lot when I'm setting up for Passover. Because she almost didn't send it. And if she had talked herself out of it — if she'd closed the laptop and gone to sleep — she wouldn't have had a Seder last year. She wouldn't have had that moment. And we wouldn't have known what we missed.

But she sent that email.

And we made room.

Thanks to donations from caring friends like you, we had room for her.

That's what I need your help with this year.

Because Sarah isn't the only one. Last year we also heard from a man — I'll call him David — who was stuck on a work trip thousands of miles from his family in Israel. Hotel room, laptop, no seder, no table, no matzah. Just a Tuesday night in a city where he didn't know a single person. He found us online and showed up.

He felt the love. The connection. The power of yiddishkeit. He called it a home away from home.

And then there was Michael. Just moved to town. Didn't know anyone. Passover was coming and he had nowhere to go. He thought about just letting it pass, but something inside of him said he should look for someplace to go.

"You saved my Passover," he told us afterward.

Three words. They've stayed with me ever since.

Sarah. David. Michael. Three people who almost didn't have a Seder last year. Three people who walked in, not sure what to expect.

And walked out feeling something they didn't know they were missing until they experienced it.

The only reason any of it happened is because the door was open.

That door doesn't stay open by itself . It takes weeks of preparation. It takes food and wine and tables and chairs and a home that is ready to receive whoever walks in.

It takes, if I'm being honest, a lot of money— and I need your help to get there.

I asked you at the beginning of this letter what it costs to say YES to everyone who wants to be there. That’s the cost.

I also asked what it is worth.

Only you can answer that. Look at the world around us. Look at the challenges we all face. I think you know how much Passover means.

As a supporter of our work, your gift of $180 helps cover one guest's place at the table. $360, $540, $1,800 — every dollar goes toward making sure that the next Sarah, the next David, the next Michael — whoever reaches out this year, whenever they reach out — a big, open-arms Jewish YES.

Because Passover has a pull unlike any other holiday.

People who haven't been to a Jewish event in years will find their way to a seder. People who've drifted, who've gotten busy, who've moved away and lost the thread — something calls them back. Maybe it's the memory of their grandparents' table. Maybe it's the smell of brisket. Often, they can't even explain exactly what is pulling them in.

They just know that on Passover, they need to be somewhere.

Passover doesn't belong only to the people who show up every Shabbat. It doesn't belong only to the ones who know all the songs, or remember the Hebrew, or grew up with a seder that went until midnight.

Passover belongs to every Jewish soul.

Because when we sit down at the seder, we're not just commemorating... we're participating in it. We were all in Egypt. We were all redeemed. We all stood at Sinai.

And every year, when the candles are lit and the Haggadah is opened and the questions are asked — all of that comes alive again. Not as history. As memory. As something that lives inside every Jewish person whether they know it or not.

And if the door isn't open, that feeling just fades. The moment passes. Another year goes by.

Please don't let that happen.

Give today at  www.chabadzichron.com/passoverdonation. Whatever amount is right for you.

Wishing you and your family a Chag Kasher V'Sameach —

 

Rabbi Ronnie Fine
Chabad Zichron Kedoshim

 

P.S.   Sarah's email came in at 9pm the night before Passover. We made room. There will be other Sarahs again this year. Your gift is what makes sure we can say yes and welcome each one in. Please give today at www.chabadzichron.com/passoverdonation.