My friend Dan was recently given an offer almost too good to pass up: a friend of his owns an apartment on the West Side and was willing to rent it to him at a price far below market value. He really just wanted the maintenance fees and property tax to be covered; if Dan would take care of that, he could live there with his wife for as long as he wished. The apartment is twice the size of Dan’s current apartment, and the rent would be half.
If you live in Manhattan, you probably just felt a tinge of completely justifiable envy. After all, isn’t that everyone’s dream? More space, less money. Why on earth would anyone turn that down?
But as I needled Dan, “Does that mean we won’t be seeing you in shul anymore? You’ll be able to sleep in peacefully now – no more annoying text messages from me begging you to help us make a minyan,” he surprised me by saying, “Rabbi, I turned down the offer.”
It is entirely possible my mouth dropped open in shock. “Are you crazy?” I genuinely wanted to know. “How can you turn down such a rare and generous offer?”
But Dan explained to me that while the offer seemed irresistible in almost every way, there was one major problem: community. Dan has frequented the Chabad Israel Center since we opened five years ago. He explained that to him the sense of community, the friendships and the shul are irreplaceable. And he shared his desire to hold onto that for as long as possible.
Wow. Dan was giving up a golden opportunity to embrace something I’d once only dreamed of: the Chabad Israel Center community. For the first time since we moved to Manhattan, I truly feel like we’d succeeded in creating it.
And while we, on the East Side, may be feeling that sense of unity and cohesiveness that defines community, the reality is that world Jewry is all one extended community. We may live far apart. We may follow different customs, speak different languages and eat different foods. But we are part of a single entity: the Jewish nation.
Sometimes we feel those bonds more strongly. Sadly, tragedies tend to bring that sense of global community closer to the surface. When a Jew suffers, we all feel his or her pain. When a mother loses her child in a terror attack, we all mourn. When a young soldier is held captive in hostile land, we all rally for his release. When rockets are fired into civilian areas in the South of Israel, their outrage is our outrage.
Imagine if we could feel that same sense of community on happier occasions? In just a few short days Jews worldwide will be sitting down to a Seder to celebrate freedom– past, present and future. Passover is statistically one of the most celebrated Jewish holidays. When we set up our Seder plates, so will all our Jewish brothers and sisters. When we drink four cups of wine, so will they. When we tell the story of the Exodus, so will they.
This year, when we sit at the Seder with our family and friends, our finest china and bitterest herbs, let’s remember that we are not individual entities; we are part of a larger community. We are part of a single nation, following a singular path with a universal goal: Redemption.
There is strength in numbers and strength in community. But in order to access that power, we need to recognize and acknowledge its source. This Passover, let’s do it.