GOOD MORNING! A few weeks ago I was invited to an event with some very successful Jewish businessmen and community leaders. Perhaps inevitably, over the course of the evening the discussion turned to the war in Gaza, and I overheard the following conversation:

“My son told me that since the events of October 7th he has decided that he wants to only marry a Jewish woman. My son is 38 years old, and it is the first time that he even considered limiting himself to women of the Jewish faith.”

His father was very proud (and relieved) that it was suddenly important to his son to marry within his faith and raise a Jewish family. As I have written previously, the horrors of October 7th, and the ensuing general aura of antisemitism globally, have made many unaffiliated and disconnected Jews look deep into their hearts and consider who they are and what it means to be a Jew.

For the majority of their lives, these people have done their best to ignore their Jewish roots – and Judaism in general – and quietly blend into society at large. I recently met a culturally Jewish man who named his two sons Blake and Todd, and his daughter Mallory. His sole nod to his Jewish roots? The names of his two dogs; Chaim and Yankel!

(Don’t even get me started on “Bark Mitzvahs.” This unfortunate custom, which first appeared in 1958 Beverly Hills, California (where else?), is some sort of observance and celebration of a dog’s coming of age – whatever that means. I guess it was inevitable considering that, for many, a bar mitzvah is just a lavish party and not connected to a serious Jewish ritual – basically all “bar” and no “mitzvah.”

The poor dog, who of course has no concept of what’s going on or that he even had a birthday, is comically draped in a doggie talit and yarmulke. For the casual observer, it must be a rather strange combination of sadness and hilarity at the same time. Seems too bizarre to be true? Go on Amazon and you’ll see that they have sold hundreds of these Bark Mitzvah sets. Oy.)

But the horrors of October 7th changed the world and today, like in 1935 Germany, even the most unaffiliated Jews are being called out as Jews, forcing them to confront what Judaism really means to them. It is slowly beginning to sink in that even if they wanted to ignore their Jewish ancestry the antisemites aren’t going to let them. Thus, many Jews are now leaning into it and embracing their Jewish roots – they still may not know what it means to them, but they are beginning to redefine their identity with Judaism in mind.

I have always been fascinated by how important it is to the human psyche to identify oneself with a larger subset of people. This innate need is easily demonstrated when it comes to sporting events. A person who walks into a room of people watching a football game will inevitably ask, “Are we winning?” As if he and the people in attendance actually own part of the team. This is true in every aspect of our lives (we won the Revolutionary War, etc.).

This week’s Torah portion contains the last of the ten plagues that were brought by the Almighty on Pharaoh and the Egyptian people who were enslaving the Jewish nation. Prior to the tenth and final plague, the Jewish nation is commanded to slaughter a Paschal lamb and place the blood of the lamb on their doorposts. This was, ostensibly, so that during the plague God would know which was a Jewish home and which was an Egyptian one, and thus “pass over” the Jewish homes.

But this is rather odd. God doesn’t need us to inform Him of anything. So why were we commanded to put blood on the doorposts to differentiate the homes?

The tenth and final plague is all about self-identifying as a Jew. Of course, God didn’t need blood on the doorposts to identify which was a Jewish home verses an Egyptian one. Rather, it was an act of self-identification; we had to acknowledge that, even though we had lived in Egypt for a couple of hundred years we identified as Jews and not as Egyptians. (It is, of course, no coincidence that to this day we place a mezuzah in that very same place – the doorposts of our home – to identify that the home is occupied by Jews.)

My brilliant brother Rabbi Akiva Zweig likes to say, “Judaism isn’t a spectator sport; it’s a contact sport.” We cannot just “be” Jewish; we have to live Jewish. We need to immerse ourselves within it and own our Judaism. Perhaps the most important achievement in that area is the messaging that we do within our own families. Our obligation is to focus on raising the next generation of proud and engaged Jews.

This is why the holiday of Passover, which celebrates the culmination of being freed from Egypt and the birth of the Jewish nation, is hyper-focused on the messaging to our children. In order to achieve this perspective, the overarching theme of the Passover Seder is the retelling of all that the Almighty has done for us as a people. There is a very specific mitzvah in the Torah regarding this:

“That you may tell your son and grandson how I toyed with the Egyptians and the miracles that I performed in their midst so that you may know that I am God” (Exodus 10:2).

This verse is the source of the mitzvah of telling over the story of the Exodus. Yet the construct of the verse seems a little odd; the verse ends with “so that you may know that I am God.” Since the purpose of retelling the story of the Exodus is to relate the greatness of the Almighty and all that He has done, the verse should have ended with “so that they will know that I am God.” Why do we say “so that you will know that I am God”?

Additionally, one would naturally think that a person would have to internalize the greatness of the Almighty before telling it over to one’s children and grandchildren. So why does the Torah point out that only after telling the story to your sons and grandsons will you then know?

The Torah is conveying a very deep message here. We live in a society that celebrates people for no other reason than they are the children of famous people. (Even worse, often those famous people are only famous for being famous, not for ever having accomplished anything of substance, such as the Kardashians.) Thus, many people are preoccupied by their lineage – as if they were racehorses and their parentage somehow makes them special.

But they are so focused with themselves and their careers that they often leave the most precious things in their lives – their children – to be raised by nannies and strangers. Aside from the TERRIBLE outcomes that inevitably occur from that sort of upbringing, these parents are totally missing what is perhaps going to be their defining legacy: their children and grandchildren.

What most people fail to grasp is that, in the end, wherever their kids end up, they will end up as well. Time and time again, I have seen that if a person’s children become more religious then the parents will slowly follow suit. Unfortunately, the converse is also true; if one’s children lessen their Torah observance then the parents usually begin to make accommodations and compromises.

When it comes to choosing between family and religion most choose family. After all, it’s only natural to want to be wholly connected with one’s children and grandchildren.

This is what the Torah is conveying: When you properly educate your children in the understanding of God’s relationship with His people and articulate everything that the Almighty has done for the Jewish people and their descendants, then your children and grandchildren will follow the same path. Ultimately, your identity follows them; where they end up is where you’ll end up. That’s why the verse ends “so that you may know that I am God.”

The Torah is teaching us that the most important principle in self-identification as a Jew is ensuring that your children and grandchildren see the value of being a Jew and understanding the responsibilities that come with it. It is only in this way that our own Jewish identity and Jewish legacy can be preserved.

Bo, Exodus 10:1 - 13:16

This week we conclude the ten plagues with the plagues of locusts, darkness, and the death of the first-born. The laws of Passover are presented, followed by the commandment to wear tefillin, consecrate the first-born animal, and redeem one’s first born son. The Torah tells us that, at some time in the future, your son will ask you about these commandments and you will answer: “With a show of power, God brought us out of Egypt, the place of slavery. When Pharaoh stubbornly refused to let us leave, God killed all the first-born in Egypt, man and beast alike. I, therefore, offer to God all male first-born (animals) and redeem all the first-born of sons. And it shall be a sign upon your arm, and an ornament between your eyes (tefillin), for with a strong hand the Almighty removed us from Egypt” (Exodus 13:15).