Bedtime Stories
(You might read this passage before beginning to tell the “story/maggid” of our liberation from slavery.)
Every night, at nearly the same moment in time, like clockwork, a sacred rite is reenacted in our home. The scenario is always the same. Their teeth are brushed, PJs are on, and we stand together in front of the bookcase. Then comes the familiar plea: “Daddy, read us a story. Please?”
“OK. But just one.” As they sit, one on either side of me, listening intently to tales they’ve heard so many times before, I’m amazed. Why are they so spellbound? They practically know it by heart. What’s this story saying to them now that it hasn’t said before?
Amidst yawns and weary eyes, we reach the end of our tale. And as I tuck them
in, both respond in the same way: “Thanks, Daddy. That was a really good story.” As I walk out of their room, I realize why they were thanking me. Their days are filled with new challenges and concerns, wonders and worries that go by without explanation. So many conflicting and competing thoughts buzzing around in their tiny heads, they need a story or two to put it all together, to give the day’s events a sense of meaning before they fall off to sleep.
So it doesn’t really matter how many times they’d heard it before. Each time, the story is brand new. It is what they need to hear.
Our telling – the Haggadah, our Passover bedtime story – is a sacred rite. But it’s also the same thing. Out of the confusions and incoherence of busy days and years, the words weave a dream of hope and wholeness. We recapture our ability to climb inside of words, to blend dreams and reality, and to affirm our conviction: that beyond the mystery of life, there is meaning.
Rabbi Jeffrey Sirkman