To Heaven’s Eyes - A Shabbat Hagadol Sermon

Through Heaven's Eyes: Shabbat Hagadol
Rabbinic Intern Aaron Blasband-Roth

Shabbat HaGadol stands as the gateway to Passover. In many traditional settings, the greatest Torah scholar in the community stands before them to give instructions on how to prepare for the upcoming holiday. Naturally, Central chose to send me, their rabbinic intern.

The traditional sermon focused on practical instructions: the removal of chametz, the intricacies of preparing utensils for Passover, and the many detailed ways to usher in the holiday properly. While those practices remain rich and meaningful to many, perhaps I can offer an example of what an internal preparation for Passover might look like.

I want to begin with a story. A person once approached the Maggid of Zlotchov with a question: “It is written: ‘Everyone in Israel is required to say: When will my work approach the deeds of the Matriarchs and Patriarchs? Maggid, How can I possibly measure up?’”

The Maggid explained, “Our ancestors provided something new to our tradition, each one according to their individual nature. In the same way, every one of us, each in our own fashion, should create something that is new in light of Jewish teaching and service. We honor our tradition not by doing what has already been done; rather, by adding what is unique about ourselves to the Jewish narrative.”

This is a profound lesson: we aren’t meant to replicate our ancestors’ deeds exactly, but to build upon them in our own unique ways. This idea forms a cornerstone of Reform Judaism—and truly any Judaism that embraces modern life. We don’t throw away the wisdom and practices our forebears struggled to preserve. We honor them by standing on the foundation they built and weaving our own threads into the tapestry of Jewish life.

Throughout my childhood, part of my personal Passover preparation involved watching the movie The Prince of Egypt. In it, Yitro sings “Through Heaven’s Eyes,” urging Moses to see himself as God would: one thread in a vast tapestry that we can’t fully see. We, too, wrestle with our place in tradition. We may question what we can add to a tradition that has been built over thousands of years.

Yitro is teaching us that we should view our lives “through heaven’s eyes,” trusting there is purpose in who we are and what we add to the Jewish story.

As I prepare to graduate and become a rabbi, I am reflecting on three years as the youth and family rabbinic intern at Central. In that time, I’ve experienced the ways in which members of our community continue to weave the tapestry of Jewish life, honoring the past and creating new traditions.

I’ve watched our third-graders in the LCLJ lead their family in Shabbat services that blend traditional liturgy with joyous dance moves and hand motions, bringing new vitality to Shabbat. I’ve led Mishkan, our Saturday morning alternative service, that fuses classic study and prayer with a virtual and in-person community, expanding how we gather to learn and pray together.

Just this past weekend, I helped lead a trip of Central 8th and 9th graders to Arizona, immersing ourselves in the realities of immigration at the border. We do this trip to help the teens weave together their Jewish learning with issues that are alive in the world today. We heard from a diverse set of speakers, engaged in direct service, and walked on the same desert paths that migrants take.

In his reflection on the trip, one of our teens, Evan, stated, “I left with way more knowledge about our country’s immigration system and many more questions. The main takeaway was that there is no easy solution, and every possible answer has downsides. But I learned to understand different people’s perspectives.”

Sabrina’s experiences mirrored that same lesson. She spoke of meeting people whose stories transcended statistics: “Immigrants aren’t only immigrants, they have personalities and lives just like me. After this trip, I want to start volunteering with organizations that help immigrants and asylum seekers.”

Ezra, meanwhile, described his experience of walking in the desert along a migrant route. “Walking along the paths that migrants take to make it to the United States showed me the challenges that migrants face to make it to a better life. The border is an infinitely more complex place than many let on,” he said, “but different opinions are usually bound by their commitment to human lives—which is a Jewish value.”

In embracing these lessons, our teens are creating a new, vibrant pattern for our Jewish tapestry. They carry the empathy that grew in Arizona, the thirst for justice shaped by our ancestors’ journey, and the conviction that Jewish learning can spark change—even when solutions aren’t simple. They have a new story to tell at their Passover seder that weaves the story of our ancestors, the stories of immigration in America, and their own experiences.

But not every new thread has to be as profound as what our teens experienced in Arizona. Sometimes it is the small changes to tradition that can leave a lasting impact. At my childhood seder, as soon as everyone sat down to begin, my mom would take a small glass of grape juice and deliberately spill it on the pristine white tablecloth. Then she would smile and say, “Now nobody has to feel guilty if they spill during the meal!”

It was her gentle invitation for us all to relax. Looking back, this ritual was as important to me as the four questions, singing Dayeinu, or searching for the afikomen. While this practice may not be written in stone as Halakhah from Mount Sinai, for me, it wouldn’t have been an authentic Passover seder without this ritual.

Passover calls us to celebrate the gift of freedom, not just by telling an ancient story, but by living its lessons. Freedom means we have agency in how we express our Jewish identities, weaving new stories and traditions together with the old. We can hold tight to the practices that move our souls, gently set aside those that do not resonate with us, and explore creative ways to keep Judaism relevant, joyful, and inclusive for ourselves and our community.

In doing so, we recall our ancestors’ journey from slavery toward liberation, honoring their courage by declaring: our relationship with tradition remains alive; our tapestry is vibrant; our story continues.