Elijah the Prophet: A child’s view of plagues, miracles and the open door

Jack Doppelt

March 26, 2021

[This is the first in a series of three stories published in preparation for the upcoming Passover holiday. A version of this piece has been incorporated into our family's Passover Haggadah since 2001.]

They don't see him. They never do when they open the door. I've gone from one Seder to another and I see him. Maybe that's what happens when you grow up. You stop seeing and you stop believing. I've been seeing him for a few years now. I hope I don't stop seeing him now that I'm b’nei mitzvahed. He doesn't have a shape, like Santa Claus. No beard. But he carries the traditions with him. Not in a bag either. I can see them. I can hear them too. 

The tradition of telling stories. The tradition of enough stories, of being antsy and hungry, of sneaking a peek at the last pages while no one's looking to see when Shulchan Orech -- the dinner being served -- will finally come. How many pages to go? That's the tradition of the matzah right there. No time, gotta go. Can't wait until it's finished. Can't wait for the dough to rise. Same thing really. 

The tradition of the four questions, of watching us, the younger ones, show off for the grown ups. Okay,

                                Traditional Four Questions

they want us to show off. But I get that tradition. They call it qvelling. I like that word. What if, just what if, I didn't know the four questions or much of anything else about my past? 

As I think about it, I don't know much about the past, what my grandparents did or were like or thought about. But I do know they asked the four questions. I can see them. I can hear them at a table just like this, with family, with friends, with strangers. Doing what we're doing. Eating what we're eating. Remembering the bad, fearing the worst, and finding hope in it all. Because it's there. That's what he comes to remind us about.  

They keep talking about plagues, about ones I've never heard of. The grown ups keep having to look them up. What's a boil? What kind of vermin? How bad can hail get anyway? There are real plagues around. Every day. Wars, famine, starvation, disease, things people face every day, one worse than the last. I could count ten in just the people I know, at this table, at any table. 

The part I really don't get, every time I hear it, is Dayenu. Don't get me wrong, I love the song. See, just thinking about it brings out the rhyme in me. But it's about all these miracles. One for each plague. More. Bringing the Jews out of Egypt, dividing the sea, providing Manna, the Sabbath, the Torah. And at the end of each line, we sing Dayenu. Any one would have been enough. I don't think so. It's not that I'm not grateful. I am.

But plagues don't go away. They're here all the time. We're not done needing miracles. Sometimes the plagues don't seem so bad, so the miracles don't have to be so miraculous. But they're still miracles. And they happen all the time. That's why he comes every year. The door is always open. 

And in walks the tradition of the miracle.

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