by Rabbi Elliot Schrier
“Grandchildren are the crown of the elders,” Shlomo HaMelech teaches us in Sefer Mishlei. It’s an adage that has been echoed by countless others – through wisdom, wit, and whimsy – through the ages. “Perfect love sometimes does not come until the first grandchild,” declares an oft-cited Welsh proverb. Louisa May Alcott once said that “every home needs a grandmother in it.” Or, as my own parents are fond of saying, “Grandchildren are G-d’s gift for not killing your children.”
Collectively, the quips and aphorisms capture a sentiment with particular resonance on the holiday of Pesach. And yet, embedded within these feelings lies a subtle but important risk.
At the very beginning of Parshas Bo (Shemos 10:2), the Torah makes a point of emphasizing that the imperative to share the story of Yetzias Metzrayim – and to transmit its underlying theological values – is not limited to just one’s children.
וּלְמַ֡עַן תְּסַפֵּר֩ בְּאָזְנֵ֨י בִנְךָ֜ וּבֶן־ בִּנְךָ֗ אֵ֣ת אֲשֶׁ֤ר הִתְעַלַּ֙לְתִּי֙ בְּמִצְרַ֔יִם וְאֶת־אֹתֹתַ֖י אֲשֶׁר־שַׂ֣מְתִּי בָ֑ם וִֽידַעְתֶּ֖ם כִּי־אֲנִ֥י יְקֹוָֽק
“You shall transmit to your children and to your grandchildren all that I have done in Egypt, the miracles that I performed there, and you shall know that I am Hashem.”
The story of our people is not meant to stop at a single generational handoff. It is meant to echo forward.
And, to be sure, the spiritual significance of the grandparent-grandchild relationship is hardly confined to the night of the Seder. At the very beginning of his Hilchos Talmud Torah (1:2), the Rambam emphasizes that the year-round obligation to teach Torah to one’s children extends to grandchildren as well:
כשם שחייב אדם ללמד את בנו כך הוא חייב ללמד את בן בנו
“Just as one is obligated to teach their child Torah, so too are they obligated to teach his grandchild.”
Experientially, the power of intergenerational transmission is perhaps most vivid and poignant on the night of the Seder. A single Seder table can often feature three or four generations celebrating our heritage together. It is a living embodiment of Mesorah. Not an abstract concept, but something we can see, hear, and feel.
But the power of the intergenerational Seder experience ought to come with a note of caution: while the Torah places great value on the relationship between grandparents and grandchildren, it never intended for that relationship to come at the expense of the generation in between. Sadly, far too often it does.
This dynamic is often felt most acutely by adult single children. When grandchildren enter the family picture, a family’s center of gravity can quickly begin to shift. The excitement of grandchildren – their energy, their innocence, their messy hands and adorable cheeks – naturally draw attention. Their school projects cover the refrigerator, and their pictures occupy every spare inch of wall space. And in all the festivity and hoopla, others can begin to feel… less seen.
Adult single children celebrate their siblings’ marriages with genuine joy. They delight in their nieces and nephews with love, adoration, and, at times, a spoiling extra candy or two. And they often simultaneously find themselves navigating their own complex journeys through the fraught world of Jewish dating, with all its uncertainties and challenges.
As they do so, they can experience a quiet but profound shift: a sense that their place within the family has changed. Where they were once central, they are now peripheral, that the attention, the conversation, the emotional energy has moved on, that within their own homes, they feel almost invisible.
The congregants who have expressed this sentiment to me know full well that the slight is never intentional. It is never malicious. They know, cognitively, that their parents love them no less than they ever did.
And yet, the impact is real.
It manifests in countless subtle ways. Look, for example, at the pictures that adorn our homes. Are they exclusively of our grandchildren? Or do they also reflect meaningful moments shared with adult children? A hike? A fishing trip? An outing to a Broadway show or just some quiet time together at home?
Consider the conversations around the Shabbos table. Do they revolve entirely around school schedules, carpools, and milestones of the youngest generation? Or is there space carved out for the lives, interests, and thoughts of the adults in the room?
And perhaps most immediately, consider the Seder night itself.
There is, of course, a well-deserved spotlight on the child who sings the Mah Nishtanah. It’s an immediate Seder highlight, a beautiful and cherished moment. We love hiding and searching for the Afikoman, and listening to the Divrei Torah the children learned in school.
But is there also space for the adult child who no longer stands on a chair or negotiates for an Afikoman present? The Haggada is certainly rich and deep enough to speak on many different levels. Do we allow it to? A true Seder table is not one that revolves around a single generation, but one that holds all generations at once. The Torah’s emphasis on grandchildren is not meant to narrow our focus; it is meant to broaden it.
Finding the right balance is no easy task. Different generations have different needs, and the oldest generation is, at times, unfairly expected to possess the Solomonic wisdom needed to navigate it all. Never are we perfect. Inevitably, mistakes are made.
This is the task of parenting. The task of building homes – and Seder tables -where every generation feels seen, heard, and valued. Where no one is overlooked or passed over. Where every link in our chain feels connected to the link that came before it and to the one that comes after. And where the crown of grandchildren brightens the entire family it adorns.
Rabbi Elliot Schrier is the mara d’asra of Bnai Yeshurun in Teaneck, New Jersey.
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