We had a wonderful Seder at the synagogue with about 30 people — young and old, men and women, members and guests, children, all colors. Our B’nei Mitzvah, Julian Graf and Ayla Eisenberg, were chasing the afikomen under the watchful eye of Julian’s older sister, Savana. A festive Seder. Yet a bittersweet Seder this year with the posters of kidnapped Israelis on Elijah’s and Miriam’s chairs.

I wore a white cotton shirt, embroidered in blue at the open-necked collar, with lace connecting the two sides of the V-neck. Ma nishtana halayla hazeh? How is this night different from all other nights? Different from the dress shirt and tie I normally wear?

A week before Passover, I was invited to speak at a small prayer conference near San Jose in Costa Rica. Among mango trees and the hot sun, the conference was a low-budget, high-spirited weekend. All the attendees spoke Spanish, many exclusively, so we had to use a translator. I became Rabbino Gadi to them, half of whom never in their lives had met a Jew.

At the end of the conference, we continued to travel north until we arrived at the Nicaraguan border. The country, which is known for its water, as the second half of its name indicates, gave me a passing over water experience. But it wasn’t the only passing over experience. This was a border I never thought I would cross. As a kid growing up in the ‘80s, I kept hearing the name Nicaragua in connection to revolutions and arms deals.

In a way, the Nicaragua experience was, for me, exactly the opposite of the Passover I would soon experience here at home, where the Seder table would be laden with good food and the symbols of freedom.

But there, once we crossed the border, I felt the change immediately. Even the dramatic terrain — the volcanoes and lakes — couldn’t hide the poverty and the simple living conditions. We hired a couple of locals to show us around, and we tried to be kind to the people there, generous, buying food from the fruit stands as we passed by.

Crossing the border back into Costa Rica, we passed many street markets and booths along the way. At one of them, a white shirt hanging on a hanger and blowing in the wind caught my eye, and my heart. Its blue and white colors and its spirit connected me to it. I knew right then that I would wear it at the Seder I would lead at the shul. The shirt symbolized freedom in a place where it felt more like Egypt. Somehow, it reminded me of the spirit of the Israelites, who felt freedom blowing under their wings before liftoff — the wind that penetrates the humble body and resurrects it.

Like the crossing the Israelites never imagined passing over, I, too, passed over a simple border line that left an indelible impact — a profound experience of passing over that we celebrate all these thousands of years later.

The Talmud states that in the month of Nisan, the people of Israel were redeemed, and in the month of Nisan they will be redeemed in the future.  May it be this year.

Moadim Lesimcha,

— Rabbi Gadi Capela