Alas, don’t worry, ‘Next year in Jerusalem’ is only a song

Choni Davidowitz, Johannesburg

The home on seder night is impeccable – the result of great time and energy which the skilful ba’alat ha’bayit (woman of the house) has devoted to it.

The five-metre-long dining room table is covered with the finest Irish linen tablecloth. The china is the finest, in honour of the great night. On the insistence of their two sons learning in the nearby yeshiva, the matzot laying under a hand-embroidered silk cloth, are from the first 18 minute batch personally chosen by the rebbe of the shtiebel where the family daven.

The seder goes better than expected. Words of Torah are discussed throughout the seder. The afikomen is “stolen” by the youngest daughter, who for its return, has succeeded in extorting from abba a brand new outfit.

Songs of thanks to Hashem for freeing the Jewish people from slavery in Egypt, are recited. For it is a mitzvah on this night for each person to consider himself as if he or she were slaves in Egypt.

Birkat hamazon, and Hallel are recited, and Chad Gadya puts the final touch on the mitzvot of the night.

Now, just as the song ends, father Koppel jumps up and gathering the entire family in a circle, they all break out in a frenzy of song – L’ shana ha’ba’a Be’Yerushalyim – “next year in Jerusalem”.

Again and again, around the table L’shana ha’ba’a Be’ Yerushalaim is sounded. Louder and louder until their song merges with the same melody resounding from the neighbours’ homes.

Suddenly Mama Ruth collapses into a chair crying hysterically. The singing stops. Father Koppel runs over and asks why she is crying just now at the apex of the sacred night.

What do you mean “Next year in Jerusalem”? the highly sensitive mother asks. What about our table and deep carpet and china and our new kitchen! How can we leave all this?

Koppel approaches Ruth and taking her hand while gently dabbing her tears away, in a voice full of compassion, says to his beloved wife: “Darling, don’t cry, it’s only a song.”