At the end of Parshat Bo, before the children of Israel exit Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, G-d commands the still-enslaved people to tell the story of their yet-to-be redemption to future generations. 

וְהִגַּדְתָּ לְבִנְךָ בַּיּוֹם הַהוּא לֵאמֹר בַּעֲבוּר זֶה עָשָׂה ה' לִי בְּצֵאתִי מִמִּצְרָיִם׃

And you shall tell your child on that day, saying, “It is because of what the L-rd did for me when I went free from Egypt.” 

Shemot 13:8 

In His Infinite Oneness, as Maimonides explains, G-d does not experience time.1 Past, present, and future converge. Yet for the Jews still waiting to witness a promised deliverance and experience freedom first-hand, I imagine this anticipatory commandment must have felt both premature and reassuring. 

Over the last few years, gathering families and making Passover plans has been especially challenging. None of us know the future. Many have felt the pain of empty seats at the Seder table, as well as the joy of newly assembled highchairs. From the very young to the hard-wisdom won, the participants at the Seder present a range of ages, abilities, and attention spans. And with great blessing comes the great responsibility of handling the complexities of intergenerational communication with care. 

One of the most devastating stories of a mismanaged parent-child relationship is captured in Shakespeare’s King Lear. The life of “[King Leir], ruler over the Britaines in the yeare of the world 3105 at what time Ioas reigned in Iuda,” was recorded in Holinshed’s Chronicles and other sources Shakespeare frequently consulted throughout his career.2 The play begins with the aged king’s decision to resign the throne and divide his kingdom between his daughters while he lives so “that future strife may be prevented.” Yet in forcing his daughters to compete for their portions— demanding each answer “Which of you doth love me most?”— he initiates a sibling rivalry that escalates to familial and political devastation. The youngest, Cordelia, refuses to flatter her father like her sisters, plainly stating, “I love your Majesty according to my bond, no more nor less.” Her honesty is met with incredulity. Lear prompts her to mend her speech and she continues, “You have begot me, bred me, loved me. I return those duties back as are right fit: obey you, love you, honor you,” adding she hopes never to be like her sisters who have husbands but claim to love their father “all.” Cordelia’s instant and severe banishment activates the question that powers the rest of the play: what do children owe parents and parents owe their children?

Though Shakespeare often sidestepped controversy by setting his plays in the pagan past, Cordelia’s use of “bond,” “obey,” and “honor” would have had biblical resonance for his Protestant audience.3 In the religious discourse of the day, the fifth commandment to honor one’s father and mother was a basic tenant of faith. In the time of the Israelites’ exodus, it was nothing short of revolutionary. 

In ancient Egypt, the nuclear family was the basic social unit. Monogamy was predominant, and census records show the average household included two adults and two children; sons grew up, married, and moved to start a new household, and the “mode of residence appears to have been of a neolocal type” in which new couples would live independently from their parents.4 As a result of this common practice, sons focused on the needs of their spouses and couples on their offspring, creating a child-centric society that puts the tenth plague into sharper focus. “If thou wouldest be wise,” the Egyptian vizier Ptah-Hotep advises his son, “provide for thine house, and love thy wife that is in thine arms.”5 In his account of Egypt, Herodotus notes that “to support their parents the sons are in no way compelled if they do not desire to do so, but the daughters are forced to do so.”6 All of this, including the fact that Egyptians lacked kinship terminology for relatives beyond the nuclear family, illustrates a culture that distanced adult children from their elderly parents, with each successive generation living in relative autonomy from the previous one.7

Prior to their descent into Egypt, Bnai Yisrael lived and camped as large multigenerational families, but centuries of slavery had altered their living arrangements and eroded their values. While Egyptians might have been able to assist parents in their old age through slaves and financial support, the Israelites didn’t have such luxuries, creating a situation in which the older generation might be abandoned. In this light, the fifth commandment (Kibud Av V'Em) given to the Jewish people in the desert is radically countercultural:

כַּבֵּד אֶת־אָבִיךָ וְאֶת־אִמֶּךָ לְמַעַן יַאֲרִכוּן יָמֶיךָ עַל הָאֲדָמָה אֲשֶׁר־ה' אֱלֹקיךָ נֹתֵן לָךְ׃

Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land that your G-d giveth thee.

Shemot 20:12

In addition to establishing a form of social security for the newly fledged nation, as our Sages have taught, the placement of Kibud Av V’em among the first half of the Ten Commandments which focus on humankind’s obligations to their Creator implies one’s existence and assets, including parents, are all from Hashem, as is the obligation to honor them. In the words of Rabbi Sacks, “Honoring parents acknowledges our human createdness. It tells us that not everything that matters is the result of our choice, chief of which is the fact that we exist at all.”8 It also consecrates the multigenerational family as essential to Jewish life and avodat Hashem. For the Abarbanel, honoring parents is fundamental to Judaism since our ancestors are the bearers of our mesora.9 And perhaps contrary to popular belief and invocation, this mitzvah is not expressly for the young. Linking the verb kabed (honor) to wealth (as in Proverbs 3:9), Chizkuni implies that Kibud Av V’em is directed at adult children since fulfilling the mitzvah properly would require financial resources and a degree of autonomy, which is more befitting individuals in the stage of life when they are earning a living and having children of their own.

While it might seem that the divine injunction to honor one’s parents was a cultural necessity for the newly emancipated Israelites at Sinai, the second iteration of the commandment in Devarim underscores its timeless relevance. 

כַּבֵּד אֶת־אָבִיךָ וְאֶת־אִמֶּךָ כַּאֲשֶׁר צִוְּךָ ה׳ אֱלֹקיךָ לְמַעַן יַאֲרִיכֻן יָמֶיךָ וּלְמַעַן יִיטַב לָךְ עַל הָאֲדָמָה אֲשֶׁר־ה' אֱלֹקיךָ נֹתֵן לָךְ׃

Honor your father and your mother, as your G-d has commanded you, that your days may be prolonged and that it may go well with thee in the land that your G-d giveth thee. 

Devarim 5:16

As society advances, the tendency for children to feel "ahead" of their parents advances too. And while we may tend to think a lack of respect toward adults is a 21st-century problem exacerbated by the digital age, the Torah shows this is hardly a contemporary phenomenon. After just forty years in the desert, even the Jewish people needed reminding, and our Sages suggest, the additional phrase “as your G-d has commanded you” inserted in the second iteration of the law of Kibud Av V’em underscores the ever-present potential for reverence recession.

The Talmud is not short on stories and discussions about the physical and emotional difficulties facing children of aging parents, including Rabbi Ismael’s mother who complains when he refuses to let her drink the water used to wash his feet.10 In Kiddushin 31a, the Sages teach:

כִּיבּוּד מַאֲכִיל וּמַשְׁקֶה מַלְבִּישׁ וּמְכַסֶּה מַכְנִיס וּמוֹצִיא

What is considered honor? He gives his father food and drink, dresses and covers him, and brings him in and takes him out, for all his household needs.

Evidently, such acts cannot be performed unless the child cohabitates with his or her parent or is able provide a substitute caregiver. Of course, not all children are in such a position, and the Shulchan Aruch states that in fulfilling one’s obligation, the child need not incur personal financial loss but can draw on available resources from the parent; furthermore, if being physically present to serve as an aid prevents the child from meeting his professional responsibilities, he is not “obligated to miss work and end up a beggar’s son.”11 

This is the predicament Lear’s eldest daughter Goneril finds herself in when her father comes to live with her. The cost of hosting the king and his hundred knights and squires drains her domestic resources, and she asks her father to reduce his entourage in an effort to restore economy and order to her household. When Lear refuses, both daughters demand he justifies his need for not only one hundred, fifty, or ten companions, but even one. Although Lear is stubborn, Shakespeare elicits the audience’s sympathy by portraying the painful reduction of an elderly man’s agency and dignity in real-time. Before Lear storms out, he slings bitter curses at his daughters and declares, “How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child.” 

The Talmud also has harsh words for a child who fails to fuse the right actions with the right attitude toward a parent.

תָּנֵי אֲבִימִי בְּרֵיהּ דְּרַבִּי אֲבָהוּ יֵשׁ מַאֲכִיל לְאָבִיו פַּסְיוֹנֵי וְטוֹרְדוֹ מִן הָעוֹלָם.

Avimi, son of Rabbi Abbahu, taught: There is a type of son who feeds his father pheasant and yet this behavior causes him to be removed from the World, i.e., the World-to-Come. 

Kiddushin 31a

For Rashi and Tosafot, meeting a parent’s physical needs, even in excess, merits severe punishment if done with resentment and communicated with hostility. 

The Haggadah famously records conversations between a father and four sons, identified not by names but by character traits. When introducing the questions of the three sons who speak, the Haggadah writes:

חָכָם מָה הוּא אוֹמֵר… רָשָׁע מָה הוּא אוֹמֵר…תָּם מָה הוּא אוֹמֵר

What does the wise son say?… What does the wicked son say?… What does the simple son say?...

In his commentary on the Haggadah, the Lubavitcher Rebbe shares that his father-in-law, the Friediker Rebbe, understood the words mah hu omer not as what does he say but as mah hu (what he is), omer (he speaks), meaning that a person’s true character can be discerned from how he or she communicates.”12 For example, after observing the labor and expense that goes into the Seder, the Rasha asks: 

מָה הָעֲבֹדָה הַזֹּאת לָכֶם

What is this worship to you?

Shemot 12:26 

The Haggadah notes that his word choice of lachem v’lo lo (‘To you’ and not ‘to him’) is a verbal rejection of his father’s values. In response, the Haggadah advises the father: “you will blunt his teeth and say to him, ‘For the sake of this, did the L–rd do [this] for me in my going out of Egypt' (Exodus 13:8).” ‘For me’ and not ‘for him.’ If he had been there, he would not have been saved.” While this response has been understood as a harsh yet deserved rebuke, what is gained here? Indeed, the son may still be in Mitzrayim mentally— enslaved to a cultural paradigm that distances fathers and sons— but how does further alienating an already alienated child help? For the Lubavitcher Rebbe, placing emphasis on the word “there” transforms the message from banishment to benevolence. Indeed, redemption during the Exodus was contingent on consent, and had this son been in Egypt at that time, he would not have been redeemed; however, the father implies, we are no longer there but in the present post-Sinai era, when every Jew is free to choose a relationship with Hashem at any moment.13 

As the Haggadah implies, we can mitigate tensions between parents and children by being mindful of tense. In his book Thank You for Arguing: What Aristotle, Lincoln, and Homer Simpson Can Teach Us About the Art of Persuasion, Jay Heinrichs explains that the past tense (forensic rhetoric) is all about blame and punishment. “Look what you did!” “She started it!” The chief topics of past tense are guilt and innocence, and when people feel judged, they get defensive. The present tense is demonstrative and is used for labeling and evaluation. “You never call.” “You are a slob.” The future tense is deliberative and deals with choices. Its chief topic, according to Aristotle, is the advantageous next thing. Admittedly, teaching my teen these tools has made arguing with her more difficult. Consider the following scenario.

Me: You were supposed to be asleep by now.

My daughter: What time is it?

Me: 12:05 am.

My daughter: You’re right. I should have been watching the time more carefully.

Me: Yes, you should have. I tell you all the time.

My daughter: I must have been too focused on [writing this essay that I’m really proud of / driving slowly at night to be more cautious / listening to Sarah, who’s been going through a lot lately…]. I’ll set an alarm right now on my phone for 10:30 pm every night and make sure I’m more careful in the future.

Me: ...Um, okay. Thanks.

The reality is, of course, children are not perfect, and many parents are objectively problematic. Lear forces his daughters to compete for his love, and both the king and the Earl of Gloucester reject children who honor them justly in favor of flatterers who fan their egos. For their pride, greed, vanity, lust, duplicity, and ignorance, Shakespeare literalizes the curses G-d says will befall those who do not faithfully observe His commandments: 

יַכְּכָה ה' בְּשִׁגָּעוֹן וּבְעִוָּרוֹן וּבְתִמְהוֹן לֵבָב׃ וְהָיִיתָ מְמַשֵּׁשׁ בַּצׇּהֳרַיִם כַּאֲשֶׁר יְמַשֵּׁשׁ הַעִוֵּר בָּאֲפֵלָה וְלֹא תַצְלִיחַ אֶת־דְּרָכֶיךָ וְהָיִיתָ אַךְ עָשׁוּק וְגָזוּל כׇּל־הַיָּמִים וְאֵין מוֹשִׁיעַ׃ 

G-d will strike you with madness, blindness, and dismay. You shall grope at noon as the blind grope in the dark; you shall not prosper in your ventures, but shall be constantly abused and robbed, with none to give help. 

Devarim 28:28 -29 

During the 17th century, audiences were so unsettled by the pathos of an enfeebled and mad Lear wandering through the wilderness with the blinded and abandoned Gloucester that Nahum Tate composed an alternative ending, and Tate’s “happier” version supplanted the bard’s on English stage for over a century. 

Although Lear and Cordelia both die in Shakespeare’s tragedy, he does include a poignant scene toward the end when the two are momentarily reunited. When Lear struggles to recognize his own daughter, Cordelia requests, “O, look upon me, sir, and hold your hands in benediction o'er me,” which summons to mind images of the Avot who gathered their offspring as their own eyes dimmed to bestow blessings upon them. Although Lear asks Cordelia for forgiveness, he never truly intuits his mistake: believing that the parent-child bond is about reciprocity instead of perpetuity and futurity. Although many commentaries read the promise of ya’arichun yamecha (lengthened days) in Shemot 20:12 and Devarim 5:16 as a quid pro quo reward for Kibud Av V’em, longevity in itself isn’t always a boon when we consider the effects of aging, even when adult children do everything in their power to maximize comfort and dignity. Yet living long enough to see the transmission of Torah and the continuity of the covenant from one generation to the next is a most precious gift, one which Moshe Rabbenu— who spent his whole life living apart from his own parents— desperately yearned for. 

In the Folio version of Shakespeare’s tragedy, Gloucester’s surviving son urges the audience at the end of the play: “The weight of this sad time we must obey; Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.” However, after listening to Lear wish infertility on his own daughters at the height of his fury, we’re left to wonder whether this is actually good advice. And if we do aim to speak only “what we ought to say,” then “ought” according to whom or what? 

G-d willing, our homes will host family and friends of varying degrees of cognation, habitation, and cerebration this Passover as each of us is bound to not only retell a story from our collective history but imagine ourselves personally experiencing the Exodus.

בְּכׇל דּוֹר וָדוֹר חַיָּיב אָדָם לִרְאוֹת אֶת עַצְמוֹ כְּאִילּוּ הוּא יָצָא מִמִּצְרַיִם

In each and every generation one is obligated to see ourselves as if they went out from Egypt 

Pesachim 116b

Numerous laws and guidelines exist to help us navigate the Seder night for a multigenerational crowd. Laws pertaining to what we should say and when are extensive, including directives provided in the Haggadah itself. 

וְכָל הַמַּרְבֶּה לְסַפֵּר בִּיצִיאַת מִצְרַיִם הֲרֵי זֶה מְשֻׁבָּח

And anyone who adds [and spends extra time] in telling the story of the exodus from Egypt, behold he is praiseworthy.

Yet the Seder also teaches us that it's not just what we say but how we say it that matters, and obligates us to exercise the highest levels of care in our communication with young and old alike. By saying what we ought, and untethering the bestowal of kindness from compliance, we become blessings to ourselves and others and can look toward the future with faith and gratitude.

Endnotes

1. See Guide of the Perplexed (especially 1:73)

2.Holinshed's Chronicles: England, Scotland, and Ireland. Volume 1. Project Gutenberg online.

3. See William J. Kennedy’s “Shakespeare’s King Lear and the Bible,” The Cambridge Companion to the Bible and Literature (Cambridge, 2020).

4. J. Moreno Garcia, “Households,” UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology (2012).

5. The Instruction of Ptah-Hotep and the Instruction of Ke'Gemni, Trans. Battiscombe G. Gunn, Project Gutenberg online.

6. Herodotus, An Account of Egypt, Trans. G. C. Macaulay. Project Gutenberg online. 

7. M.P. Campagno, “Kinship and Family Relations,” UCLA Encyclopedia of Egyptology (2009). 

8. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, "The Structure of the Good Society," Yitro. https://www.rabbisacks.org/covenant-conversation/yitro/structure-good-society/

9. Shemot 20:12.

10. Jerusalem Talmud, Peah 1:1:23-24.

11. Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh Deah 240:5.

12. Likutei Ta’amim u’Minhagim.

13. Based on the Rebbe's talks and writings, including a public letter dated Nissan 11, 5717 (April 12, 1957), https://www.chabad.org/holidays/passover/pesach_cdo/aid/2853/jewish/There-Here-and-Nowhere.htm