"Ai! Every year you make the same mistakes!" one of my brothers scolds me.

"And why are there the same questions every year?" It is an ordeal for him to teach me to recite the Four Questions. In my head not four but forty questions are thronging - but who would try to ask? Why doesn't Elijah the Prophet sit beside you during the seder? He surely could be emperor, for his cup is the largest, most beautiful. Why does his cup remain untouched in the middle of the table?Why doesn't he come at least for the recital of the plagues? Why doesn't he eat with us, and why do we open the door to call him only after supper? Why does he promise us each year, "Next year in Jerusalem" while he himself hides in the dark of night? Why? Why?

"Why are you turning in circles, you sleepyhead?" my brother berates me. "Here is your line, repeat after me". Once again, from the beginning of the page to the end. I repeat the Four Questions aloud. Our apartment is in turmoil. And I walk around slowly, as though I were carrying a pitcher full of questions on my head. I whisper them in a low voice. I am afraid that they may splash out from my memory.

Bella Chagall


haggadah Section: -- Four Children