My father was a Red Army officer who fought bravely against the Nazis. After the war, he remained in the army—and with that came fear. He was too afraid to be seen celebrating Passover.
But my mother? She refused to let it go.
Every year, she would quietly take me to her friend’s house for a secret Seder. I’ll never forget the joy on her face—how proud she was to share the Passover spirit with me, even in silence, even in hiding.
After she passed away, I stopped celebrating. I had no children of my own, no one to pass it on to.
Years later, I got a call from our synagogue inviting me to a communal Seder. And just like that—I was a child again, sitting next to my mother, tasting freedom.
Not long after, I began helping deliver matzah to elderly members of our Rostov community.
And that’s when it hit me:
I too can pass it on.
Not to my children—but to others waiting to rediscover the warmth and joy of our traditions. Just like my mother did for me.
– Irina Birbrayer
Source: Chaim Danzinger
