In a year when little has felt normal, the delivery of matzah and other Passover necessities to the farthest reaches of the soldiers protecting the Jewish homeland has become a minor miracle.
Across Israel, as the Jewish world prepared to celebrate Passover, the IDF Rabbinate completed one of its most ambitious logistical operations. The numbers are staggering: more than 10 tons of matzah, 7,000 personal seder kits, 5,000 hand-baked matzah sets, and tens of thousands of Haggadahs were distributed to units spanning from the Negev to the Galilee—and into active combat zones, including in Syria.
But behind every cardboard box and sealed plastic cup of grape juice is something more intimate: a desperate effort to preserve normalcy and tradition in a time of uncertainty and grief. It is important to give basic holiday supplies to every soldier, no matter where they are, and to ensure they don’t feel forgotten.
Coordinating this delivery isn’t just an act of faith; it’s a wartime feat of logistics. Trucks had to be routed through military zones. Supplies had to be koshered and certified under high-pressure timelines. Whether the kits were destined for some individuals in isolated outposts or others intended for battalions running full communal seders, everything had to be planned to perfection.
The army had to think of Gaza, Syria, the north and Judea and Samaria. It had to plan for soldiers deep in enemy territory, and who wouldn’t have received these kits until just before before the holiday began.
Reuven Marriott, a British-born reservist who has spent time stationed across nearly every front—Gaza, Judea and Samaria, Lebanon—has seen the evolution firsthand.
“Compared to pre-war years, the Rabbanut’s output in 2023 was already impressive. But now? It’s on a completely different scale," he tells JNS. "Hundreds of thousands of soldiers are away from their homes this year. It’s not a normal Pesach.”
Personal moments amid national struggle
Max, another reservist, recalls his early days in basic training and how something as simple as a care package left a lasting impression.
“It was really meaningful,” says Max. “I always thought it was cool and sweet to get a note tucked in with the matzah or the Haggadah. I sometimes keep those little messages in my gear, especially during tough weeks. They remind me why I’m here.”
That emotional lift—what Max calls a “breath of sanity”—comes not just from the ritual objects but from the sense of being remembered.
“The amount of gratitude that someone from the other side of the world—a fellow Jew—cares about you, writes to you, thinks about you. ... It gives you purpose,” says Max.
He should know. Between his various call-ups, Marriott has now served more than 370 days of reserve duty. “If we don’t protect ourselves, no one else will," he says. "I’ve got so much pride in what we’re doing. I couldn’t live with myself if I stayed back and didn’t try to make a difference. On the bright side, I have a great responsibility. I’m here protecting Am Yisrael ['the nation of Israel']."
A seder in Syria, a blessing in Gaza
This year, the operation extended even to Syria. “We’ve sent a rabbi up to the paratroopers stationed there,” says South African-born Rabbi Shalom Myers of the Emek Lone Soldiers organization. “A lot of lone soldiers are there, and they weren’t given great provisions for Pesach. We pooled some funds, a few thousand shekels, and we’re making sure they get what they need.”
The mission involves a staff sergeant major collecting supplies in Haifa and delivering them just in time, barely a day before the seder. “The human interest stories will only really emerge afterward,” he adds. “But trust me, they’re there.”
Myers’s wife, Lynne, has taken on her own kind of spiritual logistics. Formerly an architect, she now runs events for female soldiers—hafrashat challah, dancing, gifts, and emotional support.
“We bring religious Anglo women to give them chizzuk ['strength'],” he says. “It’s not about making them more religious. It’s about making them feel seen.”
Caring for lone soldiers
This year’s campaign also turned its focus to Israel’s lone soldiers—those serving without family in the country. Many stay on after their service, becoming quiet heroes of Israeli society.
“We hosted a couple of lone soldiers the day before Pesach,” Myers says. “Constant care and concern; that’s what they need. One of the guys I know from New York is in the paratroopers. There are always little things we are trying to do to help him.”
Emek Lone Soldiers, a Jerusalem-based initiative that began eight years ago, has become a backbone of support for young men and women whose families are abroad. With limited funds and an outsized mission, it helps make sure no one celebrates alone.
Faith under fire
For many soldiers, the halachic details of the holiday must adapt to reality.
“I’m dati leumi [a religious Zionist],” Marriott explains. “I don’t care—if you’re in war, it’s kosher. You keep halacha to the best of your ability. When you’re in Gaza, you fight. That itself is a mitzvah, and it overrides other considerations.”
Still, there’s time for tradition. The same Haggadah that Myers was given some 50 years ago in the Jordan Valley, when he was serving as a young soldier in the IDF, was in his hands again this year. “That connection, it never left me," he observes.
And while some moments sting—like last year’s seder, when Marriott and others felt a little forgotten in a quieter, low-priority deployment—this year feels different. “Now, we’re all aware of what’s at stake," he says. "Ramadan and Pesach intersected again, and this time, the IDF paid attention.”
Egypt is still with us
B’chol dor v’dor, Myers says, quoting the line in the Hagaddah entreating every Jew in every generation to imagine leaving Egypt during the Exodus.
“If we thought things were rosy, we were wrong," he says. "These guys are still fighting. Egypt? It’s still there. But they’re doing this battle—they’re fighting for the freedom of us all.”
From lone soldiers in Syria to reservists in Gaza, from matzah shipments in the Galilee—this Passover, the IDF Rabbinate didn’t just deliver tradition. It delivered purpose. And in a year marked by grief, displacement and war, that may be the most sacred offering of all.
