The 4 sons are all over israel. Will you talk about them at your seder this year?

Kav L'Noar Staff
Apr 10
4 min read

One of the most thought-provoking elements of the Haggadah is the section of The Four Sons. This ancient text presents us with four distinct archetypes—the Wise Son, the Wicked Son, the Simple Son, and the One Who Doesn't Know How to Ask—each requiring a different approach, a different answer to their questions about our story and traditions.

At Kav L'Noar, this personalized approach has become a powerful lens through which we view our resilience work in kibbutz communities. The parallels between these ancient archetypes and the individuals we encounter have provided us with valuable insights into how we can most effectively support those in need.

The Wise Son (Chacham): Those Who Seek Understanding

The Wise Son asks detailed questions because he genuinely wants to understand. In our kibbutz programming, we've met many "Wise Sons"—individuals who recognize the value of emotional support and actively seek tools to build resilience.

These participants come to our first session with notebooks ready, questions prepared, and an openness to learning. They understand that resilience isn't innate—it's a skill that can be developed through practice and guidance.

One young woman approached us after a session and said, "I've been waiting for something like this. I knew I needed these skills, but I didn't know where to find them." For these participants, our role is to provide depth, nuance, and the space to explore complex emotional concepts.

The Wicked Son (Rasha): Those Finding Their Way Back to Community

Among the Four Sons, the Rasha—often translated as the "Wicked" Son—is traditionally understood not for asking questions (as the Wise Son also does), but for how he positions himself outside the community. He asks, "What does this service mean to you?" deliberately separating himself from the collective experience.

We've encountered many young people who initially position themselves outside our supportive framework. When we first entered one particular school, several students firmly stated, "We don't need this—we ARE resilience." This wasn't simply defiance—it was a statement of separation, much like the Rasha's question.

These young people had survived rocket attacks, evacuations, and profound disruption. Their stance reflected a common response to trauma: the need to assert control and independence when so much has been taken from them. Yet paradoxically, it is precisely these individuals who most need the healing power of community connection.

The Haggadah teaches us that even when someone stands apart, we must still engage meaningfully with them—because community is essential for healing. Rather than dismissing their stance, we acknowledged their extraordinary strength while gently building bridges back to collective support. In times of national trauma, individual resilience matters, but community resilience sustains us.

Many of our most remarkable journeys began with students who initially stood apart—not because they were "wicked," but because trauma had taught them to rely only on themselves. As trust developed, these same students often discovered what the Haggadah implicitly teaches: that healing happens in community, that shared burdens become lighter, and that reconnection offers something that even the strongest individual resilience cannot provide on its own.

The Simple Son (Tam): Those Who Need Clarity

The Simple Son asks straightforward questions and needs clear, uncomplicated answers. In our trauma work, we've encountered many individuals overwhelmed by complex emotions who simply ask, "What is this?" or "How can this help me?"

These participants don't need theoretical frameworks or psychological jargon. They need concrete tools and clear pathways forward. One teacher approached us with tears in her eyes and simply said, "I don't understand what's happening to me. I just want to feel normal again."

For these individuals, we strip away complexity and focus on accessible techniques: grounding exercises, simple breathing patterns, clear communication strategies. We answer directly and compassionately, providing the clarity they need to take their next steps toward healing.

The One Who Doesn't Know How to Ask (She'eino Yodea Lish'ol): Those Silenced by Trauma

Perhaps the most poignant parallel in our work relates to the fourth son—the one who doesn't even know how to ask. In the Haggadah, we're instructed to open the conversation for this child, to create a pathway for engagement when they cannot find the words themselves.

In our kibbutz programs, we've sat with many individuals rendered temporarily speechless by trauma. Some stare blankly during group sessions. Others attend but remain silent week after week. Their silence isn't disinterest—it's often the manifestation of shock, grief too deep for words.

One young man attended eight sessions without speaking. In the ninth session, he simply said, "My home is gone. Everything is gone." Those six words represented an enormous breakthrough—the beginning of his ability to name his loss.

For these participants, we follow the Haggadah's wisdom: "At p'tach lo"—you must open for them. We create safe spaces and patiently wait, understanding that healing has its own timeline.

The Fifth Child: The One Who Isn't at the Table

There's a modern addition to the Haggadah that speaks of a fifth child—the one who isn't present at the Seder table at all. In our work, we remain acutely aware of those we haven't yet reached: the teenager who stops attending school, the parent too overwhelmed to seek help, the community member suffering in isolation.

As we continue our resilience work, we hold space for these "fifth children," constantly adapting our approaches to make our support more accessible to those on the margins.