I might have rejected His opening offer. Perhaps I would have asked for time to think. I'm standing before Sinai, aware that something spectacular is about to happen, and Moshe presents God's offer: "If you guard My covenant, you shall be to Me the most beloved treasure of all peoples." Sounds good, but that "covenant" disturbs me. I reflect on the Covenant Between the Pieces (Genesis 15:13-16) God sealed with Abraham, when He said, "Your children will be strangers in a land, and they will serve them, and they will oppress them," and wonder, "what will be the price of this Covenant?" I probably would not have responded, "Whatever God says, I will do." I would have hesitated, and said, "We need to talk." I suspect that is the response God preferred. The Seder is the conversation with God that could have been when standing before Mount Sinai. A conversation with God; not a declaration of unquestioning obedience.

God does not desire unquestioning obedience; He already has the angels. He wants the Abrahams of the world, the people who go out and engage the world, who challenge Him, as did Abraham when arguing against the destruction of Sodom. God wants us to engage Him in a conversation. This is the essence of His covenant, His Torah, His Mitzvot.

"If there is no one else present, a person must ask himself!" If you can't find someone else; pretend!  Pesach, more than any other Mitzvah, prefers engaging others in conversation as the fulfillment of Telling the Story of the Exodus. The Mitzvah works best as a conversation. We break the Matzah as if to say that we are separating some of our food just in case we have a surprise guest. We begin the story by inviting others. We eat a Pesach sandwich to acknowledge that everything and everybody is connected. We, towards the Seder's conclusion, open the door to check to see if Elijah is softly knocking to join our conversation with the ages. "We need to talk!"

We are conversing with God as we converse at the Seder. We're having the conversation we missed at Sinai. I sit at the Seder and hear the voices of my grandfather and father, and the ideas of their ancestors that they shared with me. I engage with the voices of all my previous Sedarim, the questions and answers offered by children, students and guests. I hear the voices of countless commentaries and thinkers. I engage with the voices of generations who wondered why we pay such a heavy price for this 'Covenant." I sit at the Seder engaged in a conversation that extends horizontally through the world and vertically all the way back to Abraham and God, and into the future Sedarim that will be celebrated by my grandchildren. I join a conversation with God, which is what He wants of us when He asks us to "Guard the Covenant."

I know of marriages that are two monologues that somehow never meet, and relationships in which everything is part of a conversation about life and aspirations. I listen to people who experience God speaking in a monologue, "Do this, don't do that," and feel that they have nothing to offer God but obedience. I also meet people whose lives are a conversation with God: "Yes, You freed us from Egypt; but You led us there in the first place!"

"Go out and learn," says the Haggadah, "go out into the world and engage in a conversation with life. Be an Abraham, who goes out, who is comfortable questioning God, 'How do I know?' Have the conversation you could have had at Sinai!"  "Go out and learn," is our, "Lech l'cha," "Go out for yourself (Genesis 12:1)," God's first words to Abraham.

Ironically, to engage in this conversation, I must first stop talking and listen. "The person who listens, speaks for eternity (Proverbs 21:28)." I'll stop now and listen. The conversation continues.