I’ve “made Pesach” multiple times, starting from the year at university when my housemates and I lived on a diet consisting mainly of crisps and smoked salmon, and carrying on to the times when a spoon and a pot of kosher-for-Passover Nutella at my desk has kept me nourished through the working day.

What I’ve never done is make a Seder. The three — count ’em —Seder plates we received for our wedding have sat dormant; my husband and I have never been personally in charge of the salt to water ratio, or set the Afikoman ground rules.

This year that changes. Elijah will be coming to our door, and with it marking the final transition between being a child and being an adult in Jewish life.

The technical rite of passage is bar or bat mitzvah, but at that tender age building a Jewish home is rarely front of mind. Few of us really make conscious choices about our Jewish identity until our late teens; usually sparked by leaving home and reaching secular adulthood.

But if one’s early twenties are about exploration and discovery, in religious character as much as anything else, it’s generally towards the end of that decade that we really start becoming the Jews we will be throughout the rest of our lives. With the next generation emerging, my peers and I are at the point at which we decide what the fabric of our Jewish life will look like.

While some will join shul boards or seek communal roles, for the majority the primary expression of our Jewishness will come in how we observe Shabbat, or Succot, or Shavuot and what example we set for these in front of our future children. It’s what we take or break the fast on, the new fruits we have, or which actions we do during grace after meals. It’s the songs we sing, the foods we decide are non-negotiable and, often, whether we keep as much or more than our parents did.

And it’s which traditions pass on l’dor va’dor, from generation to generation. Seder, perhaps more than anything, is intensely specific to every family. I know few others who make animal noises during Chad Gad’ya with as much gusto as the Lipmans; equally I’ll always remember the Seders at our family friends involving a re-enactment of the Exodus round the dinner table.

When the family gathers at mine, we will take up the mantle of many of those childhood customs, along with those of my husband’s family. Certain things, for example my mother’s recitation of the “Of Rabbi Eliezer a story is told” poem from The Children’s Haggadah, remain sacrosanct.

But we will also, necessarily, discard some traditions, or alter them somehow, because in passing the torch there must be room to forge a distinctive way of doing things. There must be space for new questions, new jokes, new moments that capture everyone’s attention and new portions of the Hagaddah that you skim over because, let’s be honest, everyone wants dinner.

So this Friday the four daughters — because for us, they always were daughters — are morphing into a mixed-gender collective, with grandchildren increasingly taking the stage to proclaim their goodness, wickedness or simplicity. More prosaically, I’m sorry but there won’t be any chicken soup.

Although some in our community that may disagree, to me what sustains Judaism and what will keep it relevant is the ability to remain fundamentally the same but also to develop and to respond.

Judaism cannot lose its essence, but nor can it remain in a state of permanent suspension. It’s up to every generation to find the precious balance that allows for that.

One aspect of Seder I’ve always found most meaningful is of it being something that unites Jews, across the world, all at once, past, present and future. It’s true of Kol Nidre, those sombre notes sounding within hours in every shul from Sidney to Jerusalem to Los Angeles, and it’s true of Seder. Perhaps not every Jew but most will hear those four questions asked, as they have been for centuries.

This Pesach, the first of what I hope will be many cups of wine will be poured at my house, the first Hillel sandwiches consumed, the first grains of matzah embedded in the carpet for posterity. This year will be the beginning; because ultimately it’s up to me and my peers to make sure that Jewish life continues, l’dor va’dor.

But Mum, you will bring your charoset, yes?