From Cambodia to Christ: A Passover Meal of Redemption

On the evening of April 11, 2025, I arrived home late from work to an unexpected blessing—a dinner my wife had spent hours preparing. The spread was a feast of grilled fish, fresh herbs, lettuce, cucumber, and a bitter Cambodian herb called naim, served with tamarind fish sauce and mango slaw. As I sat down, I realized that the meal, prepared for Cambodian New Year, closely resembled a Passover Seder—a ritual meal Jews eat to remember their deliverance from Egypt. Though I had only recently learned about the Seder, I was struck by the similarities. The dinner wasn’t intentionally planned as such, and my wife wasn’t familiar with its customs. Yet, God had used this meal to speak to me, showing how He orchestrates meaningful moments, even without our awareness.

The meal itself carried deep significance. We had rice with everything—a humble, familiar part of our daily meals, yet rich with meaning. In many ways, rice is to Cambodians what bread is to the Israelites: a symbol of sustenance, community, and daily provision. Just as unleavened bread is eaten during Passover to remember the haste of the Exodus and God's deliverance, rice at our table reminded me of God’s faithful provision through every season. It was the foundation of the meal, steady and nourishing, much like the Word of God that sustains us in both feast and famine.

My wife had prepared two types of fish—one tender, the other robust. These immediately reminded me of the typology of Jews and Gentiles. Just as Christ came to offer salvation to both, this meal—rooted in my Cambodian heritage—echoed the universal story of redemption through Christ. The grilled fish symbolized divine provision, recalling the miracle of the loaves and fishes in Matthew 14:17, where Jesus multiplied the fish to feed the multitudes. Fish also symbolize fertility, blessing, and renewal in Jewish tradition, aligning beautifully with the themes of liberation and new life found in both the Passover and Cambodian New Year.

The naim, a bitter herb, paralleled the maror (bitter herbs) of the Seder, representing the suffering of slavery in Egypt. Similarly, though bitter, the naim cleansed the palate, balancing the meal’s flavors—much like suffering refines our faith. It was a vivid reminder that even in bitterness, God is shaping and purifying His people. I also noticed the wrapping and dipping of the fish and herbs in lettuce, strikingly similar to the Jewish korech—a sandwich of matzah, bitter herbs, and charoset, eaten during the Seder.

The tamarind sauce, sour and deep, mirrored the charoset—the mortar of slavery—while the mango slaw, sweet and vibrant, symbolized the hope and redemption that follow suffering. The contrast between bitterness and sweetness reflected the Christian walk, where both hardships and blessings are part of God's refining process. Just as Christ endured the bitterness of the cross before experiencing the sweetness of resurrection, we too are called to endure with hope, knowing that God turns our bitterness into blessing.

What struck me most about the meal was how rarely we eat some of these ingredients, especially naim. It’s not something we normally include, and the way everything was arranged—herbs wrapped in lettuce, paired with grilled fish and tamarind sauce—made the dinner feel special. The uniqueness of it all highlighted the deeper significance of what God was revealing to me through it. 

The timing was also noteworthy. Passover 2025 (April 12–20) overlapped with Cambodian New Year (April 14–16). Both holidays celebrate liberation—Passover commemorates the Jews' freedom from slavery in Egypt, while Cambodian New Year marks renewal and shedding of burdens. This overlap underscored the universal theme of freedom—freedom from sin, from bondage. Whether in ancient Egypt, in Cambodia’s history, or in the hearts of believers today, all people long for renewal, and God meets us in those moments.

This dinner was more than a coincidence—it was a divine encounter, a reminder that God speaks through the most unexpected places. Just as Jesus used parables from everyday life—seeds, fish, bread—God used this meal to teach me about His faithfulness across history, His redemptive plan for both Jews and Gentiles, and His constant presence in life’s details.

The power of family meals was evident. In Judaism, the Passover Seder is a multi-generational ritual where families gather to tell the story of God’s deliverance. Our dinner, though not planned as a Seder, became a moment of storytelling and remembrance. Shared meals strengthen bonds, but Scripture takes it further, describing them as altars of remembrance (Exodus 12:26–27). This meal became a sacred space for reflection and connection with God, reminding me that every meal can be a spiritual practice—a moment to recount His goodness, provision, and faithfulness.

The bitter herb and sweet and sour sauce prompted me to reflect on the question, "What hardships has God brought me through?" The naim bitterness and tamarind sourness reminded me of suffering, while the sweet mango slaw symbolized the hope and renewal through God’s faithfulness. It was a call to remember—not just the blessings, but the struggles—and thank God for turning them into opportunities for growth and deeper trust.

As I reflected on this, I realized God had orchestrated this meal to remind me of His plan for redemption and protection—not just for the Jews but for all of humanity. Liberation is a universal longing, whether we’re fleeing Egypt or welcoming a new year. And in each story, God is present, guiding, providing, and redeeming His people. Just as the Israelites were covered by the blood of the lamb during the first Passover, and darkness passed over them, I know that God will protect our household, and His divine covering will be over us. The darkness will pass, and we will remain under His protection.

That night, as I sat with my wife, eating a meal honoring both our Cambodian heritage and God’s timeless truths, I understood in a deeper way that God speaks through the details of life—through the food we eat, the traditions we honor, and the relationships we cherish. This meal was not just dinner; it was a moment of worship, a chance to encounter God in the simplest and most sacred way.

“Taste and see that the Lord is good.”
Psalm 34:8

That night, I did—literally. And in that moment, I understood that God’s provision and presence can be found in the ordinary, in shared meals, in family love, and in the remembrance of His faithfulness.

Amen.