As I walked up the driveway after a long but productive week, I couldn’t help but smile. Music danced through the front door, which had been left open just enough to allow the comforting smell of matzo ball soup seep into the street. There was something so familiar about it: the music, the smells…and then, once I was inside, the sight of my mother. My mother, who stood with her back to me as she stirred the soup, singing loud and off pitch to the music that spilled from the speakers of her old turntable.
Oh yes, this was familiar alright.
These were the sights and smells I grew up to-every Friday night. Back then, the music was almost always “Phantom of The Opera” and instead of soup, it was roast chicken. The most I could be trusted to do back then was pour chips into a bowl and set it on the snack table. I smile, as I watch my mother singing her way through the kitchen. Ah, well, there is work to be done. I put away my “big girl” bag, which is always stuffed with my handy dandy laptop, several notebooks and a handful of pens, at least one copy of my manuscript, an inspirational poem, and whatever book I am reading at the time. I kick off my shoes, and head into the kitchen, where I join the singing. We get along best like this, my mother and I, as we participate in the traditions that have become the foundation of our family life.
Now, despite the awful fuss over cleaning the kitchen, preparing the meal and a week of matzo pizza (delicious, but by day five it gets kind of old.), I love Passover. I love how my family comes together, and the idea that all over the world, there are thousands of other Jewish families arguing over who has to do the four questions this year. The Seder is not just your average holiday dinner. It is a moment. A moment shared by thousands of people, that connects us not only to our immediate family-but to the collective Jewish family of the past, present and future.
Just think about that for one second. All over the world, RIGHT NOW, Jews are gathering to begin the retelling of Our story.
We all know the story of Passover. We learned it in Hebrew School, we read it twice a year. Heck, we've even watched Charlton Heston part the Red Sea. The whole thing risks become routine. But tonight, by sitting around the Seder table tonight and reciting the story of our Exodus from Egypt, we are honoring our past, not just as individuals, but as Jews. This moment links us to our past, and paves the road for our future.
We were liberated out of Egypt, but this did not come until hundreds of years of suffering. But the story of Passover is not one of our suffering. It is one of our liberation and redemption. Our? I always found it interesting that we tell the story of Passover in first person. "We were slaves in Egypt..." But we weren't, so why say that? We have led comfortable lives. We are reclining in our chairs, the wine is sweet, the food is plentiful and the company is warm and loud. But still, "WE were slaves in Egypt." Why "WE"? Because by imagining ourselves as slaves of Egypt, we learn empathy and we learn hope.
Empathy to fill our lives and the lives of those around us with love, and Hope that we will be liberated from our own personal sufferings, however big or small.
By identifying ourselves with our ancestors, we strengthen our current place in the world as Jews. We learn how to face hatred, and we learn how to prevail.
Instead of dreading the telling (and retelling and retelling and retelling) of The Passover Story, we must share this moment, every year, and we must cherish it. Yes, the story is the same. But we are not. We have a whole new year of experience and lessons behind us. Do not forget that WE were slaves in Egypt.
