Passover Reflections

Passover, the eight-day festival celebrating the liberation of the Jewish people from slavery, ended tonight. For me, this year’s celebration was inspiring.

The Seder, the traditional and ordered meal held the first two nights of Passover, is held in our homes.  Most years, only the host of a Seder has to accumulate the myriad symbolic elements. This year, as portrayed effectively on Saturday Night Seder, everyone was our own host and we all did our best, improvising as needed.

In the lead up to the holiday, my younger son’s preschool class hosted its own Seder via Zoom.  His teacher urged students to use a lemon for the maror, or bitter herbs, which symbolize the bitter taste of being enslaved.  My son, without skipping a beat, declared that lemons are sour, not bitter, and that he would use a grapefruit instead.  Why not?

It was uplifting to see so many people working hard to perpetuate our traditions.  There has been so much talk and hand-wringing during my lifetime about continuity and the meaning of dwindling affiliation rates. But this year, at least anecdotally, showed something different.

Why did so many people not only continue to celebrate Passover, but make sure others saw their efforts on social media?  Maybe it was an act of reclamation brought on as result of the rise in antisemitism in the three years immediately preceding the onset of Covid-19.  Or maybe it was because we all had a little extra time on our hands.  Or maybe celebrating Passover so personally is actually the norm, despite all of the talk and hand-wringing.  I suspect it’s a combination of all of these factors, and then some.

I was raised as a Conservative Jew.  My parents provided a warm Jewish life: we kept kosher, ate Shabbat dinner together weekly, attended services regularly, attended Jewish summer camp and prioritized Hebrew school over other extracurricular activity.

By the time of my accident in 2006, I was a founding member of a Reconstructionist synagogue in West Philadelphia, Kol Tzedek.  The synagogue was founded by, and at that point lead by, a phenomenal Rabbi.  Soon after my accident, she studied Tehillim (Psalms) with me on the eve of a major, intracranial reconstructive surgery.  And during my recovery she taught me the power of blessings –those that we write ourselves, not only those written by learned scholars.

Over the years, I have opened up to an observation of Judaism that preserves my comfort in a more traditional (yet egalitarian) prayer setting, but that also gives me permission to be creative, present and true to my own sense of self.  Covid-19 required that of all of us.

Like many other families this year, we spent the first night of Passover celebrating our Seder via Zoom with extended family. 

The second night, we held a Seder that was just our immediate family:  my husband, my two sons, and me.  Inspired by my college roommate, we reclining in our living room.  “Froggy,” our family’s favorite puppet, was the leader and the children acted out various parts of the story.  In addition to the traditional Four Questions, my sons each asked their own four questions: some related to the pandemic, others related to the symbols of the holiday.  My husband and I took our time answering their questions, too.  I only wish I had written down their profound questions.

I have always loved celebrating Passover: celebrating in a multi-generational way, grappling with the texts and meanings of the holiday, eating different foods, even the cleaning and preparation. This year, while I missed spending time with extended family, we were able to do something new. We were able to do something that resonated with us as a family during this era of social distancing.  While I do hope that we are back together with family next year, I also hope that my children will hold on to positive memories of the year that we did our Seder with puppets and toys and humor. 

L'dor V'dor - from generation to generation, even when it is not convenient.