Reflections on Passover
Thu., April 24, 08:34 AM
In many ways Passover is like a combination of July Fourth and Thanksgiving. It’s a celebration of freedom. There’s a passage in the Haggadah (the “manual” for a Passover Seder) that says, “…in every generation a tyrant has risen to annihilate us…” In recent times that has meant Hitler, Stalin, Idi Amin, Qadaffi, and Saddam Hussein. There is a reason to celebrate this year.
Also, like many other Jewish holidays, it’s marked by special foods. When I was a kid, there weren’t many things that we could have – making it difficult sometimes to call it a feast. (Matzo was and always will be a form of hemstitched cardboard.) You could buy some Passover candy, but it wasn’t particularly good. My mother used to make a delicious candy out of carrots and ginger, and I would still make it if I could eat candy.
When more “Kosher for Passover” foods appeared in the market, I discovered that the ingredients often included substances that we thought were forbidden. (Didn’t anyone know I could read?) Eventually we could even have Coca Cola. How did all this stuff suddenly become okay? All I can imagine is that money certainly was exchanged.
I grew up in a fairly religious household, but the depth of my observance over the years had depended on where I was, who my friends were at the time, and what I was capable of doing. During Passover of 1969, for example, I was suffering acute morning sickness. I think I bought some matzo, but I certainly didn’t go all out that year.
Over most of the world, Passover lasts eight days, but it’s only observed for seven days in Israel. When I was associated with a lot of Israelis, I usually ended the holiday after seven days because they did. Now that we’ve already cut it short, Husband and U.D. are trying to make it six…
From the time the kids were in Hebrew School, I prepared a seder every year. The first night seder was always at my parents’ house, but I wanted to reinforce the children’s understanding of the ritual. I learned it better myself as well. That turned out to be a good thing, because the first year after my Dad died, my brother was late and my mother was worried that the children would get tired before he got there. “No problem,” I told her, “I can lead a seder.” It was a snap – if she was serving the food, all I had to worry about was the ritual. Just about dinnertime, my brother walked in and said, “Get out of my seat!” I moved, but it was one of the few times my mother was really impressed with my knowledge. (She never told me that; she told my sister.)
I decided not to do a seder this year – no help and few participants – but I was going to “kasher” my kitchen anyhow. I never finished; my legs gave out about two o’clock. Fortunately, I know that God forgives.
What I remember most about Passover when I was a child was the changing the dishes. Every kosher Jewish kitchen kept two sets of dishes, one for meat and one for dairy. They might not be complete sets, they might be only dime store things, but you could tell the difference just by looking at them. Mixing meat and dairy was forbidden. In addition to the minimum two sets, there were another two sets that were never used except on Passover. At the end of the eight-day holiday, they were wrapped in newspaper and stored in the cellar, where they would not be disturbed until the following year.
Personally, I never went that far. I kept some dishes separate for Passover, but they were merely on a less accessible shelf. During the holiday I just switched them. I had long since given up keeping separate dishes for meat and dairy, so Passover dishes were no big deal. (But it was years before I could bring myself to have meat and dairy on the table at the same time!) I did buy some new plates this spring; now I have to decide whether I want to keep them for everyday or pack them away for next Passover.
When I was a little girl I believed everything they told me in Sunday school. The more I learned, however, the more I began to interpret what they told me. That’s the point at which you start to choose only that part of the religion that fits your situation. I think that many organized religions suffer from that practice. The problem is that they have taken a paternal stance toward their congregants (which was a good thing once), and they can’t back off when their “children” have grown up. Reminds me of a lot of parents I know: you have to prepare the children and then you must let go. Talk about whistling in the wind.
