next year in...?

Hello Friends,

Tonight begins the Jewish festival of Passover -- the holiday lasts eight days and commemorates Moses freeing the Israelites from the bonds of slavery in Egypt. As with most Jewish celebrations, Passover can be summarized with the cliché: "They tried to kill us. We won. Let's eat!" However, for me, Passover has always been so much more than a holiday, it's been a commitment to remember the past and to actively participate in making the world more free and more just.

Each year, we are obligated to retell the story in its entirety: the bitterness of the oppression our enslaved ancestors felt at the helm of their masters, the story of Moses as a humble leader, the plagues sent upon the Egyptians to sway the Pharaoh, the exodus and journey from captivity to freedom, the joy and sweetness of liberty. The more we tell this story, the more it becomes cemented in our psyches. The obligation to retell is entwined with the necessity to remember, to make personal our shared history, to prevent other injustices from affecting other people. As familiar as these themes and this story has become, I will admit that it is sometimes difficult to really put myself in the place of the ancient Hebrews, to really feel like it is my journey and my escape to freedom, from my comfortable house in California.

For those of you who know me, you are well aware that Passover is my favorite holiday. Not only because I have a thing for ritual and tradition (Passover is full of extensive preparations relating to the special dietary needs of the week, cleaning, the festive meal, etc.), but also because Passover is a time of reflection and contemplation of ourselves and our impact on society. I love the retelling, and aim to use social justice and relevant societal flaws to bring meaning and empathy into the joyous familial celebration. The food doesn't hurt either. This year marks the first Passover that I have ever spent without my family in my twenty-two years and to be honest, its bittersweet. While I am thrilled and honored at the opportunity to spend this holiday with families who have generously and warmly welcomed me into their homes, I cannot help but to wish I were with my own friends and family singing about the four sons to the tune of "My Darling Clementine," laughing as my mother bringing herself to tears by eating a whole spoonful of horseradish, and leading the kiddish over the first cup of wine.

This year brings yet another new dimension to the holiday as I have been studying, and will be spending my seders, with families who have experienced their own exodus. Willingly or not, the people whom and the community in which I have spent the past few months immersed has experienced the trauma of leaving their native land and relocating in the hopes of finding a better life in a new country. In my growing collection of oral histories, the significant majority express a longing and nostalgia for the past and communities in which ways of life were dictated by religion and family without complication. Passover is always a time to use the past as a lens through which to live in the present and future, but it seems real here somehow in a way that I can't quite place. I have been warned that the seders in which I will participate tonight and tomorrow are a bit "old-school" (that would be a direct quote from my French friend, S) and are almost the same as the way they are conducted back in Morocco and Algeria, as if that were something for which she needed to apologize. However, for me, it seems only appropriate that Pesach is celebrated with one foot in the past and one in the future. To remember is to move forward.

Unlike years past in which I dictated my liberal, modern, feminist seder, this year I will be participating in two Orthodox seders. I recall discussing Passover over Shabbat lunch a few weeks ago and the table being shocked at my commentary on the controversy of placing an orange on the seder plate to represent women. The idea of a cup for Miriam in addition to a cup for Elijah was ridiculous and unnecessary. So, I am embracing the world as it comes to me and will do like the Strasbourgeois via North Africa do. And, lucky you, you are the audience for my social action commentary this year.  Each year, I like to focus on four areas to which I want to draw attention, areas in which I want consciously act and to learn more about in the coming year and discuss them during the seder. I encourage you to think about your four issues and I would love to hear them, if you'd like to share. If I were at my own seder, I would dedicate the customary four glasses of wine in the following fashion:

1. For years the Jewish people were enslaved because of their religion and their identity. For all those who are persecuted, shamed, abused, and exploited because of their race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, and religious affiliation, I dedicate this first cup of wine. 

2. Passover necessitates the reading and retelling of the stories of our ancestors. Our traditions live on both orally and through the written word; however, too many in our world do not have access to safe, basic and equitable education. I dedicate the second cup to the continued fight for the freedom and the right to education for all. 

3. Liberation of the body is not the same as liberation of the soul and of the mind. The stigma surrounding mental and psychological disorders such as depression, bi-polar disorder and eating disorders such as anorexia and bulimia can be so paralyzing that one feels captive within themselves, unable to seek help or discuss their medical concerns with friends, family, or health professionals. I dedicate this third cup of wine to those struggling with mental illness, to those professionals who work tirelessly to treat and bring attention to mental health, and in the hopes of changing our society to effectively treat and support those who, at this moment, cannot help themselves. 

4. This week marked the 20th anniversary of the genocide in Rwanda and tomorrow is the first anniversary of the Boston marathon bombings. The history of the Jewish people is not the only narrative marked by unspeakable pain and atrocities. As a commitment to those who are victims, to all those who have been lost due to senseless hate and violence, including those killed in Kansas City yesterday, I use this fourth and final cup of wine as a commitment to speak out against injustice and to create peace through love and understanding. 

Jews traditionally end the seder with the phrase, "L'shanah haba'ah b'yerushalayim -- next year in Jerusalem!," with Jerusalem traditionally representing the Promised Land, the return to Zion, the notion of the Jewish people all celebrating together and a sense of unity and of freedom to partake in these traditions openly and with passion. I encourage you all to join me in the exercise of thinking about ways in which to create and promote freedom and unity within our own communities so that next year we can all, regardless of tradition and religion, celebrate in our "Jerusalem" together.

Wishing you all a chag sameach v'kasher, a happy and kosher Pesach. Sending all my love from Strasbourg,
Doria