A blog, mostly about my work making Jewish ritual objects, but with detours into garment making, living in New York City, cooking, and other aspects of domestic life.
A note about comments: I love comments from readers, from spammers, not so much. I approve comments before posting them so comments are not cluttered with junk. It may take a few hours before your posts appear. Be patient. If you are a real person with a real comment it will be posted.
The very first Passover that was celebrated in Egypt the night before the Jews were liberated is known in Rabbinic literature as Pesach Mitzrayim/Passover in Egypt. That first Passover was celebrated in two tenses as it were, in the present and also anticipating the future to the redemption of the next day and the future retelling of the story.
Every Passover since then is celebrated in three tenses--- in the past remembering that very first Passover, in the present-- the Passover we are currently celebrating and also our future redemption.
Remembering Passover of the past isn't just remembering the first Egypt Passover. It is also remembering Passovers from both our personal and our historical past. I had classmates whose father was a concentration camp survivor. He used to put on his striped concentration camp uniform as he began retelling the story of the exodus from Egypt.
My father, who was SO particular about how Hebrew was pronounced used to chant one of the post-meal poems in the Haggadah in the Polish accented Hebrew of his grandfather. We never met Kalish born Grandpa Sam but we still chant that poem as he did.
ובכן ויהי בחצי הלילה a beautiful rendition of the poem that we sing like Grandpa Sam. Our rendition sound nothings like this one.
We chant the entire Haggadah in the melody that my mother's father used. I bake recipes from the notebook
my mother began jotting down Passover cakes in in 1954. My mother is no longer living, the women whose cakes I am baking are no longer living but we eat Mrs. Mael's chocolate cake and Mrs. Pascal's sponge cake.
My kids began making Mrs. Isadore Katz's matza balls when they were still in elementary school.
My mother filled this notebook with recipes from 1954 until some time in the 1980s.
I prepare for my Sedarim remembering practicing for the first time I sang mah nishtanah, remembering helping my parents get ready for the holiday. There are also the sedarim that my husband and I have made here in our home after my father died. Some of our regular guests, Mike and Fred and Shawna are no longer alive. It is likely that one or another story of their joining us for Pesach will come up during one of our Sedarim.
Our Seder will tell the story of that original Exodus and will probably touch on other moments of darkness for the Jewish people, the Shoah, the Spanish Inquisition and probably October 7 will come up as well.
Each telling of the Passover story end with a hope for
redemption. That redemption is expressed as our receiving Torah, or coming into the land or rebuilding the temple and at the end of the Seder, Next Year in Jerusalem.
The Haggadah, like most Jewish liturgical texts was built up and added to over the millennia that Seders have taken place. At one point the seder ended with this text.
Just as we have been privileged to lay out its order,
so may we be privileged to perform it [in the Temple].
Pure One, dwelling in Your heaven,
raise up this people, too abundant to be counted.
Soon, lead the shoots of [Israel’s] stock,
redeemed, into Zion with great joy.
NEXT YEAR IN JERUSALEM REBUILT!
Many families skip this text and just go onto the songs. For my family this and been a key moment of the Seder. We sing it to a melody that my mother's father used to sing. This lovely version was recorded by the brilliant Mike Cohen, my kids' clarinet teacher.
I have been thinking about the words of this little prayer formula all week as I have been tackling one or another piece of Passover preparations. Getting ready for Passover is a giant collection of difficult tasks. Much of the work is big and physical, lifting giant pots in and out of the oven, straining that vat of soup, cleaning the house. I remember all of the laws of observing the holiday that I was taught from the time that I was little. I also think about all of the quirky customs that my family has built up over the years.
And despite the hard work-- it is indeed a z'chut a privilege to be able to to these tasks. This year I am sixty three and still I have the strength in my back and in my arms to prepare Passover from my family and friends. I know that at some point I won't have that strength. The prayer implies in Hebrew, and not in this translation, that by doing all of the tasks this year we may be privileged to do them in the future.
There is something redemptive in all of this hard work that I have been doing for the past few weeks. The people who will sit around our table will consume my memories, and the memories of the generations that came before me as they eat the food that I have made.
Then the prayer goes on to hope for the great redemption. At the moment all I hope for is the smaller redemption of the hostages and for better times both here and in Israel.
I hope that however you do Passover that
you do it fully and the doing of it leads you to be redeemed with great joy.
In 1986, when I first began working for my synagogue, one of the volunteers was a teeny little Austrian woman. Ida was so little and cute, you could swear you could just put her in your pocket and carry her around. Ida also babysat for a little girl in our community. When I saw the two of them running around together and laughing as if they were both four, I knew that when I had kids, Ida would babysit for my kids. In order to be sure that Ida would take care of my oldest, I told her I was pregnant at the same time I told my mother. Soon after my oldest was born, Ida was ready. She was silly, but she was also Austrian. She had her rules. She would care for a child only until they could walk. She felt that she was too old to chase children. She would work only twelve hours a week. The baby had to be fed, dressed and ready to go out when she showed up. Ida's rules made sense. It taught me, and my oldest, the value of having a schedule. Ida and ...
I know that it has been a while since I posted. We went to Boston last weekend to celebrate the bar mitzvah of a family friend. I may post about the weekend in a different post. Two disparate topics in one post is all I can manage today. Yesterday was a busy day and filled with big emotions. We began the day at the funeral of a young man who was a Hebrew School classmate of my older son's. I had such fond, fond memories of the sweet, funny, kind and exceptionally bright young man who also had terrible struggles. I kept remembering the young man both as a delightful child full of promise and the suffering that he and his family have been through for the past many years. I sat with two women whose children attended preschool with the young man. We three held one another in our sorrow. Yesterday was also my husband's birthday. My husband is not someone who wants things. When we were at Bingo---the kosher version of Costco I spotted a large package of ste...
Today, an oponion piece in the Wall Street Journal had the headline These Days, It All Feels Like Yesterday. It seemed a perfect way to sum up how we live our lives these days. I have been far more willing during this Covid time to do the sort of slow going work that I tend to avoid like the plague during normal times. I have been working away on Max's tallit. I had decided to get the lettering on the atara in a new to me way. Actually, to be completely honest, this is a method I have read about since I was a kid. You draw the design on a bit of what is called "waste fabric". Then you embroider the design and then you pull away the waste fabric thread by thread. The embroidered design remains, but all of your guidelines are gone, as if by magic. I had more or less finished embroidering the letters. (There were little bits of letters I hadn't quite finished but knew that I could add after the purple fabric was pulled away.) I began by picking out all of my red basting ...
Comments
Post a Comment
I love hearing from my readers. I moderate comments to weed out bots.It may take a little while for your comment to appear.