Mitzrayyim Makes My Passover Meaning-full and Spirit-full

I remember as a child sitting through the Passover seder each year with little sense of why I was there or what we were doing. I knew the Exodus story, but the actual celebration of Passover meant little to me. The only thing that got me out of the Mitzrayyim, the Hebrew word for Egypt, of the too-long ritual meal was drinking as much of the Manichewitz wine as the other children and I could without the adults noticing and sneaking bits of matzoh and charoset when we knew we weren’t supposed to be eating anything. We would get sillier as the evening wore on and were almost too giddy to consume the hard boiled eggs and matzoh ball soup we were served at the long-awaited start of the meal.

I continued celebrating Passover as a young adult more out of a sense of obligation than anything else. No matter where I lived, I would find somewhere to attend a seder, but other than feeling that I had done what “I was supposed to do” my observance of the holiday felt empty. Later, after marrying and having children, I began learning a bit more about the holiday and its symbolism, but I was more concerned with the fact that I couldn’t eat bread – my favorite food – for a week than I was about my ancestors being freed from slavery by a God with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. In fact, except for the matzoh ball soup I ate just once a year – ‘till this day I wonder each year why I don’t make it more often –Passover felt devoid of anything meaningful or spiritual but full of a sense of being stuck in Mitzrayyim, a narrow place where I was enslaved by the rules and laws that went with the holiday.

As I began to host my own seders, and as my family became more ritually observant, Passover became a new type of Mitzrayyim. I had to figure out how to get from the slavery of housecleaning, reviewing haggadot and stressing over the actual seder leading to the other side of the Red Sea where I could return to “normal” living without fear of hametz in corners, making a ritual faux pas or accidentally ingesting something that puffs up when cooked. (See my article on this subject at http://www.jewishmag.com/112mag/passover-prep/passover-prep.htm)

These days, however, Mitzrayyim provides the meaning to my Passover observance and my seder. I find that revolving the week, as well as the seder, around the idea of moving through narrow places, tight situations and difficult experiences lends meaning to all aspects of the holiday remembrance. I have discovered that looking at how I come through these and become someone new – am reborn – gives me a chance to connect with who I am at a deep enough level to make the experience spiritual as well. And after all, during the telling of the Passover story, we are supposed to all feel as if we were there at the edge of the Red Sea and on the other side.

It’s easy enough to find those narrow places that exist in our lives right now or have in the past 12 months. I have been through the narrow place of finding a literary agent, my father-in-laws cancer and impending death, money issues, and struggles with time (not having enough) and work (having it take over my life and my husband’s life). I’ve been in the Mitzrayyim of needing to create a teleclass, finish a book proposal, write an article on deadline. Any or all of these are things I can place on the Passover table – the misbeach (altar) – for all to see and to hear my story. My story, and my guests’ stories become the new version of the Passover story. They bring us to that place of feeling the struggle of slavery – to anything or anyone – and, if we are already on the other side of the parted sea, and the joy of freedom as if we were, indeed, there with those we read about in the Torah and with the story we retell in the Haggadah. It causes us to be present…now and then.

This practice, this new ritual, this focus, gives the holiday, the seder and the retelling of the story meaning for me and for my family and friends.

And, it reminds us to have faith that we will, indeed, come out of the tight place. All we need is to trust like Nachshon, who entered the waters of the Red Sea even when Moses could not part the waters with his words or his staff. He walked into the water until it was up to his nose and he couldn’t take another breath without drowning. And then the waters parted. His faith caused the miracle to occur. And our faith can do the same today, now, in this moment, or the next time we feel ourselves squeezed, in a tight place, between a rock and a hard place, in Mitzrayyim.

And this brings into the observance of Passover and the ritual seder a sense of spirituality.

Thus, for me at least, revolving my Passover observances around this idea transforms the cleaning, the food restrictions, the seder – all the elements of this holiday – from empty observances to both meaning-full and spirit-full ones. And, I’m released from the Mitzrayyim I’ve experienced around this holiday in the past. Ah…Another tight place from which I have escaped, been released, been freed, to share, and one which I can place on the Passover table with the others.

(I’m sorry to stay that I remain in Mitzrayyim, however, when it comes to not eating bread for a week...)

Happy Pesach!

Memories

“Memories…misty water-colored memories, of the way we were…” I can hear Barbara Streisand singing from my past (but I can’t remember all the words).

Last week I received an e-mail from an acquaintance of mine from college. He remembers me well. He recalls eating lunch with me on many occasions, me briefly dating his roommate and running into me at a mall during spring break. I don’t remember him at all. His photo brings with it a vague memory too hazy to bring into focus. And I thought I had such great memory -- especially when it came to people and events.

I do, really, but not for people, it seems. Recently my high school had a decade reunion – people who graduated between 1980 and 1990 got together. I didn’t attend, but I looked at the photos posted on line. I recognized very few people. Many names were familiar, but it was hard to put the faces with those names. Of course, time had caused many people to change their looks – hair was shorter or longer or grey or nonexistent, bodies were heavier – and that made it recognition more difficult.

It was odd to hear from this man and to look at his photo. He’s handsome, successful, has a family, enjoys time with friends, and leads what he calls an “exciting life.” I wonder why we didn’t connect in school. A nice Jewish boy too shy to ask anyone on a date – or lacking enough confidence, as he told me, I would have likely been quite happy to get to know him better. As I told him, I never found one boy in college I really liked or felt I could stay with for very long. What might have happened had we actually dated?

He told me about his father dying, needing to work to go to school, feeling as if no one would be interested in him. I wish I’d known that much about him. Did he ever tell me his story, I wonder? Did he know that my father died when I was just 7? Did I ever tell him that we had some things in common? Did I tell him I was looking to date a Jewish guy? Did he want to date a Jewish girl?

And why would he contact me now, after all this time? Yes, he found me on the Internet…doing a search of some sort, I suppose. I’ve been all over the Internet lately as I try to promote myself and my writing. But why now? Things happen for a reason…

I told my girlfriend that I thought it odd that someone I might have considered dating in college would suddenly contact me now…when I am on the verge of success. I’ve always had this fear that success might take me away from my husband. I’ve always considered the possibility that I might meet someone while out “on the road” with my books and my teaching. Not that I want that to happen…I just considered the possibility. It’s been part of my fear of success.

This guy made no advances. Nothing like that. Just contacted me. But it brought up my stuff.

And it also made me think about how much I enjoy talking to people who “knew me when.” There’s a context in relationships that go way back that you don’t have in newer relationships. I love getting together with old high school friends for that reason; they don’t just see you for who you are now; they see you for who you were and who you’ve become. What would it be like to get together with this man? Would I remember him if I saw him in person? Would memories flood back?

I liked looking at this man’s picture and trying to remember him “when.” He’s grown up so nicely, looks like such a nice man…

Why do people meet at certain times or run into each other after many years? My girlfriend said, maybe this was more about him than about me. Maybe. Maybe it is about the fact that the publishing company for which he works also owns some magazines that I might be interested in contacting…maybe it’s because my other girlfriend might want to write for his magazines. Maybe there is nothing at all to the contact he made…

But it still leaves me to wonder…and to feel grateful and honored for being remembered.

Maybe this “meeting” was to show me that I need to try harder to remember people. I rarely remember names of people I’ve briefly met. That’s not a good thing for someone in my line of work. People are important to me. Yet, I taught a class of students for three months and could hardly remember their names. I’d hate to think some people aren’t important enough to me to remember their names or to care enough about their details to commit them to memory. Usually I at least remember their faces. In fact, I’m good at that.

I met with a rabbi this past weekend, someone who contacted me “out of the blue.” Actually, he read a comment I made on a list serve and then looked me up on my web site. I didn’t remember having met him before. He wasn’t sure we had met previously either but thought the photo on my web site looked familiar. As I walked towards him, I immediately recognized him as someone I’d met at the last Aleph Kallah. His face was familiar. However, he remembered having a conversation with me and me introducing him to a friend. I didn’t remember that. Again, I felt grateful and honored to be remembered. And I felt sorry to not remember more about him, especially since he appears to be a very knowledgeable and nice man with whom I have a lot in common.

I’m still not sure I know the significance of these events…maybe they’ll become apparent later…but it’s been nice to bask in the knowledge that I am remembered.

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