Epilogue:
The Passover Seder
When and
how does an artist know when the painting they are painting
is done?
There are a couple of methods to making this call, and
they
happen to be very similar for completing a book. For one, your
intuition
may just tell you it’s done. Or, you no longer find yourself
inspired
by the work, and thus find yourself unmotivated or unwilling
to
continue adding content. You may take up the option to put
the work
down for awhile and come back to it later with new insight
and
knowledge for resolving snags. But, if you return and continue
to feel
the same way, perhaps it’s time to polish that project up and
start
another anew.
I have
debated much about when to end this book searching for
just the
right way to go about finding that proper ending. What I
thought
would take six months actually took three years. Most of
this
book was written in eight months, but then newer ideas would
come and
older memories that had to be retold resurfaced. I started
telling
people I had written a book on my life in Israel and it would
be ready
in a few months. I figured that if I made it a public announcement,
it would
be so, but as I write this epilogue, I have to
admit
that was over a year ago. I was still enjoying memories that
this
project conjured up, and I wanted to remember more and write
more. To
truly help bring the project to a close, I began to read
chapters
to friends. I really felt I accomplished something when a
friend
let me read the chapters to him for a second time. So at last,
the time came. I
laid out the ultimatum for myself
that any
more stories would have to wait for a sequel, and that’s
that.
The process of ending the book had begun, but how long it
would
take and how the process would turn out remained a mystery.
I
decided to meet with my nephew Jeremy Yanofsky, who by now
graduated
with an English major in college, and I asked him to help
me to
edit this book. I chose to ask Jeremy to help me in particular
not just
because of his expertise in writing and not just because he
was my
nephew, but also because I surmised that he may have some
unique
insight into the relationships I had between myself, Israel,
and the
USA, specifically because he had the opportunity to visit
Israel
via the Taglit-Birthright
Israel program. According to their
webpage,
Birthright has provided gifts of first time educational trips
to
Israel so as to “strengthen the sense of solidarity among world
Jewry”
and to strengthen the “participant’s personal Jewish identity.”
After
partaking in this trip, Jeremy happened to take advantage and
visit me
when I still lived in Zichron Yacov, making him a bit more
familiar
with the subject at hand.
The
opportune moment for completing the story ironically arrived
on the
night of the Passover Seder, April 2009, during which
Jews
around the world spent the evening commemorating freedom
and
redemption from bondage. My sister Audrey, Jeremy’s Mom,
invited
me to her house for this Seder, where we all read passages
from the
Haggadah, retelling the story of how the Israelites were led
from
bondage and Egypt by Moses at the behest of the Lord. As
the
story goes, the Israelites leave havoc behind and wander in the
Sinai
wilderness on their way to entering the Promised Land. On
my way
to my sister’s home, I stop in a local wine and spirits store,
and I
find it stocked with kosher wines from Israel, Spain, Italy,
France,
New York and California. I picked up a few bottles, one of
them
containing dry white wine but in a green bottle. At the counter,
a woman
asks me if I was buying green wine, and I told her it
was
regular white wine in a green bottle shipped in from Israel. She
asked me
if it was any good, to which I replied of course – I lived in
Israeli
wine country for ten years, I should know. I felt like a good
will
ambassador for Israel.
Audrey
invited seventeen friends along to her house, most of
which I
had become acquainted with by this time. From the conversations
around
the Seder plate, I gathered that some of these people
wanted
their children to go to Israel like my nephew did. Some
were
planning to go, but did not yet. Others did not have any plans
to ever
go, but wished they did. Several said they are going to go
when the
time is right, but remorsefully settled on the idea that they
probably
won’t. One person even happened to be brought as a child
from
Israel to live here in America. This Seder was on the second
night of
Passover. In Israel, Jewish celebrations and observances like
the
Passover Seder last only one night, but out in the world of the
Diaspora,
the age-old custom of extending certain holidays with
an added
night to ensure that the timing of one’s observance of
the
holiday properly aligned with the timing of the holiday in the
Promised
Land was still in practice. While this practice may have
been
necessary in post-Biblical times, it just seems like an obsolete
concept
in the age of the Internet, especially to someone who has
celebrated
these occasions right in Israel just fine without adding
that
extra evening.
The day
began with frost on the ground. I mention this because
Israel
is sunny this time of year and the depictions of the
stories
of Passover in my sister’s Haggadah are all bright and sunny.
There
are palm trees and a warm, blue, Nile with people wading
in the
waters to extract the baby Moses from his reed basket. The
pyramids
and sand dunes bask in the sun. Egyptians and Israelites
pose in
light cotton clothes, wearing hats for shade, working in the
fields
to reap a hay harvest to use in making bricks for Egyptian
buildings.
Gazing at these pictures in the Haggadah, I wondered
if I was
drawn to that part of the world to get away from the cold
New
England winters. Glancing at the news that day,
I read that President Barack
Obama
was
having a Passover Seder in the White House, marking the first
ever for
an American president. Of course, editorials in the Jewish
newspapers
were ripe with “See, we told you so, Obama is good
for the
Jews.” Listening to the reading of the Haggadah around our
Seder
table of how the Hebrews were slaves in Egypt and how they
longed
to be free, I couldn’t help but wonder about the universality
of the
message of longing for freedom. What reaction would
President
Obama hold regarding the story? I would presume that he
could
not help but consider the parallels to black slavery, bondage,
and
redemption in America’s history and perhaps compare Moses
to
Abraham Lincoln. Was Obama now going to be a black Moses
of
sorts, redeeming America from her economic and social troubles?
Are we
going to a new promised future and a new promised land?
Much
remained uncertain about the future of America and Israel
alike
that night, but in reading the Haggadah with my family, I was
certain
of at least one truth in my life. I no longer felt like the son
of a
refugee, or a minority citizen, or a fish out of its aquarium, I
felt
free and content. I was able to follow my dream. This year, Jews
were
invited to a genuine kosher for Passover White House dinner
through
the front door. The Jewish people now had a homeland
under an
Israeli sun; and with it a thriving culture to be proud of, a
strong
army, strong allies, and a beautiful lady model on the front
page of Sports Illustrated. As the
traditional conclusion of the Haggadah
meets
its readers with the blessing “next year in Jerusalem,” so
may this blessing come true
for you someday.
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