Passover always brings with it memories of smells and tastes and sights and sounds.
The smell of cooking and cleaning.
The taste of the gefilte fish that Grandmother Luba, may she rest in peace, used to make, that we will never taste again.
The sight of the shiny patent-leather shoes that I wasn’t allowed to wear until the night of the Seder.
The sounds of the reading of the Hagada, the songs, the family jokes that we tell year after year.
Memories….
The imperative, “and you shall tell it to your son” takes on a new meaning, as Daniel, my first born, sits on my knees for his first Seder, nine months old, smiling and enchanting.
My private exodus from Egypt, several years later, with a small suitcase and a shattered heart.
The first time that I took Na’ama, my daughter, to buy shoes for the holiday, so that she could stand tall and proud on a chair as she recited the four questions.
And the questions that repeat, year after year. Why are women absent from the Hagada, and why are the answers to “How is this night different” always the same. And what should I tell my son and daughter – what have I done to make a difference since last Passover?
And so, I wish everyone a happy holiday. May this be a good holiday, celebrated with loved ones, and may you lack for nothing. And, this holiday, as we sit around the table, we will ask, “How is this night different,” but we won’t be satisfied with the same answers. Because there are many who are still waiting for an exodus from their own personal Egypt. Because slavery has not been banished from the universe and freedom has not been distributed evenly to all.
May we be part of those who make a difference.
