Mar 2010
Passover Thoughts & Wishes
03/23/10 10:07
Spring is here, and our thoughts turn to... matzoh?
My thoughts and memories of matzoh and, of course, Passover, bring me back to my childhood, sitting at the end of a long table by the side of my father as he read the Passover Haggadah. When I was young and we were orthodox, it was all in Hebrew, reflecting my father’s upbringing. But as the years passed and we moved to conservatism, English became a large part of the Passover service (as well taking some shortcuts to speed things along).
I fondly recall the pride I felt watching my father lead this service in our home. All eyes were on him, all words were uttered at his direction. When he said “shhh,” conversations stopped. When he told the same background stories, the same jokes, the same historical references year after year after year, we all nodded in appreciation and wonder, as if it were the first time we heard these words (although there was, admittedly, some rolling of the eyes). And we all laughed at those old jokes like we did the year before and the year before that.
Passover for me has always been a time of family. And family for me has always included relatives as well as close friends. Over sweet wine and juice and brisket and turkey and potatoes and lots and lots of food, we sit together and laugh and sing and remember and share, bonded by a common history and strength.
I remember the first Passover after my father died. I was 29 and single and still finding my way in the world as I prepared to lead the Passover service in my mother’s apartment in the Bronx. I sat down in my father’s chair at the head of the long table, all eyes and ears on me. An hour before that I had looked through our Haggadah and wrote notes in the margins -- “wash hands,” “leave table,” “hide Afikomen,” “sing,” “skip this part.”
We all sat down, the same faces from the year before, minus one, as I began to read from the Haggadah: “ We are about to begin the recitation of the ancient story of Israel’s redemption from bondage in Egypt...” But it was all wrong. I was not the leader; my father was. Yet I felt his presence as I began the Kiddush, and I felt him stronger still as I finished. My words were his words and my stories were his stories. Even my jokes mirrored the ones I had heard throughout my life. And while it was sad, so terribly sad not to have my dad there, it was at the same time uplifting to know that everyone at that table was pulling for me, prompting me and supporting me as I carried on our Passover traditions.
As the years have passed since that seder I developed my own stories and jokes, no doubt causing new rolling of the eyes. We still gather each year with family and friends to tell the story of Pesach. I have carried on the traditions of my father and his father, even as I have embraced the reform movement, while developing new traditions with my wife that our children will carry on.
As you enjoy the warmth of Spring and tradition of Passover, I hope that you also enjoy the strength of family and friends and companionship, the power of faith and the magic of renewal and hope.
Shalom.
Scott Levinson
My thoughts and memories of matzoh and, of course, Passover, bring me back to my childhood, sitting at the end of a long table by the side of my father as he read the Passover Haggadah. When I was young and we were orthodox, it was all in Hebrew, reflecting my father’s upbringing. But as the years passed and we moved to conservatism, English became a large part of the Passover service (as well taking some shortcuts to speed things along).
I fondly recall the pride I felt watching my father lead this service in our home. All eyes were on him, all words were uttered at his direction. When he said “shhh,” conversations stopped. When he told the same background stories, the same jokes, the same historical references year after year after year, we all nodded in appreciation and wonder, as if it were the first time we heard these words (although there was, admittedly, some rolling of the eyes). And we all laughed at those old jokes like we did the year before and the year before that.
Passover for me has always been a time of family. And family for me has always included relatives as well as close friends. Over sweet wine and juice and brisket and turkey and potatoes and lots and lots of food, we sit together and laugh and sing and remember and share, bonded by a common history and strength.
I remember the first Passover after my father died. I was 29 and single and still finding my way in the world as I prepared to lead the Passover service in my mother’s apartment in the Bronx. I sat down in my father’s chair at the head of the long table, all eyes and ears on me. An hour before that I had looked through our Haggadah and wrote notes in the margins -- “wash hands,” “leave table,” “hide Afikomen,” “sing,” “skip this part.”
We all sat down, the same faces from the year before, minus one, as I began to read from the Haggadah: “ We are about to begin the recitation of the ancient story of Israel’s redemption from bondage in Egypt...” But it was all wrong. I was not the leader; my father was. Yet I felt his presence as I began the Kiddush, and I felt him stronger still as I finished. My words were his words and my stories were his stories. Even my jokes mirrored the ones I had heard throughout my life. And while it was sad, so terribly sad not to have my dad there, it was at the same time uplifting to know that everyone at that table was pulling for me, prompting me and supporting me as I carried on our Passover traditions.
As the years have passed since that seder I developed my own stories and jokes, no doubt causing new rolling of the eyes. We still gather each year with family and friends to tell the story of Pesach. I have carried on the traditions of my father and his father, even as I have embraced the reform movement, while developing new traditions with my wife that our children will carry on.
As you enjoy the warmth of Spring and tradition of Passover, I hope that you also enjoy the strength of family and friends and companionship, the power of faith and the magic of renewal and hope.
Shalom.
Scott Levinson
