Clementine

Holidays can really hit differently after you lose a child. I usually think of Passover as the tale of the journey out of Egypt, and Moses receiving the Commandments, and of course evolving into a central figure in Judaism and gaining the movie idol status he now has. The holiday always struck me as upbeat and a win for our team and a feel-good kind of occasion. Moses has also always been a favorite of mine because he has a speech defect that makes him rely on his brother Aaron to be his spokesman. Represent!

But this year I just felt so down about so many aspects of the story. The killing of all the Hebrew babies that leads Moses’ mother to float him down the Nile to the palace to be raised as an Egyptian. The killing of the firstborn babies of the Egyptians which apparently finally breaks Pharoah’s resistance. So much death.

I’m sorry this is turning into Bible Study Hour. I’ve never thought before of the Egyptians as grieving parents, longing for their children, stunned, wondering when and if they were ever returning. It must have made it very difficult to go into battle, and then there was the whole Red Sea thing. Maybe the Red Sea coming and washing everything away was a kind of relief in the circumstances.

There’s always been aspects of the Passover Seder that didn’t speak to me, and aspects that we would leave out as a family, or as friends gathering, or at a college Seder. We would debate around the table. “This part is sexist!” Or “This part is so hopelessly bourgeois!” I come from a Reform Jewish tradition and so did most of my peers. I remember once in college an Iraqi Jew from a much stricter tradition joined our college Seder and he seemed shocked that we would even consider changing or omitting anything in the Seder. It made me realize that my practice of Judaism allowed a lot of freedom for questioning.

After Sarah was born, our practice of Judaism reflected Hanukkah (8 nights of presents!) and going to Seders when they were wheelchair accessible. Some parts of the Seder I tried to protect her from, like having to ask “The Four Questions,” as the youngest child, which she couldn’t do, and the Parable of the Four Sons, a tasteless story about how a father should explain Passover to his “wise,” “wicked,” “simple,” and “nonspeaking” sons. Yeeechhh. There was a great version of this parable I found set to the tune of “Oh My Darling Clementine” which was much less derogatory, but I couldn’t get it to catch on with my extended family. Oh well.