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I sat at the Passover Seder where we were retelling the story of the ancient Israelites’ exodus from Egypt. An excitable Penelope sat beside me firing questions left, right and centre:
"Why did we just sing that song? Why did you dip those leaves in the saltwater? Who’s paying for all this? Why did you just pour the wine again? Why did you just hide a piece of Matza? Why is this night different from all other nights? Why did God bother to take the Jews out of Egypt? Why did he get them in there in the first place? That wine is making me dizzy! Why didn't the Egyptians just turn on the light during the plague of darkness? Why would it ‘have been enough for us’? Why are you leaning the left? -- ouch -- you are squashing me! What time will the real food come? Do you really do this every year? Why do people outside Israel do it twice?"
Penelope was also seated - on the other side - next to a lovely young woman who helped her read through the Haggadah. In all, the atmosphere was both solemn and jovial.
I was pleased that Penelope had agreed to join me tonight. The Passover story is an epic. (I should know - I saw it at the cinema when I was a kid. Moses had an American accent and his spokesman, Aaron, didn't say a word). The whole saga covers so many issues: travel preparation (matza baking), foreign cultures (the fabulous court of Pharaoh and incredible Egyptian architecture), xenophobia (foreigners were always made slaves!), pagan belief systems (court magicians, pharaoh worship), modes of transportation (foot, horse drawn carts, military chariots stolen from the film set of Ben Hur), issues of identity and more. It is, essentially, the introduction to a great travelogue. Indeed, I am confronted with these exact issues whenever I travel. It was my hope that, by participating in the retelling of the Passover story, Penelope would see where my strong sense of identity and wander-lust come from.
I tried to explain it in a way she could understand. "So you see, we came to Egypt 3000 years ago just as a big family that had lots and lots of kids. But it was through the experience of being enslaved, and then liberated, that all the family descendents became a nation. They now shared a common experience and were developing a national future."
I looked down at P to see whether she understood the import of my explanation. To my chagrin, her focus seemed to be elsewhere. A brown coloured sticky patch stuck to her short snout. "This haroset stuff is great," she said. "Did you know we have eucalyptus leaves with a similar cinnamon taste? It's one of my favourites. I don't know about your matza though. You guys must have a strong tummies. I reckon too much of this stuff and I might get stuck up a tree!"
I just sat silently for a minute knowing that P would have to relate to this evening's proceedings on her own level, even if it was shallow. Then, however, looking up at me with those big black eyes, she said something that really touched me. "I think I know you a little by now. You really see yourself as if you were there all that time ago, as if God had taken you, personally, out of Egypt. That's a great thing. You have a powerful link with your Jewish origins. And I am sure you don't want to be the one to break that link. You want to pass it on to the future. I get it, Alan, I get it."
I blinked for a minute at P's comprehending words. Yes, she did get it. My eyes teared for just a moment, and I pretended to have copped a splash of horse-radish. “Waiter,” I cried out, “what's this bitter herb doing in my soup?" The waiter looked at me blankly. "Backstroke," he replied nonplussed, before heading back to the kitchen. Everyone's a wise guy.
P watched this exchange, giggling. “Let me finish what I was saying.” she continued. “It also means you must suffer from incredible guilt. How can you decide who you are when it has been determined by someone else? Your need to preserve a 3000 year old experience means that unless you follow your heritage in every way, you will feel like traitor. The human condition is all about the individual finding his or her own way in this world, experimenting and developing a sense of self identity. For Jews, this means temporarily betraying your heritage and the link that you have been charged to pass on. So all Jews must, necessarily, suffer from an element of guilt."
"Why did we just sing that song? Why did you dip those leaves in the saltwater? Who’s paying for all this? Why did you just pour the wine again? Why did you just hide a piece of Matza? Why is this night different from all other nights? Why did God bother to take the Jews out of Egypt? Why did he get them in there in the first place? That wine is making me dizzy! Why didn't the Egyptians just turn on the light during the plague of darkness? Why would it ‘have been enough for us’? Why are you leaning the left? -- ouch -- you are squashing me! What time will the real food come? Do you really do this every year? Why do people outside Israel do it twice?"
Penelope was also seated - on the other side - next to a lovely young woman who helped her read through the Haggadah. In all, the atmosphere was both solemn and jovial.
I was pleased that Penelope had agreed to join me tonight. The Passover story is an epic. (I should know - I saw it at the cinema when I was a kid. Moses had an American accent and his spokesman, Aaron, didn't say a word). The whole saga covers so many issues: travel preparation (matza baking), foreign cultures (the fabulous court of Pharaoh and incredible Egyptian architecture), xenophobia (foreigners were always made slaves!), pagan belief systems (court magicians, pharaoh worship), modes of transportation (foot, horse drawn carts, military chariots stolen from the film set of Ben Hur), issues of identity and more. It is, essentially, the introduction to a great travelogue. Indeed, I am confronted with these exact issues whenever I travel. It was my hope that, by participating in the retelling of the Passover story, Penelope would see where my strong sense of identity and wander-lust come from.
I tried to explain it in a way she could understand. "So you see, we came to Egypt 3000 years ago just as a big family that had lots and lots of kids. But it was through the experience of being enslaved, and then liberated, that all the family descendents became a nation. They now shared a common experience and were developing a national future."
I looked down at P to see whether she understood the import of my explanation. To my chagrin, her focus seemed to be elsewhere. A brown coloured sticky patch stuck to her short snout. "This haroset stuff is great," she said. "Did you know we have eucalyptus leaves with a similar cinnamon taste? It's one of my favourites. I don't know about your matza though. You guys must have a strong tummies. I reckon too much of this stuff and I might get stuck up a tree!"
I just sat silently for a minute knowing that P would have to relate to this evening's proceedings on her own level, even if it was shallow. Then, however, looking up at me with those big black eyes, she said something that really touched me. "I think I know you a little by now. You really see yourself as if you were there all that time ago, as if God had taken you, personally, out of Egypt. That's a great thing. You have a powerful link with your Jewish origins. And I am sure you don't want to be the one to break that link. You want to pass it on to the future. I get it, Alan, I get it."
I blinked for a minute at P's comprehending words. Yes, she did get it. My eyes teared for just a moment, and I pretended to have copped a splash of horse-radish. “Waiter,” I cried out, “what's this bitter herb doing in my soup?" The waiter looked at me blankly. "Backstroke," he replied nonplussed, before heading back to the kitchen. Everyone's a wise guy.
P watched this exchange, giggling. “Let me finish what I was saying.” she continued. “It also means you must suffer from incredible guilt. How can you decide who you are when it has been determined by someone else? Your need to preserve a 3000 year old experience means that unless you follow your heritage in every way, you will feel like traitor. The human condition is all about the individual finding his or her own way in this world, experimenting and developing a sense of self identity. For Jews, this means temporarily betraying your heritage and the link that you have been charged to pass on. So all Jews must, necessarily, suffer from an element of guilt."
I turned to P to object to her comments. All I could see was a small grey furry rump. P had fallen over fast asleep with an arm still reaching into the haroset bowl. I should have warned her that the recipe includes wine.
By passing out, Penelope had truly entered the spirit of the Passover Seder. Her comments provided me with food for thought and I promised myself to ponder them more.
This Passover has been spent in Melbourne where P and I have been recovering from an emotional Mosaic hiking trip. Over the next few days we will be making our way back to Hong Kong, the jump-off point for our next China adventure.
Stay tuned…
2 comments:
Humour is the best way to get a message across. And you write well.
Looking forward to hearing more about your (pl. u & p) adventure(s).
happy travelling,
j.
had to read twice to understand what P was saying and i must say she has a good point. wise koala, that one. i would encounter that judaism is structured in such a way that it probably expects you to find an identity that fits in snugly with its rules and regulations, even after all your explorations and deliberations (which are made possible thanks to our good friend free willy). otherwise you are indeed doomed to eternal guilt, or at least constant questioning. which by the way is much more severe when you live in the diaspora and preservation is the community`s first priority.
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