Passover for coming out of tight places

We "did" Passover this year with just the four adults - Martin, Kelly, Morey and me - and little Dahlia - not quite 2.

It was a far cry from my heights of doing it for 35 people. In those days I had both daughters and my daughter-in-law, here to help, and we Shanghai'd Martin into working too. It's an impossible job for one person.

I remember when we first were married, Morey took me to his cousins in Los Angeles for Passover. His Aunt Fanny, mother of 6, did the whole thing - and she was NOT a great cook but the whole family was there. All of the children married and with children, and some of the oldest of her grandchildren were married with children - it was a FAMILY.

I was so impressed. My family of origin - isolated from our roots in Germany - seperated from the Polish, and more observant, family - we were just the three of us and it was uphill for my Mom to get my Dad to do anything Jewish. As I think I've said, he considered himself German.

When we came to the USA, my Aunt and Uncle became our family and some of their friends - none with children - would join us for a family Seder. But they were all assimilated Jews - except my Uncle Sid. Uncle Sidney still hung onto some of the Jewishness with which he was raised. He wanted things done a certain way but took shortcuts because his "audience" was restless, unobservant and ignorant - and maybe just a little bit ashamed of being Jewish. It was such a hard label in Germany - even before Hitler.

And, I have to mention that the German Jews considered themselves a touch above the Polish Jews. So my Uncle Sid may have been trying to be more sophisticated, like the German Jews.
He was always in a hard place for that. Aunt Helen considered herself to be far away and above them all - Russian aristocracy at that. He, Uncle Sid, and we - the poor relatives pretty much had to toe the line for what she considered to be "cultured". We laughed behind her back, but we would not dare to her face - except for my Father (always the delinquent).

Certainly there was nothing for the children. I don't remember being asked to read the four questions - and afikommen was unheard of. Like I said, there were no other children there.

So when I went to the Spiszman family Seder, it was eye opening. They were observant! They, or at least Aunt Fanny, kept kosher. My father-in-law, who was the patriarch at that time, read everything - and I mean EVERYTHING. But he read it in Hebrew - so he mumbled away there at the head of the table while conversations, discussions and arguments went on at the lower levels of the table. The little kids were under the table, eating matzo so that famine wouldn't set in before the meal was served. Fanny and he daughters were in the kitchen getting everything in readiness for when we could eat...........which was late, maybe 10pm.

For me, however, it was delicious. It was a big, bustling, warm family doing something I'd never been exposed to before and that was being totally Jewish. Not half heartedly, not apologetically
and not gentile-ly (if that's a word).

After we had Toni, we had to make a decisions whether or not to go back to the Spiszman family or go with my Mother and Stepfather to my Aunt and Uncle. And the truth was, I thought I was bringing "family" to them. After all, Morey and I were the younger generation and there was little Toni, soon to be followed by Martin and Carol.

It didn't last long - Mom and my Aunt and Uncle were forever getting into violent arguments.
The pretense of a large, loving family was hard to maintain in the face of their tensions. I, of course, sided with my Mother and we went to her house for all Jewish holidays with or without the Sidney and Helen contingent.

When we started doing our own Passover Seders, we tried for a middle ground. Not the Orthodoxy of Morey's Dad, but neither the assimilated shallowness of my Aunt and Uncle.
We read from our Hagadah's and Martin, at least, had his favorite parts - as did I. I don't really know if the girls' enjoyed it, or had favorite parts. They sort of tolerated the whole thing.

Years later, we went to a Seder at a friend's house and for the very first time I was exposed to people to genuinely enjoyed the Seder - it was neither a tedious recital in an unknown language, nor a tip of the hat to a religion that had become somewhat meaningless, they loved it. Whatever other criticismn I may have had of that family, I have always remembered and envied that joy.

In my old age now, I find my religion very satisfying. It's not like Morey's family, nor like my family - nor even like my own family was in years past. It has evolved, much as I have, and has become more meaningful and satisfying and something I would like to share with my grandchildren. Hopefully with love and joy.

The title of this piece comes from a modern interpretation of the escape from Egypt across the Red Sea and into the desert. Egypt is the tight and unhappy places of our past - the Red Sea is the bridge which leads into the possibility of change but it is fraught with dangers and requires faith. The desert (where we roamed for 40 years) is the place where we evolved into a cohesive people with a promise for a future. We are always evolving - always changing - always trying to find meaning in our lives - and the promise is always there. There is a Promised Land - maybe not Israel - but a place where we can be happy, joyous and free and connect with the Force.