Passover

Last night was the first night of the Passover festival, which commemorates the Jewish exodus from slavery in Egypt.

This is a gross simplification of the holiday, but if my memory serves me, it is called Passover because when all of those plagues were happening, G-d told the Jews to put lamb's blood on the doorway-- a sign to "pass over" that house-- and protect their firstborn sons from being killed. Matzah is to remember that there was no time for bread to rise when fleeing Egypt. Bitter herbs, gefilte, and horseradish serve to symbolize how hard life is? (I don't know about that one... help me out, friends.)

When I was younger, my family would go to our close friends' house for Seder dinners during Passover. I mostly remember trying to sing the prayers in Hebrew, drinking grape juice, and saving a seat for Elijah (and maybe looking at the door for him?).

I remember these Seders in images and smells. I was warm and curious, and I sat up straight. While we had many pizza nights with these friends (who are pretty much family, really), these nights during Passover felt different. The ceremony, story, and tradition were clear; the mom in this family was a wonderful teacher, and it felt so special.

We had religious traditions at church, but it was different to have this shared religious tradition in their house. It felt like being in the family. I send my love out to all of you who are asking questions and telling the story tonight.