Free at last

 

    Passover is the time of year that we appreciate our freedoms and strive to afford those freedoms to all people everywhere. The story of Passover is an ancient one that we have repeated over the years, assembling as families, teaching our children, and establishing new traditions that our descendants will relish and repeat with joy and fond recollection of their elders.

     Each family’s seder is different. One will be traditional with all prayers in hebrew and not a page in the hagadah that is not read. Another will be filled with song and music while still another is more modern and centered on the child’s eye view. The seder may be one of the oldest continually celebrated religious traditions in the world but surprisingly it has a very modern component. It is multifunctional. It is a religious service complete with prayers, psalms, and hymns. It is a history lesson. There are moral and ethical themes discussed and there is even a mystical quality. Audio and visual aids are introduced to some seders and it acts as a social gathering. There are some family members that we only see at this festive dinner. And, Oh Yes, it is a fabulous meal. Here is a picture of my Boxinbaum family at a seder in Milwaukee. 

 

     Our own seder had evolved into an event for our family and what we like to call our orphan family. A collection of friends that had few other options for celebrating Passover so we included them in ours. We enjoyed those meals immensely and we miss them but don’t always miss this kitchen mess afterwords. 

 

We moved to Florida a year and a half ago and last year’s seder was spent Zooming with my sisters and their families due to Covid. This year, still in Florida, we introduced the seder to seven of our non Jewish neighbors. 

     My sister Cheryl, hosts a unique seder. She wrote her own Hagadah and the seder starts not around the dinner table but in the den and living room while everybody reclines on sofas and easy chairs as they recite the blessings over the wine, and greens, and Morror. Nobody sits at the table until the meal is ready to be served. 

    Synagogues, nursing homes, and Jewish community centers also host seders for those people who don’t have family to share it with but are not content to sitting at home celebrating by themselves. 

     We all have great memories of the passover seders and the traditions we experienced as we grew older. My wife, Arlene, fondly remembers her grandfather singing Dayanu at their family meal. My sister remembers having to recite the four questions into the receiver for our grandfather’s hearing aid so he could kvell from her inquiries. Somebody recounted the story of attending the seder at their grandparents’ high rise apartment. They didn’t only open the door for Elijah but they actually sent the elevator to the lobby just in case he got by the doorman. My memorable moment of the seder is a very special one to me. It involves my mother and it truly epitomizes the meaning and spirit of this holiday. 

 

    Minnie Boxinbaum Levine was a warm, wonderful, loving woman who was absolutely dedicated to her family, her religion, her synagogue, and to her communities both religious and secular. She was always volunteering to help others. She cooked food for meals on wheels, she was the librarian at the synagogue, and she read college textbooks to a blind college student. Minnie was passionate about literacy and tutored adults who had reading difficulties because of language barriers or undiagnosed learning disabilities. 

    As warm and giving and charitable as she was, she was not very emotive. She never jumped up and yelled and screamed or offered high fives when she was excited nor did she cry “woe is me” and lament her problems when depressed. She didn’t exactly wear her heart on her sleeve. 

     Minnie was raised Orthodox Jewish in Canada and was raising a consevative Jewish family in Erie, Pennsylvania. She held fast to tradition so Passover was her production. After my grandmother was too old to host the seder, that responsibility landed on our doorstep and Mom took over with all of her heart. She cleaned the kitchen, changed the dishes and cooked the food while my father, my sisters, and I cleaned the house and organized the logistics of the festive meal. We decided who would lead the service, which passages or stories we would or would not read and who would recite some of the special readings that were available. One passage called “the matzah of hope” was reserved for Minnie. It started off with her pointing to a piece of matzah and stating “this is the matzah of hope…….” I don’t remember the exact words but the passage was about how lucky we are to live in a country where we can celebrate our holiday without fear of reprisal from our neighbors, or the police, or our government. The matzah symbolized the hope that someday, all people in the world would be afforded the same privilege. Just short of stating it outright, this reading addressed the plight of the Russian Jews. Close to a million of them living behind the Iron Curtain. If they wanted to observe the Seder they would have to do so clandestinely in the basement of a building with people stationed to warn of anybody that would turn the group into the authorities. 

     In the late 70’s or early 80’s the soviets relaxed their policy on emmigration and hundreds of thousands of Jews left Mother Russia to find their way to friendlier shores. Most of them came to the United States or went to Israel. The organization HIAS coordinated the effort to move these people through Europe and to their final destinations. My mother, true to form, joined the local chapter in Erie and immediately started working, making phone calls and going to meetings to ensure that the family destined for our fair city would have a place to live, a job, and a network of friends and acquaintances that would help them become acclimated to life in the United States. 

    The Genevitch family landed in Erie in December. They weren’t fazed by the cold weather and snow. It was probably reminiscent of where they came from. Mom spoke to them regularly and invited them over for Sabbath meals occasionally. And of course she invited them to help us celebrate the first night of Passover and join in our seder. 

    Everything was going as expected that evening until we reached Mom’s part. This time she stood up. She took up a piece of matzah and held it above her head with one hand and firmly grasped Mrs. Genevitch’s hand with the other. Then she proclaimed in a loud and powerful voice “THIS IS THE MATZAH OF HOPE”. The tears began to flow even before she finished that sentence. By the time she finished the passage she and her newfound friend were hugging each other sobbing. Crying tears of joy. Celebrating life, freedom, dreams realized and goals accomplished. It was a rare show of emotion by my usually stoic mother and it remains my most precious memory of her.      

    Every Passover at that part of the seder I think about Mom and Mrs. Genevitch and I realize that the matzah symbolizes hope to me as well. It is my hope that all of us will someday feel the joy and elation that my mother felt that night. The joy which comes from setting someone free and saving a life. 

    Not much has changed in the world and in our country over the last 33 years since Minnie passed away. There are still oppressed people living in dictatorships around the world. There are still groups that are ostracized because of their religion, skin color, sexual orientation, or even their political views. We need to follow her lead and the lessons of the story of Passover. We must preach tolerance, acceptance, and compassion. We must continue to educate our children on how important freedom and liberty is until we no longer have to defend the poor and disenfranchised. Hag Sameach everybody.