A few months ago, I posted a detailed account of discoveries we had made concerning the history of my paternal grandfather’s family in Latvia. As I mentioned in those postings, I wanted to travel to Latvia to hopefully learn more and in some way connect with this family history more directly. I have just returned from a week in Latvia and I am still trying to process everything that I experienced and learned. It was a remarkable trip and while I didn’t come away with any more specific information concerning my family (although I might have establishes some connections which will result in some information in the future), it was an  extraordinary experience on both the emotional and philosophical level. I will write more in the future here and in other places but for now, let me share one feeling that I have upon returning.

The city of Daugavpils is the 2nd largest city in Latvia, about 4 hours by train from the capital Riga. It was known as D’vinsk when my grandfather was born there and was a place of serious Jewish learning and observance and also a place of serious philosophical tension. In addition to those who were traditionally observant Jews, there were secular Jews, Zionists, great literary figures and those engaged in socialist and communist organizations. The community must have been a place of great excitement but it was also a place from which people were exposed to ideas that brought them a different vision and my grandfather and two of his siblings came to America and  each established meaningful and productive lives here.

My father, alav hashalom, used to say that his father left D’vinsk one step ahead of the Russian Army and one step ahead of the Russian Police. I am not sure how accurate that is but it is certainly possible that it was not safe to express   his socialist beliefs and yearnings and he certainly wanted to avoid serving in the army. So, he came to this country and was active in the Arbiter Ring, the Workmens’ Circle, Jewish secularists with similar political leanings.

It was fascinating to be in Daugavpils but it was also important for me to remember that this is where Grandpa Dobrusin left to find the freedom he sought in the USA. The later history of Daugavpils was not one of freedom. In 1980, I traveled to the former Soviet Union to visit Jewish refuseniks and experienced constant surveillance and a lack of privacy or freedom. This was my first time back in that part of the world since that trip. Daugavpils, and Riga as well, have some feelings of the Soviet era remaining in the architecture of certain public buildings which clearly remind one of the Soviet style. So, it was jarring for me to walk around Daugavpils early last Wednesday morning and not experience the slightest amount of fear or feeling of being watched as I had felt in Leningrad and Kishinev in 1980. I saw the buildings and almost instinctively started looking over my shoulder before realizing after a few minutes that no one was watching me. This was a free country, at least relative to what Latvians experienced during Soviet domination.

While pre-Soviet D’vinsk wasn’t quite the same as Soviet era Daugavpils, it clearly wasn’t America and it made me realize that what my grandparents and so many others yearned for was not  “streets paved with gold”, but their own “yearning to be free”. And, this country provided that for them. And it provides it for us.

While I felt secure throughout Latvia (and thanks to the internet brought a lot of the USA with me, watching the Red Sox and “skyping” with my family), I  said a loud shehecheyanu when the plane landed in Chicago. While my family history is fascinating, I do not want to be nostalgic about life in D’vinsk at the turn of the century. Grandpa Julius found a much better life here.

It is July 4, a time to celebrate and honor what we have in this country. No, things are not perfect and we have a long way to go as a nation to secure rights, freedoms and opportunity for all. But it was then and it is now, a place of great hope and freedom and one which we sometimes take for granted.

I was very sad yesterday upon hearing of the death of Andy Griffith. As I wrote on Facebook: “Admit it, you really wished you lived in Mayberry. I know I did. Rest in Peace Sheriff Andy”. His show gave us great characters (who could not love Barney Fife?) and an idealized  portrait of small town America. The real Mayberry (Mt. Airy, NC) was probably not like that and America isn’t as perfect as presented on his show. But, our nation is a place of such greatness: hope, freedom and “the pursuit of happiness” for all. May always strive to live up to those values and may we, each of us, whose ancestors came here from somewhere else seeking something of meaning, embrace the promise this country stands for.

 

Happy July 4th!

I worked for part or all of 13 summers at Camp Ramah in New England. For those years, Ramah was home for me. They are treasured memories and I think about those summers very often. The other day, I thought of one aspect of camp life I hadn’t thought of for a long time.

It was the custom at Ramah that each bunk would invite someone to come in to the bunk at night when the kids were in bed to tell a story, discuss something with them, sing songs, tell jokes- whatever, just to quiet the kids down so that they could fall asleep. The truth is that the majority of the younger kids would fall asleep before the story or song was even half finished and the older ones would be up long after the guest left. But, it was such an important part of the day and one of my favorite parts of camp. I looked forward to being invited in and I had a repertoire of stories, discussion topics and games I used depending on the age group.

One of my favorite things to do was to read the kids one of my favorite short stories. The story is called Kaleidoscope and in it, astronauts who have survived the explosion of their space ship are floating away from each other through space headed for a certain death. Their final conversation with each other is marked with anger and pettiness until one of the astronauts realizes he has floated out of radio range of the others and is aimed for the earths atmosphere where he will burn up. He realizes his life has been full of disappointment and wishes something would happen which would make his last moments worthwhile in some way in the world.

The story has a great ending and I won’t ruin it for you. You can find the story all over the internet. Just do a search for Kaleidoscope but make sure you include the author’s name.

The author of this great story died this week and while I wouldn’t claim to be an expert on all of his stories, I remember many of them and realize what a visionary and a tremendous talent he was.

If you haven’t read any Ray Bradbury stories, start with Kaleidoscope and go on from there.

By the way, this was one story the kids managed to stay up for. And the ending always was a wonderful surprise.

 

Tomorrow, we will witness something rather rare and we all should make sure we see it because the next time it happens will be in the next century. Venus will pass directly between the sun and the earth and will block out a small part of the sun (1/32nd, I believe) as it does.

First a word of warning: don’t look directly at it. It might be fascinating and rare but it is also dangerous. So, either wear the special equipment designed for such an event or go to one of the many places where people will gather together to watch on tv or with a live feed from a telescope. (There are several such events scheduled for Ann Arbor.)

I love astronomical events. I watch (unsuccessfully) each year for meteor showers. I look forward to every lunar eclipse, the occasional solar eclipse and the other such occasions. Several years ago, when Mars’ orbit brought it closer to earth than it had been in centuries, I found it captivating.

I know that forecasting such events comes down to science and mathematics and I truly admire the ability of astronomers to pinpoint the event with such accuracy. I defer to their calculations and realize that there is no guesswork involved. Once you figure out the math, you know where Venus will be. End of discussion.

But, there is so much more to it than that.

For me, the predictability of the universe is one of the clearest expressions of Divine creation. The ability to recognize and appreciate the cycles of the stars and planets and to map them out with such precision is a testimony both to the stability of the world and the miracle of our ability to understand it. And for me, there is no greater proof of God’s existence and plan for creation.

My daughter, who is taking a high school astronomy class, asked me the other day whether I believe in the Big Bang Theory and I assured her I did. But, I also told her that I believed that God’s hands, as it were, were all over the Big Bang and that there need be no conflict between science and religion. In fact, I told her, I can see no better proof for the existence of God than the little black dot that will move across the sun tomorrow afternoon and our ability to predict it and, most importantly, to appreciate it.

I can’t wait for tomorrow afternoon. I can’t wait to see it (indirectly of course) and to say a bracha: Baruch atah…oseh ma’aseh biraysheet, Blessed are You O Lord our God who performs the acts of creation.

 

In my last post, I described my love for the city of Jerusalem. Obviously, I’m not alone and obviously those who live in the city have more of a say than I do but all of us who feel an emotional connection with Jerusalem and celebrate its meaning to our faith and to our people also have a stake in its future.

I have returned to Jerusalem 12 times since my year as a student. Each visit has strengthened my attachment to the city even as changes abound both for Jerusalem and for me. When I was a student in 1979-1980, the city had much more of a “small town” feel to it. The center of town was the only place to go to shop- and those options were limited- or to find entertainment. Now, different “trendy” neighborhoods have been developed, there is certainly more of a cultural scene  and shopping malls on the outskirts of town make the “let’s go to merkaz ha’ir (the center of the city) and walk down King George St for fun a thing of the past.

Those changes are significant. But, the clearest change that has affected life in Jerusalem for the visitor and the resident is the change in the demography relating to religious communities in Jerusalem. Much more of the city’s area is dominated by ultra-Orthodox, haredi, Jews. In and of itself, this isn’t an problem. People have a right to practice and live as they choose and certainly one would expect observant Jews to find meaning in living in the holy city. But the problem that results from this is that the influence of this approach to Judaism can be felt everywhere in the city and makes it difficult, to say the least, for non-Orthodox Jews to feel comfortable in the city’s holy sites and synagogues and sometimes on its streets as well.

Just this week, three female Conservative Rabbinical students were told that they could not wear a tallit at the Western Wall and were interviewed by the police and nearly arrested. Their actions were considered offensive by the authorities at the Wall. It is inconceivable to me that this could be happening but it is happening and happening every day.

It wasn’t always this way. Pictures of the Western Wall from generations past show men and women standing together. More recently, in 1984, I led a group from my synagogue in Lansdale, Pennsylvania to Israel and on Friday evening, we had an egalitarian service in the Western Wall plaza just outside the area which is separated between men and women. No one raised a fuss, no one seemed to care. Such an action would be impossible today and this is only one example of what happens in the holy places in Jerusalem.

We can profess and feel a love for Jerusalem as our city of hope and peace but until all Jews are treated equally at holy sites and respect is given to Jewish women and to those who wish to pray with them, we will not feel completely at home in Jerusalem.

And, it should be said that it goes beyond just prayer. You might have read of the incidents of defacing of advertisements and signs in the city which contain pictures of women. This trend towards extremism threatens to undermine the sense of holiness and beauty the city offers and makes it more and more difficult for first time visitors to the city to develop the lasting deep connections that many of us have found.

The other issue facing Jerusalem that is so important  is the question of the future of the city as a united city under Israel’s authority. This issue  has to be worked out by the parties involved but I think it is important for those of us who love the city and who find great spiritual meaning in it to express our opinions.

Our people have waited too long and our brothers and sisters have sacrificed too much to regain control of our holy sites such as the Western Wall for us to claim now that it is not important to us as a people. Control of these sites and access to them are too important for us as a people to walk away from. But, Jerusalem covers a large area with many neighborhoods that have remained Arab neighborhoods since before 1948 and it seems to me that ceding control over these neighborhoods and the holy sites of other faiths, particularly Islam, in exchange for a real, secure and lasting peace is certainly reasonable. Whether that can be accomplished of course is not clear and I would hope that Israelis and Palestinians would get back to the negotiating table and work on all of the issues that divide them, Jerusalem among them. In the meantime, I believe that it is essential for both pragmatic and ethical reasons, that Israel respect the connections that Arabs have with certain neighborhoods of the city and put an end to efforts, whether politically or religiously based, to increase a Jewish presence in these areas through evictions or other means. Of course Jews, as any people, should be able to live anywhere they choose but in this case care and caution and respect for the homes and neighborhoods of others should take precedence.

I was born and raised in Boston and when I go back to that city or when I think about it in my mind, I feel a tremendous sense of connection even though I haven’t lived there for more than 30 years. To me, there is a certain sense of holiness that comes from the sense of home when I think about the area I grew up in.

Our connection with Jerusalem stems from the same place but with a longer, more communal memory. Whether we have lived in the city or only visited or only dreamed of visiting, it is a place which beckons to us and connects with us on a very deep level. May we always have the privilege, one which so many of other ancestors did not, of being able to travel to and live in this city which means so much to our people. But may it always be a city of peace for Jews of all kinds and for all of those who call it home.

Yesterday, we observed Yom Yirushalayim, Jerusalem Day, the 45th anniversary of the reunification of the city of Jerusalem. To all of who love the city, it is a day of memories and a day of hope. It is also a day to think about the meaning of that word: “reunification” and the political struggles facing Jerusalem today and in the future. More of that later. For now, I will concentrate just on the love I,  like so many, feel for Jerusalem.

I arrived in Israel for the first time in early October, 1979, and spent the next 8 months there during my third year of Rabbinical School. Most of my classmates had been in Israel before but it was the first time for me and while I had my ups and downs during the year, the one aspect of my experience that stands out was getting to know the city of Jerusalem, walking endlessly through the alleys and streets, riding buses just for the sake of seeing new neighborhoods, studying the city’s history and celebrating the fact that I, unlike so many who had come before, was able to visit all parts of the city. It was the perfect time to be in the city and I took full advantage of the opportunities.

I have the letters that I wrote to my parents and friends during that first trip to Israel and what I wrote about Jerusalem was always glowing. In my first letter home (written on one of those old aerogrammes which no one uses anymore), I wrote: “Jerusalem, more than anything, is a city of smells- spices, flowers,- very pretty and very interesting and already I feel at home”. That was only a first impression. From there, I went on to describe in letters and in cassette tapes sent home, my love for this city- for the sunsets, the clouds, the views from so many different places. Each experience, even the mundane shopping trip, seemed to be so uplifting. I never tired of walking through the shuk in the Old City or Machaneh Yehudah, the market of West Jerusalem, trying new foods, striking up conversations with people. I loved to visit synagogues of all kinds, representing so many different ethnic groups.  And,  most importantly, I loved  those rare moments when the city seem to fulfill, like no other place could, the vision of people living together in peace. I spent many hours sitting on a bench near the Western Wall or on the walls of the city itself waiting for that magic moment when the sounds of davening at the kotel, the church bells in the Old City and the muezzin calling from the minaret would blend together in perfect harmony.

Since that trip in 1979, I have changed and Jerusalem has changed. That is the way of the world. More about that later.

But, what has never left me is the sense that this city is the most inspirational, most beautiful, most fascinating place I have ever been in my life.  And for now,  I want to leave it at this point- remembering the sense of holiness and meaning and spirit that I felt then and in my 12 subsequent visits to Jerusalem.

So many experiences, so many moments of joy and visions of peace, so many smells and tastes and sights that never leave you.

“Rejoice with Jerusalem, all who love her” said the prophet. It is impossible to do otherwise.

 

As a Rabbi, I am supposed to remain non-partisan when it comes to supporting individual candidates for office and I take that principle very seriously. But, that does not preclude me from expressing admiration for particular decisions made by those in political office.

Thank you President Obama for the courage you have shown in speaking out in favor of same-sex marriage. Many of us, myself included,  have found our views on this subject “evolving” over the past years.  But, at some point, the statement has to be made loudly and clearly and your decision to make that statement today will help to lead our nation to a better place, a place in which all will be able to live in dignity and equality.

Your statement reminds us how important it is to stand up for what we believe even though some may disagree.

It’s time to say the Shehecheyanu.

 

 

A couple of weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night and while trying to fall back to sleep, started thinking about a sermon for Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel Independence Day. I’m not a big fan of gematria, the system of using the numeric value of the Hebrew letters to arrive at some important teaching but I still tried to find something unique about the number 64 as this is Israel’s 64th birthday. Nothing came to mind but the Beatles’ song: When I’m 64. And, it suddenly dawned on me what a perfect text this was for the occasion.

The truth is that others seem to have the same idea as I found that several people, including Rabbis, came to the same conclusion even if their resulting thoughts were different than mine. It is perfectly appropriate that we ask the question about Israel- or assume Israel is asking the question about us- “Will you still need me, will you still feed me,when I’m 64”.

I’m planning on posting the sermon I gave on the subject on our website but, for now, I’ll summarize my points. First, to the question of whether we “need” Israel as Jews, I would give a resounding answer “Yes” for many different reasons beyond its critical role as home to many Jews and a haven for Jews in distress. Israel can be the concretization of the values and priorities we hold as Jews and as such it represents the potential for bringing into real life situations all that we, in the diaspora,  think of only in theory or only in the limited but crucial areas of our homes or synagogues.

But, the deepest relationships can not be characterized by simple answers. And, if you read Paul McCartney’s words, they are far from simple.

The man in the song singing to his wife, hoping she will love him despite the changes age brings, recognizes that they each have roles. His role is to mend a fuse. Her role is to sit by the fireside knitting a sweater. Similarly, regarding Israel, our relationship with the Jewish State must be based on each of us having roles. Israel’s role is clear and must take center stage. But, our role can not be just to sit by the fireside watching and nodding approvingly. Our role must be to be engaged to the greatest extent possible in asking Israel to stand up for what is important to us: pluralism in Jewish religious life instead of bending over backwards to satisfy ultra-Orthodox Jews, living by the values that we teach our children are the core of what it means to be a Jew, continuing to seek peace and pursue it. These and other issues need our voices and our passionate involvement.

But, there is one way in which the song diverges from the reality facing Israel. The man singing the song knows that, at 64, there is more of his life behind him than ahead. He can be forgiven at this age- more on this later- for not worrying about great and glorious dreams but being satisfied getting through the next day or the next month surviving and living on memories and hopes for his grandchildren’s future.

This is because human beings have a finite lifespan. Ideas do not. Nations do not. An idea, like Zionism and a nation, like Israel, can not stop dreaming, can not stop passionately hoping for a better future and be satisfied only with surviving another year or another century. What so many of us outside of Israel fear is that Israel has lost that sense of youth, that sense of passion to improve life for its people and to be a light unto the nations. No one would argue that survival isn’t the bottom line but, as we teach about our lives as human beings, survival is not enough- it is what we do with our lives which is crucial.

I think that had McCartney written that song today, he probably would have changed it to: When I’m 84, as our vision of 64 has changed. So, even if you  believe that the question of: “Will you still need me, will you still feed me” regarding Israel has an obvious answer now, look ahead 20 years and ask what our children and grandchildren will be thinking. If they feel that Israel doesn’t need them, doesn’t listen to their concerns, doesn’t represent them and doesn’t live by the values they have been taught as Jews, they will not send the birthday greetings or drink the l’chaims to Israel that we, who have grown up with the State, still do each and every year.

May the years to come see both Israel and Diaspora Jews reigniting the passion necessary to make this relationship work far, far into the future. It will be for our and for Israel’s benefit in the deepest sense of the word.

The other day I was mindlessly thumbing through a catalog of a well known company which offers specialty fruit and candy baskets. It was interesting to me that some of the items being offered were labeled as kosher which certainly is important information for Jewish consumers. However, just when I was about to close the catalog and put it in the recycling, I noticed the small print next to one of the kosher symbols. It said: “check for tolaim”. I nearly hit the roof.

Let me explain tolaim is the Hebrew word for bugs or worms and the catalog was advising individuals, I assume at the insistence of the kashrut supervisors, to check for any small bugs or worms in the particular fruit which would render the product not kosher in the minds of those who are very scrupulous about kashrut.

These few words touched a very raw nerve, a nerve which is become more and more “raw” as the years go along. I am absolutely incensed by the increasingly common phenomenon of “raising the bar” when it comes to kashrut,. It seems that aspects of kashrut which were, at one time, what are called “humras”, strict interpretations, observed by the minority of kashrut observing Jews, are now becoming the expected norm and I, for one, find this terribly troubling.

Let me give a few examples. There is a tradition that is observed by some at Pesach called “gebrokts” which prohibits the subjecting of any matza product or matza meal- even after it has been baked- to any amount of liquid for fear that the leavening process might continue. People who observe “gebrokts” will not eat matza balls, matza brei (or fried matza as we called it when I was growing up), or cook with matza or matza meal in any way. This always struck me as a minority approach to kashrut, one which individuals are certainly entitled to practice of course. However, more and more products produced at Pesach by major kosher companies are identifed as non-gebrokts and the products are, quite frankly, not as tasty as products made with matza meal.

Of course, we can just not buy them and that solves the problem in one sense. But, the bigger problem is that there is an insinuation that one is not observing Pesach if one is eating products which do not fit this criterion and that just is not true for the majority of us.

On a flight to Israel a few years ago, I ordered a kosher meal and received a piece of paper with the meal which guaranteed to me that the meal was made in accordance with no less than 9 additional strictures of kashrut from the grain that was used in the bread to the material that was used in the preparation of the implements that came with the meal.None of these restrictions struck me as particularly important and while, again, I am willing to accept the fact that it does matter to some, the fact that it is now the norm is what concerns me.

And, finally, to give one more example, you might have noticed a few years back that one of the kashrut supervising agencies had a new symbol which included the letters “DE” which indicated dairy equipment. This meant that the product itself was pareve (neither meat nor dairy) but that it was prepared on equipment which produced dairy products. Some would consider therefore the product as still pareve. Others might think that it was pareve but could not be eaten at the same time as meat. Others might consider it dairy altogether. It was valuable information for those who observed more stritctly.

However, you won’t see the DE hescher anymore. Now, you find that products which would have had a DE have, in fact, a D for dairy. I recently called a company whose products I had always bought and used as pareve when I saw a D show up on the package with no apparent change in the ingredients. The person I spoke to told me that the product had not changed but the supervising agency had changed their standards and insisted on a D because the product was made on equipment which did produce dairy foods. Again, if someone wants to consider that product dairy, that is their choice. But, it is another example of raising the bar, asking everyone to observe the chosen strictures of a few.What was wrong with using DE and letting people decide?

And that brings me back to the worms. I don’t need to be told to check for bugs in romaine lettuce or broccoli or whatever. If that is a kashrut requirement that one wants to take on that is fine. But, I don’t want people told that if they don’t do this, they are not keeping kosher. And, unfortunately, I believe that is the message that is sent when the minimum bar for what constitutes a kosher product is raised.

We should be encouraging people to observe kashrut, not discouraging them by continually making it more and more restrictive. Sadly, this is the direction we are heading and it points to an attitude determined to make observance of Jewish law the province of those who “do it right” while leaving the rest of us who are more reasonable to consider ourselves as outside the group of observant Jews. That just is not right and it is not wise.

As I look back on what I have written in this blog over the last few months, I see a dominant theme: nostalgia. I find myself frequently writing about my childhood and adolescent years and remembering the places I have been, the songs I sang, the TV shows I watched and the people I knew. Some of that is a function of age and while some might say that, at age 56, it’s too early to be so nostalgic, I would argue that the speed with which the world is changing makes that natural tendency to look back more difficult to resist. I am glad to grab on to new things but I miss the simpler times I grew up in.

And that brings us to Dick Clark. I was sad to hear of his death yesterday. I wouldn’t call myself by any means a great Dick Clark fan but when I think about it, he was present in many of the significant times in my life.

I do remember when American Bandstand was on tv on weekday afternoons. I was in elementary school at the time and I remember my brother watching it and I couldn’t understand what the attraction was. I didn’t begin to listen to “top 40” music until I was about 12 so none of these singers meant anything to me and I certainly couldn’t identify with the teenagers who were dancing (I never have been able to that- I’m a terrible dancer). But, I remember the black and white images so clearly and would wait until they played the game “rate a record” or whatever it was called that led to the tag line: “It’s a great song but you can’t dance to it”.

Then, when I was in high school, as an avid fan of game shows, I discovered the $10,000 pyramid. I loved that show and,in fact, years later on a couple of occasions cut a class in Rabbinical School to go to see a taping of the show in the ABC theater near Times Square. I was always amazed at how effortless Dick Clark looked when he hosted that game. He never looked bored, never lost interest and was completely unflappable. We should all look at our jobs that way.

By that point, Dick Clark took over the role of hosting New Year’s Eve in Times Square. He had started to do that in 1972 and I don’t remember whether he followed the legendary Guy Lombardo directly or if he was competition on another network, but just when I was starting to really feel the pull of adolescent rebellion, not having to listen to the old time band music from a hotel ballroom while waiting for the ball to drop was a welcome change for me and a good source of conflict with my parents.

What amazed me and many others I’m sure though about Dick Clark was that while so many of us couldn’t relate to the music tastes of the 80’s and 90’s, he stayed right there plugging these singers I had never hear of and singing their praises while I was longing for the old time music from the 60’s and 70’s. Somehow, he had kept up with the times and, by the looks of things, had never aged.

It’s worth thinking about. How much should we allow ourselves to change? How do we hold on to who were were back then and still keep up with the times? When does nostalgia become escapism?

I will miss Dick Clark. He seemed always to be there. But nothing stays the same forever.

In the famous Talmudic debate about whether we should increase or decrease the number of candles we light over the holiday of Hanukkah, the school of Hillel teaches that we should light one candle the first night,  two on the second and so on because of the principle: “ma’alin bikodesh v’ayn moridin”. We increase our levels of holiness and never decrease. The end of the holiday should have more light than the beginning.

Our goal as Jews is to bring more sanctity to our lives each day and the holidays should reflect that. But, too often, the end of our holidays is not as exciting, as meaningful, as memorable as the beginning. And, no holiday exemplifies that more than Pesach.

Think about how we began Pesach last Friday. The excitement of  cooking and cleaning had already gone on for several days in many homes. For many, the special seder dishes were taken out and those foods we eat only on two nights a year were prepared. Then, Monday came and we went back to work or to school grumbling about food limitations, trying to find something to satisfy cravings, finding too many crumbs around the house, trying not to be too obvious about longing for a cup of coffee at our favorite coffee place. Where is the extra light that Hillel spoke about relating to Hanukkah? Where is the “increase in holiness” and meaning? What happened to the glow we were left with after the Seders?

As we approach the last two days of the holiday and before the anticipation of the taste of pizza becomes too strong, it’s time to stop and think about how we can make these last two days more meaningful. Let me offer some suggestions.

First, Pesach is about more than food. We are supposed to remember the Exodus from Egypt every day of our lives but during this time of year, that obligation is particularly significant.  As we read the Song of the Sea at services on the 7th day, as we continue to say the Hallel psalms of praise for God’s salvation, we should take another look at the matza that we held up so high at the Seder and realize what we will miss in terms of meaning when we go back to eating bread Saturday evening. This intense connection with the Exodus is such a beautiful tradition and one which we feel at every meal. We will miss it even if we prefer the taste of bread.

Think also about the 8th day of Pesach and the recitation of Yizkor, the Memorial service. The saying of this service does bring a sadness and a sense of loss to the end of the festivals. But, Yizkor reminds us of the sanctity of memory. We think back to when a loved one whom we have lost was present at our Seder table. Their absence is felt so much more deeply during holiday season but, in a strange sense, feeling that sense of absence can make us embrace and cherish the power of memory even more deeply. We might sense their absence more deeply but because of the power of memory, especially at special times, we feel their presence in our minds and in our hearts even more deeply as well. The Yizkor service allows us to recognize what we have been feeling all week and through the release of tears or the relief of a smile make us cherish even more what this week has brought us.

And finally, we can commit ourselves to acting on the lessons we have learned this holiday about the meaning of slavery and the blessing of freedom. We can remember what we learned at the Seder table and seek ways to bring those lessons to light in our the days and months to come.

It’s no secret that for most of us, come Shabbat afternoon, we’ll be counting down the hours until that first taste of hametz. But, before it gets to that point, take the time to recognize the wonder that this holiday really brings- a wonder that goes far beyond the Seder. Cherish the last days of this festival and celebrate them with joy, with meaning and with memory.
Hag Sameach.