59 bar rises 29.84 1mph NE dewpoint 46 Spring
Full Moon of Growing
Kate and I observed a tradition thousands of years old tonight. We got out the Haggadh, put the horseradish, cilantro, haroset, boiled egg and lamb bone (we substituted a chicken leg.) on a Seder plate. A small egg shaped cup held the salt water, the Elijah cup stood ready for his return. We had matzoh and we hid the aphikomon for the dogs. They were, as the passover ritual suggests, children unable to inquire. We worked together within the limitations of our planning and availability of certain goods to produce a meal, to read the Seder ritual and retell the timeless story of enslavement and liberation, the Exodus.
This Haggadh, the language and shape of the Seder laid out in book form, is hopeless. It is sexist in the extreme; sexist where no law of faith requires it. Kate suggested I write one of my own and I just might.
It is a little strange for me, metaphysically speaking, to participate in this ritual with solemnity, which aspects of it requires. Once I get in the flow of it though the ritual and the language and the songs blend together and become a hymn to the life of a people and their relationship with their highest and best sense of themselves. It is a story which acknowledges human frailty as well as longing for the divine, bravery as well as fear. It is their story, but also our story. Bondage, liberation and the struggle for freedom belong not just to the Jews, but to everyone.
