Growing up in Astoria, a small town on the Oregon coast, my Jewish and my spiritual identity was determined not as much by my beliefs and practices but by how I saw myself in relation to others in the world. I know that my experience was quite different then so many people in this community who grew up in Montreal, or as part of a larger Jewish community. I was one of a few Jews in my school, and with no synagogue, our only Jewish “family” was a small havurah which gathered together for the major Jewish holidays. And when spring would come, I knew that my favorite holiday, Passover was on its way.
Passover was not a small celebration for our community, in fact every year we would rent out one of the local churches’ social halls, and hold the Passover seder in that big echoing room. We would tell the Passover story, sing a few songs, and of course eat the festive meal. Somehow during this important moment in the year, our small but tight-knit Jewish group would grow, as we would invite guests, Jews, non-Jews, spiritual explorers, and according to my recollection a few church ministers to join us.
Yet, in part because we had the space, there were always, in the most positive sense of the term, uninvited guests too. At times we had visitors, strangers and wanderers who would arrive, God forbid, without a RSVP. Often these were quite normal looking people, but sometimes scraggly men and women, possibly homeless, usually quiet, but sometimes a bit disruptive. Yet, this was a seder where the doors were quite literally open, and in a way that I have rarely experienced since, our Jewish story was truly shared with all.
As we would tell the story of the Israelites escape from slavery and explore the idea of freedom and justice, I remember feeling a strong sense of connection not only with the story of my people but also with the very powerful experience of sharing this story with those who were not part of my Jewish community and family. Soon I would realize this is what made the holiday so powerful for me.
As I grew up and my family moved to the big city, we still made sure to invite guests to our seder, pushed on by the commandment to “Let all who are hungry come and eat”. My parents took this idea very seriously. Each year, new people with new stories and backgrounds would be welcomed into our home, and I learned so much from each of them. Throughout the years we had many friends of friends, neighbors, curious co-workers, Jews and non Jews. On one occasion, we welcomed an adopted boy who had just discovered that his birth parents were Jewish. On another we invited a newly arrived Russian family, in which only the elderly grandmother had ever been to a seder before. Every year it was a different set of guests, and every year a different moment of connection–brought on by the process of celebrating and sharing the holiday with others.
Passover is on the one hand the most Jewish of holidays. As we sit around the table, we are recalling our uniquely Jewish journey. This is of course our origin story–the ultimate experience that we shared as a community, and something so important to our individual and collective identity that we are commanded to feel as if were actually there with the wandering Israelites. Through words, foods and songs we hold on to this story and make sure that it is the most meaningful and dynamic experience that we can have.
It’s our story, but Pesach is also the most universal of holidays too. The themes of redemption and freedom, of overcoming challenges and strengthening community is something that all people, no matter their cultural or religious background can connect with. Many of us, especially in the liberal community, have taken the universalism one step further and bring in the discussions of current events and issues, adding readings and thoughts about modern slavery and oppression into our seder experience.
As I have always felt, we are best fulfilling the purpose of the Pesach seder when we can both powerfully retell our story, the Jewish story, of Passover, and also use it to reflect on, and make a difference in a world that is in so much need of the lessons we have learned. It is the ultimate mix of Jewish and universal, and we can learn so much from the people who join us at our seder table!
Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach used to teach: “You may think that you can sit down to your Shabbat table without guests, without poor people, but you really can’t! But then, maybe there is a Shabbat in which you do… But on the seder night, it is prohibited to sit down without a poor person sitting at your table! “Kol dichfin yete v’yechol” echoes the Aramaic of the hagaddah – ‘all those in need shall come and eat’!”
This is not simply a time to invite the poor, but I also take this to mean that we also need to open up our tables and our hearts to those who are most different than us. We need to share our story, our unique Jewish story and search for it’s universal power. Teach to others and learn from others. Share our food, and share the experience.
We know that the spiritual task of open our hearts to the other is not easy. The well known 20th century mussar teacher Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe explains:
We see ourselves in the other, as if every person we encounter is simply a mirror in which we see ourselves! That is to say: we have not yet freed ourselves from the self-centered perspective to see that the other is not identified with us. The other is precisely other, different from us in essence, and it is incumbent upon us to focus on the way the other differ from us and see that which the other needs, not that which we need!
There of course is the tradition that on Passover, Elijah the prophet, God’s messenger, visits every Jewish families’ seder. We open the door, sing a song, and for those who pay attention (and have a bit of an imagination) might even see Elijah’s cup wiggle a little. Elijah also shows up in an endless number of Jewish folktales. In these stories Elijah is often dressed up as a beggar, or an old wanderer, appearing at just the right time to teach those who welcome him in an important lesson about holiness and hospitality. Yet Elijah is not just a special guest, he also a reminder to us to always keep our doors, and our hearts open to all. Passover can teach us that celebrating freedom and creating holiness is not just a once a year event, but a constant reminder that holiness is all around us. More importantly, as the folktales tell us, Elijah, the messenger of God, the symbolic image of holiness, peace and justice, can appear when we least expect. Each person, all life on earth is this bit of holiness, and each deserves the respect and awe which we give to the most special parts of our lives. Ultimately, the true meaning of Passover, and the meaning of freedom is to welcome each person we meet as if they are a piece of God, an image of holiness in the world. Only then, will we all live in peace.
When we open that door to Elijah, the one who it is said will bring us to messainic days, to a more perfect and a more compassionate and peace filled world, we have to truly do our best to open that door to everyone. We will never know if that person, even the stranger most different than us, is the most important piece of God. Open that door to Jews, to non-Jews, to Christians, and Muslims, rich and poor, to those who have been excluded from Jewish life because of the doors that have been closed on them, and to all those who are simply searching for open arms and a welcoming home.
We can always come up with reasons, with excuses for why we should keep to ourselves during this time, but on Passover, it is not up to us to close any doors, we can only open them. On this day, our story, the story of Passover and the Jewish people is also the story of life itself and the universal search for freedom, tolerance and compassion. Outside, inside, us and them. Don’t forget, this is the day when we make our table, make our community even bigger. I promise there is room for us all!
A Rebbi’s Proverb (From the Yiddish)
By Danny Siegel
If you always assume
the person sitting next to you
is the Messiah
waiting for some simple human kindness —
You will soon come to weigh your words
and watch your hands.
And if the person chooses
Not to be revealed
In your time —
It will not matter.
