blogs/rabbi-huberman

Like anything Jewish, there are two sides to every story.

Even when it comes to Passover—there are things that I both love and hate.

Let’s begin with the positive: Passover is a wondrous holiday, offering a rare and treasured opportunity to gather family around the theme of freedom.

There are stories and rituals, songs and traditions unique to every family.

For example, in many Sephardic homes, those at the Seder table playfully slap each other with scallion greens to remind each other of the Egyptian task masters.

Some come to the Seder dressed as Egyptians. Others update their Seders by including symbols such as oranges, lemons, olives and coffee beans.

Some make the recitation of the plagues more fun by adding wind-up frogs, stickers or bubble wrap for boils, sunglasses for darkness or Styrofoam beads for hail.

Indeed, the purpose of the holiday is to revisit the story of the Israelites’ liberation from Egypt and where possible update the narrative to make the texts more relevant to younger generations.

It is the most observed holiday within all of Judaism, linking the survival of past generations with our hopes for a better and equitable future.

Yet so many things make me wince—things I have edited out of my own observance.

First, the greetings:

“Wishing you a kosher Pesach.” What exactly does that mean, and to whom?

Before I became a rabbi, my mother and I visited a kosher supermarket and asked the supervising rabbi, “Is tahini kosher for Passover?”

The rabbi replied, “Well, it depends on whether you are Sephardic or Ashkenazi.”

I shook my head and responded, “Surely God has an opinion on this topic.” 

To which the rabbi repeated, “It depends on whether you are Sephardic or Ashkenazi.” 

In recent years the Conservative movement has okayed the eating of kitniyot—rice, corn, sunflower and sesame seeds, beans, peas and lentils.

Orthodox Judaism, with respect, holds that they should be forbidden.

So, let me ask: “What is kosher to whom, and should this be the primary greeting we offer?”

Next, there’s the Yiddish phrase, “A zissen Pesach—a sweet Pesach.”

Again, not my favorite. There is an urban myth that the phrase—nowhere found in the “Old Country”—comes from an early 1900s ad campaign by a major wine producer designed to boost sales of its product, which rates in sweetness well above 25.

There are other theories of how this uniquely American phrase got started. Still, should it be our number one holiday greeting?

And then there is the Seder.

I love the central themes: history, liberation, freedom.

Yet some passages make me cringe. How about the Four Sons? Where are the daughters? And is there such a thing as a “Wicked Child?”

There are so many ways children learn. Clearly, this is a reading worth rewriting.

Then there is the famed Maxwell House Haggadah. Did anyone ever learn anything from that wave of Hebrew, with little or no explanation, recited at lightning speed by a family elder?

Sorry, Uncle Moishe, but if we do not make the Seder "children-friendly" as the Torah commands, then their connection with Judaism will center only around eating and finding the Afikoman.

If so, have we really accomplished anything?

And then there is the question of details: Should I change my toothpaste? Can our dog eat chametz? Will God be mad at me if I drink a non-kosher for Passover Coke?

Indeed, Pesach is not as much about having a kosher or sweet holiday, or references to wicked children, or Uncle Moishe—of blessed memory.

It is about the memories we create, the stories and values we pass on, the traditions we inherit and the new ones we introduce—either from the “Old Country” or through the eyes of our children—each one of whom is brilliant and sacred.

It is about letting go of the chametz that holds us down: Grudges, resentments and the bloat we’ve acquired during winter.

It is about smiling when we think about how beautiful our Seders were—with children and elders at the same table.

How far our families have come since we arrived from the “Old Country.”

Indeed, Passover is a time to rejoice and break free, as we consider, “What kind of Judaism do we wish to model for future generations?”

How was your Passover? Did you incorporate any new readings or rituals? What inspired you?

As we recall generations past, and look into the eyes of a new generation, we realize Judaism will indeed survive.

Am Yisrael Chai.

It begins with how we frame Pesach, so that when our children ask the ageless question “what do you mean by this rite?” our answer will not only respect Torah, history and tradition, but will be relevant to our times.

And so, as we near the end of Passover 5785, I offer you the greeting that inspires me most—one which respects the uniqueness of every family, and its journey to this new Promised Land.

“I wish you a Meaningful Pesach.”

Each of us in our own unique way—but all of us together.

Chag Sameach. Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbi Irwin Huberman