Passover: It's All in the Telling

by Larry Kaufman

A recent post on the Reform Judaism blog (www.rj.org) described the experience of someone newly converted to Judaism who attended his first seder at his congregation, and found himself seated next to a Christian divinity student who was there to gain insight on the roots of his own religion. The blog post went on to describe their conversation, and it was interesting to read about a seder with the perspectives of an outsider and of a newcomer.

As it happened, I just taught a one-session class on Passover as part of Beth Emet’s adult education program. I had no idea who might attend, and thus was at a loss as to how to prepare. Remembering that Passover is about "zaicher litsias Mitzrayim," remembering our departure from Egypt, I decided to focus on memory.

When the class convened, there were only three students, and I quickly learned that all three were Jews by choice – who therefore had no Passover memories of their own. Rather than impose my memories, I let them set the agenda; and it was interesting to listen to the range of their questions and to observe the depth of their interest.

In many ways, the simplest question was the hardest to answer: how do I choose a Haggadah for my family's seder. Rabbi London happened to drop in to say hello, and, on request, showed us a number of interesting haggadot from her personal collection. We talked about the three Reform haggadot (Union, Bronstein, and Elwell), and about special-agenda haggadot, and they seemed particularly fascinated by the story of the Maxwell House haggadah.

Not to totally lose the memory theme, I told them about the way family traditions develop, resulting in things that aren't on the haggadah's printed page, but might as well be -- as when my Tante Anna would serve the soup, invariably accompanied by her apology that the (light-as-a-feather) matzo balls were a little heavy this year.

Another question dealt with the historicity of the Exodus story, which we decided after brief discussion didn't really matter very much, but that what mattered was the importance of the re-telling of the story, whether it was fact or fiction.

Perhaps most important, we talked about freedom, including examples of personal liberation. We compared the Passover celebration with that of Independence Day -- where the one retains its symbolic significance, whereas the other is a day for hot dogs and lemonade, where only if we turn on the radio are we likely to hear the Star-Spangled Banner.

Did my students get out of the class what they were looking for? I don't really know. But echoing the story of the rabbis who pulled an all-nighter in telling the Passover story until their students interrupted because it was time for morning prayers, we were still there long after the scheduled time for the class to end, until the building staff reminded us they needed to lock up and go home.

So to my store of Passover memories, I now add this experience -- which, among other things, will add to the table conversation when my family gathers around the seder table to learn, sing, eat, and wait for Elijah.

Jews Under Construction

It’s a Sunday morning in early spring and the fifth graders enter the classroom, one at a time.

The substitute is waiting to greet each one with a smile and name exchange.

The first walks through the door, acknowledges the teacher, and sits down quietly.

The second bursts in doing cartwheels.

The third, half asleep, walks in … slowly.

One sits down, and taps tzedakah coins on the table.

Another heads right to the teacher, handing her an assignment from the week before. Another heads to a chair and asks if he can stand instead of sit.

They all come into the room on the second floor of Beth Emet The Free Synagogue, in various states of consciousness. But they come.

Conversion is the conversation for the day. On the board is the line from Leviticus’ about how to treat the stranger. The substitute points out that the word “ger” in Hebrew means convert. A student is asked to read it. He reads it very slowly, on purpose. There is much giggling. He is giggling. It makes the substitute giggle a little. But then a question. And then another. Soon it is a discussion. A student asks to get a drink of water. Yes, but come right back. Another asks to go to the bathroom. After he returns.

Students are asked to pair up and read together. There is more giggling.

Some clarifying questions. There is a writing assignment. They write, except for one student who is still playing with tzedakah. The teacher asks for tzedakah. Then he writes.

The cartwheel-doing student asks if there will be any playacting today. The substitute asks her to read one of the conversion stories as if she were the person who wrote it.

The gymnast does a great job. So does the quiet one. And the one who read Leviticus, really slowly.

Then someone asks, “What does it really mean to be Jewish, anyway?” The substitute asks students to offer their thoughts on that. There is some discussion about how Jews treat others and interpret Torah and their direct relationship to God. The substitute notes that this is a fairly high level of discussion for pre-Bar and Bat Mitvahed 10-and-11 –year-olds. She is very pleased indeed.

It’s time for services. The substitute escorts her students to the sanctuary and then takes a bathroom break. In 30 minutes, another group of fifth graders will enter her classroom. She will be ready.

(With thanks to Benjamin Goldberg for his lesson plan and students on Sunday, March 27.)

Make Some Noise

When Purim came around during the years I taught religious school, the question of how to address the many moments of “bad behavior” would regularly pop up among my fellow teachers.

After all, the story of Purim focuses on a king who threw decadent parties; a queen who was executed because of her defiance; a Jewish woman named Esther who has to hide her faith and is chosen to marry against her will and an uncovered assassination scheme.

It’s an epic tale, and every year it posed a challenge to those of us wanting to unpack it for the younger souls in the congregation. We’d usually come up with reenacting the self-sacrifice of Mordecai or the bravery of Esther. We always found something meaningful to extract.

Sure, most kids got the message about Purim from our readings and play-acting. But every year, more than anything else, it was the costumes and the groggers that left an impact. It was about noisemaking and laughter.

Which is also true for the grownups at Beth Emet. Sure, there’s the service and the music and the reading of the Megillah. All good. But Purim has also come to mean spiel-making. Purim reminds us about the importance of funny. Wacky. Nonsensical. And loud. And chaos. (Just a little.)

For those of us who work hard and take our lives seriously (most of us, right?) we need this reminder once a year. To lighten up a little, even in the face of tough stuff. There will always be tough stuff. But finding the humor in the midst of tough stuff – now that’s something to make some noise about!

To get you in the mood, click here for a music parody of Purim by The Fountainheads:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A9HbULd67sE

And then, consider this:

Purim @ Beth Emet 5771: That 70's Spiel!

Shake your grogger on Saturday, March 19 and Sunday, March 20

Do a little dance, read a little megillah...it's Purim time! Boogie with the best of them beginning Saturday, March 19 from 7:00-9:00 p.m. at our annual Megillah reading and Purim Spiel! Experience all that the 70's had to offer (without all the pesky side effects) as the Beth Emet Purim band brings the funk and the noise to the classic story of Mordechai, Esther and...Haman (boo!)

The groove fest continues on Sunday, March 20 with a Beit Sefer Megillah reading and tefillah at 9:30 a.m. and Megillah reading/skit and costume parade for children under 5 at 10:30 a.m, followed by early access to the most funkadellic Purim carnival around. At noon, the Purim carnival will open to all for boogying until the wee hours (or 1:30 p.m.)

So get ready for a fun-filled Beth Emet Purim March 19-20. It's going to be DY-NO-MITE!!

The Story Catcher Becomes a Story Teller

When I’m not blogging in this space, I teach writing. I work with middle, high school, college and graduate students on their academic writing; business people on workplace writing and, more recently, adults of varying ages who want to write stories from their lives.

The life story writers may not always come into one of my workshops with a specific idea. That’s part of my job: To get them to resurrect scenes and sensations. I provide prompts to help jigger their memories loose: Draw a map of a neighborhood you once lived in. List 10 life-defining choices and five pivotal people. Dig up old photographs and write a profile of a family member. Start writing with the opening line, “I remember…” It doesn’t take much. Or very long. Memories – and even storylines – always rise to the surface.

So it’s interesting to me in retrospect that when I heard, and reported here, about the Jewish Journey Story Booth project at Beth Emet, I wasn’t compelled to be one of the first to sign up. Little else compares with being present when someone accesses a story from their past. One that bubbles up with rich details, like it was yesterday. To hear them! To read them! To help people shape them into artful forms like personal essays and memoirs! Such joy.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested in contributing to this noble project – it’s a mission I can get behind - it’s just that I didn’t think my story was all that interesting. What could I possibly talk about for 20 minutes that would hold anyone’s interest, much less my own? Which is, I now realize, what a lot of people first think.

Some gentle nudging from members of the Story Booth team (thank you, Susan Fisher and Debbie Render) and a cautious yes from my husband David Barish (thank you, David) to record with me - got me to sign up. David wrote down some of his memories to prepare. I didn’t. I was hoping, praying, that something would “come to me.”

On the way to Beth Emet for our appointed recording time yesterday, after some back and forth, we decided to treat this like a conversation.

It’s amazing what can happen when you are asked to do something a little different in an environment that is so familiar. The synagogue was bustling with religious school activity. Parents were reading the newspaper, eating bagels and drinking coffee in the front hall. The copy room was turned into “The Green Room” - for preparation and contract signing. (Thanks, Nina Kavin.) The library was turned into a recording studio, in which Heidi Goldfein, who in her radio-ready position as director of production at Chicago Public Radio, made us feel so comfortable. (Thank you, Heidi!)

After the sound levels were approved, we got the go ahead to start. I think I threw out the first question. Something like, “What are some of the defining experiences of your childhood that make you feel Jewish?” Off we went.

The next thing I remember is Heidi putting her hand up to signal that we had only a few minutes left. Oh the parts we hadn’t gotten to yet! So much more to say!

Tonight is the last night of taping, so if you read this after Monday, March 7^th, you have missed the chance to speak your story.

That doesn’t mean, however, that there isn’t an opportunity to tell your story in other ways. I know you think your story isn’t that interesting. I did, too. But I urge you to take a look at the questions below. See if something sparks you. Find a comfortable position at your laptop or on your couch with a tablet and writing utensil in hand. Start writing. For just 10 minutes.

You may reintroduce yourself to your self. You may rediscover how interesting you are.

Questions for reflection:

What path led you to Beth Emet?

How has being part of Beth Emet influenced your Jewish journey?

Who has been the biggest Jewish influence on your life? What lessons did they teach you?

What are the most important Jewish/spiritual lessons you’ve learned in life?

How has your spiritual life been different than what you’d imagined?

What is your earliest memory of something religious or spiritual? Your happiest memory?

What makes you feel Jewish?

Has there been a particular turning point or event in your Jewish or spiritual life?

Is being Jewish something that’s difficult for you or easy for you? Why?

Has being Jewish always been important to you? How has that changed over the years?

What would you like your children/grandchildren to know about your Jewish journey?

What does God mean to you?

Our Recipes and The Stories Behind Them

Jews and food.

It's a rich combination reaching far beyond sustenance and seasoning.

Our recipes have lives of their own and boy do we love to tell the stories about them! Food makes us happy. (You should see the connecting line of smiles at Beth Emet when I bring the two dozen bagels from New York Bagels and Bialys to Rabbi London's Torah study on Friday mornings.)

Family recipes were made and shared last weekend at The Beth Emet Bistro. And as a testament to how seriously we Jews take our food, the recipes and the stories behind them were collected into a book. You can access the entire book here: http://www.bethemet.org/ourstories/bistro_recipes_final.pdf

Among the dishes I've listed here are:

(The ingredients and directions come first, of course; the stories, after.)

Chicken Paprikash

South Bend Gefilte Fish

Salmon with Sweet-Hot Mustard and Dill Glaze

Sadie’s Cheese Blintzes

Raisin Challah

Passover Green Beans

Rosh Hashonah Honey Cake

Chicken Paprikash

Submitted by Dawn Brent

Ingredients

Whole chicken cut up (or more than one, depending on number of people you are serving) Onions (1 to 2, depending on how much chicken you make) Vegetable oil (2 to 3 tbsp) Paprika (approx. 2 to 3 tbsp) Salt Pepper 1 to 2 cups sour cream (I use reduced fat Breakstone.)

Directions

Wash chicken; set aside. In a large pot, sauté onions in vegetable oil until translucent. Add chicken. Add salt and pepper as desired. Add paprika....it’s not an exact science, but you want to coat all chicken and onions. Cover pot and cook on low for an hour or until chicken is cooked through. (NOTE: Liquid will accumulate on its own, no need to add water or broth.)

Remove chicken from pot. Add sour cream. Mix into liquid until dissolved and warmed. Put chicken back in for a few minutes. Serve with wide egg noodles or spetzel.

Story

This is a traditional Hungarian dish. While this isn’t technically a Jewish dish, it is defines who I am. My father, a Hungarian Jew, is a Holocaust survivor. He and his family were taken to Auschwitz in May of 1944. He was 15 years old. His mother, Hinda for whom I am named and his brother Peter were immediately put to death upon their arrival to the camp. My father, George, and his father, Steven, survived but were separated. Once liberated in 1945, my father learned that my grandfather survived. After another nearly two years, they were reunited in Germany. My father had nothing after the Holocaust. He had his memories of food and family, and thanks to some other family members, he was able to reclaim some photographs. This Chicken Paprikash recipe was one of the memories that he brought out of Auschwitz and passed down to me. Because he survived, my family and I are here to tell his story. Because he survived, an American Jewish woman makes Chicken Paprikash for her family and has a story to tell about it!

South Bend Fish

Submitted by Esther Schwartz-Goldman

Ingredients

1 Jar Gefilte Fish, 6 pcs (with juices/Jelly) 1 C. Mayonnaise (I use Light) 1 C. Matzah Meal 1 egg

3 T chopped fresh dill 1/4 cup grated carrots dash salt & pepper.

Directions

Pour Jar of Gefilte Fish AND juices or jelly in jar into a large bowl. Mash Fish with a fork until smooth. Add Mayonnaise, Matzah meal and egg and stir until smooth. Add remaining ingredients. Stir until well blended. Pour mixture into 9X13 pan (lightly greased). Bake at 350 for 45 minutes, or until lightly brown on top. Remove from oven, let cool and cut into squares. Serve with horseradish or tartar sauce. Serves 8-12 people, or 4-6 very hungry Gefilte Fish lovers.

Story

When I was in college at Indiana University, some Jewish students would get together and take turns hosting Shabbat dinners in our apartments. We tried to make foods like kugel, cholent and chicken soup. To make any of these traditional foods was somewhat difficult because there were no grocery stores that carried many of the ingredients needed. The closest thing was Kroger, which carried a few staple "Jewish" items year round: Chanukah candles, Matzah (which happened to be labeled "Not For Passover Use" yet remained on the shelf at Passover time), and jarred gefilte fish, which sat in a jelly that looked older than most of us. Well, one day I was assigned gefilte fish to bring to one of our meals. A friend of mine, who happened to have been Jewish and grew up in South Bend, told me about "South Bend Fish". They had a Kroger there, too, if you know what I mean. South Bend Jews adapted to this and created a kugel-like gefilte fish dish with the base being a jar of jellied fish. Over the years, I played with the recipe, changing the proportions and adding the dill and carrots. This recipe came with me when I made Aliyah, which was wonderful because the Ashkenazi tradition of gefilte fish has basically been lost in carp-less Israel. This recipe remains a mainstay at all of our family Shabbat and Chagim meals. People who swear they don't like gefilte fish end up asking for seconds, and when they find out it's made with that jelly laden jarred stuff, they make a face and THEN ask for seconds. It's easy to make and a yummy modern twist on the backbreaking loaves my bubbie's generation made. Btayavon!

Salmon with Sweet-Hot Mustard and Dill Glaze

Submitted by Suzanne Rosen Coffey

Ingredients

Salmon fillet, pin bones removed (size is up to you, I buy large at Costco) sweet-hot mustard (I use Inglehoffer, 4 oz. jar) fresh lemon juice fresh or dried dill.Salt Cooking spray white wine or water. Yield: depends on how many you want to feed Heat oven to 325 F.

Directions

Spray large Pyrex pan with cooking spray. Place salmon (skin side down) in baking dish. Tuck under thin tail section or other skinny parts. Combine entire jar of mustard (or amount you think you need to cover smaller portion of fish) with lemon juice and dill to taste. Finish the glaze with salt to taste.

Spoon glaze over fish and even it out carefully. Add a little white wine or water to the baking dish around the fish to keep it moist. (Do not put liquid on the fish b/c it will dilute the glaze). Place baking dish in center of oven and check on the fish’s progress periodically. The fish will cook slowly and be very tender. Cooking time will depend on the size and thickness of the fish. The fish will continue to cook after it is removed from the oven, so take it our just before it reaches desired doneness. The salmon can be served warm, at room temperature, or chilled.

Story

When my children started attending religious school at Beth Emet, we found ourselves attending a variety of potluck community dinners. The dinners were usually dairy-based and since Coffey is at the beginning of the alphabet I was always assigned the entrée course. Knowing there would be lots of pasta and cheese-based options I wanted to bring something that would complement what others brought and appeal to adults as well as children. I also wanted to make something that would taste fresh served at room temperature. So I made my Salmon with Sweet-Hot Mustard and Dill Glaze, and guess what? No leftovers. I made it again. No leftovers. And again . . . and then I lost count. So now, in addition to being one of my favorite easy Shabbat dishes (I serve it with couscous and green beans), Salmon with Sweet-Hot Mustard and Dill Glaze is now my Beth Emet Crowd-Pleasing Potluck Salmon dish (when I’m asked to bring the entrée). Enjoy!

Sadie’s Cheese Blintzes

Submitted by Kayla Cohen

Ingredients

Mix all ingredients and refrigerate until needed: 1 lb. farmer cheese (Friendship brand, if possible) 2 Tbsp. softened cream cheese 1 egg, beaten 3 Tbsp. sugar dash salt, if desired 1/8 tsp. cinnamon or 1/8 tsp. vanilla extract, if desired

Directions

2 eggs 3/4 cup milk 1 cup flour 1/8 tsp. salt 1 Tbsp. melted butter

1.Beat together eggs and milk.

2.Blend flour and salt together in a large bowl. Gradually add eggs and milk, beating with a whisk or hand blender until perfectly smooth. Stir in melted butter. Refrigerate for about 30 minutes.

3.Cook the crepes: Set a clean kitchen towel near the stove. Stir the batter again. Keep the batter bowl near the stove. Heat a 6- or 7-inch pan on medium heat and wipe it lightly with a paper towel greased with softened butter. Use a large spoon to pour batter into the pan. As you pour, keep tilting the pan so the batter just coats the bottom in a thin layer. Immediately pour any excess batter back into the batter bowl. When the crepe is set , its edges start to pull away from the pan, and its bottom just starts to brown (1- 2 minutes), loosen the edges with a dull knife, and then flip the pan to drop the crepe onto the towel with its browned, underside up. Continue making the crepes, wiping the pan with the buttery paper towel when necessary. Stir the batter often. Pile the crepes on a corner of the towel.

4.Fill the crepes: Place about 2 Tbsp. of filling close to the ―bottom‖ of each crepe circle, leaving a margin of about an inch. Fold the bottom of the crepe over the filling, and then fold in the sides. Finally, roll up the crepe toward the ―top‖ so the filling is completely enclosed. The uncooked side of the crepe is on the outside. Fill all the crepes.

5.Cook the blintzes: Heat a little butter in a frying pan over medium-low heat. Put the blintzes in the pan seam-side down to start. Then turn them carefully to brown on all sides.

Serve the warm blintzes with sour cream, sugar, and/or fruit.

Story

My mother, Sadie, came to the US around 1918 when she was about 7 years old. Her semi- literate, Yiddish-speaking mother journeyed with her four small children from Galicia in Poland to board a ship in Liverpool. My grandfather, who was already in the US, welcomed his family at the dock in New York. He had been running a kosher dairy restaurant on the Lower East Side. My mother, being the oldest daughter, worked in the restaurant as soon as she was able, probably at age 10. She did not cook there, but carefully observed all the activities in the kitchen. As a result, she knew her way around any kitchen, and became an excellent cook.

My parents lived on the Lower East Side when I was born, but moved to a ―better neighborhood‖ in Queens when I was 2-years-old. My mother’s parents and brother remained on the Lower East Side, and she carried me on the subway to visit them at least twice a week. My mother kept a kosher home, and our dinners were usually fleischig (meat). But on Thursday nights we always had a milchig (dairy) dinner, usually the freshest fish available. As an occasional treat, she made cheese blintzes, and enlisted my help. She was eager to show me the technique involved, because she said that it couldn’t be learned from a book. She never followed a recipe, but her experience at her father’s restaurant taught her the proper texture for the batter and the right seasoning for the filling. I’ve reconstructed her method as best I can—but I don’t have her little milchig pan to toss around or our little New York kitchen to laugh in as we rolled up the plätlach (crepes) and tried to make sure that the filling and plätlach came out ―even.‖ Whenever I make them, though, I hear the echoes of my ancestor’s journey.

Shabbat Raisin Challah

Submitted by Debbie Render

6 1⁄2 - 7 cups flour 2 packages dry yeast (4 1⁄2 tsp.) 1 egg, beaten 1⁄2 cup oil 1 tablespoon salt 1⁄2 cup sugar 2 cups warm water

Dissolve yeast in water (95 – 105 degrees; it should feel hot when tested on your wrist). When dissolved, add sugar, salt and half the flour. Mix well. Add egg and oil, then slowly stir in the remaining flour. When dough pulls away from the sides of the bowl, turn onto floured board and knead for approximately 10 minutes. Add only enough additional flour to make dough manageable. Knead until dough has acquired a ―life of its own.‖ It should be smooth and elastic, springing back lightly when pressed with fingertip.

Place dough in large lightly oiled bowl. Turn it over so top will be oiled as well. Cover with a damp towel and let rise in warm place for two hours, punching down in 4-5 places every 20 minutes. Separate challah. (Tear off olive-sized piece & burn in oven.) Shape loaves* and place onto cookie sheet sprayed with canola oil. Allow to rise again until doubled in bulk. (About one -45 minutes until nicely browned.

Makes two loaves. Can double recipe.

* I braid with six strands. First cross over the two outer strands, then braid with top one down, second one over, repeating until finished.

For Rosh Hashanah and Sukkot, I add raisins before kneading. I make round loaves using one long strand and winding it around.

Story

Several years ago, when our children were very young, a friend suggested we try making challah together. I had never baked bread before and was intimidated by the thought of using yeast. But she brought over a recipe for ―Best Challah‖ that she randomly picked out from one of her Jewish cookbooks, and we gave it a try. It was delicious, and I was hooked. I don’t remember exactly when baking challah moved from an occasional treat to a weekly ritual, but it’s become something I look forward to every Friday. Kneading the dough is satisfying and cathartic, and helps switch me into a calmer Shabbat-mode even before the sun begins to set. Our house fills with the delectable smell of baking bread, and our dog Malcolm starts pacing with excitement when he sees me take the loaves out of the oven. For Malcolm and the rest of our family, there’s no better way to welcome Shabbat.

Passover Green Beans

Submitted by Julie Forgash

Ingredients

2 1/4 lb medium red onions (about 5) 1/4 cup olive oil 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar 1 teaspoon kosher salt

1/4 teaspoon black pepper 1/4 cup water 1 1/2 lb green beans, trimmed and cut diagonally into 2-inch pieces

Directions

Put oven rack in middle position and preheat oven to 450°F. Oil a 13- by 9-inch baking pan. After peeling onions, trim root ends, leaving onions whole, then quarter onions lengthwise. Put onions in baking pan, then drizzle with oil and vinegar, tossing to coat. Arrange onions with a cut side down and sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Roast, uncovered, turning over once and basting with pan juices twice during baking, until deep golden, about 30 minutes. Add water to pan and roast until onions are tender and caramelized, about 20 minutes more. Transfer onions with pan juices to a large bowl.

While onions are roasting, cook beans in a 5- to 6-quart pot of boiling salted water, uncovered, until crisp-tender, about 5 minutes. Drain beans in a colander, then add to onions and toss. Season with salt and pepper.

Story

This recipe became a staple at my family’s Passover Seder when I convinced my mother that we needed something green on the dinner plate. She wanted everything to be sweet---sweet potatoes, honey carrots, etc. I always think the dinner plate should be a well-balanced color palate. Fortunately, my mother loved these green beans the first time I made them, and they were included every year after that.

Rosh Hashonah Honey Cake

Submitted by Jonathan Yenkin

Ingredients

3 eggs (large) 1 1/2 cups sugar 8 oz. honey (dark is preferable- e.g. Buckwheat) 2 3/4 cups flour (sifted) 2 tsps. baking powder 1 tsp. baking soda 1 cup strong coffee 1/2 cup vegetable oil

1/4 tsp. nutmeg 2 tsps. cinnamon 1/2 tsp. ginger 1/2 tsp. ground cloves 1 1/2 tsp. ground allspice anise for sprinkling.

Yield: Makes 8 servings active time: 15 min total time: 1 hr.

Directions

Mix all wet ingredients together first, then in another bowl mix all dry, then mix into the wet while beating. Pour into greased baking pan, lined with wax paper—sprinkle with anise. Bake 350---40 minutes /or until done. Test with toothpick to see if baked in center.

P.S. Using fresh spices gives the cake a little extra zing!

Story

This recipe comes from my Mom back in Ohio, and it’s a family favorite. After my siblings and I moved from home, my Mom would send us cakes in the mail each year, which was always a treat! I eventually got the recipe from her, and we’ve carried on the tradition with our Rosh Hashanah celebration. Every year, we host a Rosh Hashanah dinner with a group of long-time friends, and we look forward to capping off the meal with a piece (or two, or three) of honey cake. This recipe even received special mention in a local news broadcast when a TV station came to our house to do a story about preparing for the Jewish new year.

Zimbabwe and Mishpatim

Who knew?

Simon Anolick also has a Jewish identity in African story.

1. Mishpatim is a rich portion of laws, the laws of worship, property and moral behavior. What a perfect portion for a lawyer to talk about, capital punishment, an abhorrent practice, criminal law, borrowing money, evidence. But I am a patent attorney, and there is not much connection between patents and Mishpatim. I have to say, people just stare at me with glazed eyes when I say “patent attorney.” With that in mind I fear I might bore you all. Their eyes light up, however, when I say my father is from Africa, from Zimbabwe. So let’s talk about Zimbabwe and Mishpatim.

1. A little history: I am a first generation American. My mother was born and raised in London, but her parents were from Amsterdam. My father, as I said, was born in Salisbury, Rhodesia, now Harare, Zimbabwe. His parents were from Lithuania. Including me, that’s 3 generations, 5 countries, 6 cities and for just 7 people. That is a lot of leaving countries, finding new cities, building homes and trying to build community. It is a difficult choice to leave one’s home and family for something new, but that choice is for something better for oneself and one’s children. These are choices that many us of make in our lives. It is vividly displayed in my family.

1. I don’t know the reasons why my maternal family left the Netherlands, but I do know the stories of my paternal history. My grandmother left the pogroms of Lithuania after World War I. My grandfather went to France to study and then to Southern Africa for the opportunities that Lithuania could not provide. Use your imagination and think of the attraction and opportunities that the frontier of Southern Africa, including Zimbabwe, provided to anyone who wanted to go, and that included some young Jews fleeing Eastern Europe. Not many went, but there were enough to build thriving Jewish communities in Cape Town, Johannesburg, Bulawayo, Harare and elsewhere. In Harare, my grandparents met, married, raised a family, built a successful business and were leaders in the Jewish community. My father speaks of an almost idyllic childhood of friends, bikes, sports, school, mischief and even cheder. And there was always someone around to make the bed, to bring the meal, to cut the grass, what could be wrong. Most importantly he speaks of his of extended family and how it was joyously held together by my Granny and Grandpa, or to everyone else Auntie Rosa and Uncle Boris.

1. My parents came to this country in 1964 for what I believe are three reasons, none of which was intent to settle here. The reasons are (1) love and the spirit of adventure for a newly married couple, (2) their, and I attribute this primarily to my father, foresight into the future of Rhodesia and his distaste for the politics of that country. My father effectively left Rhodesia when he started university in 1954, long before legalized Rhodesian apartheid. Even though he was being groomed to take over the successful family business, he saw the faults of the society he was raised in and was uncomfortable with what it portended for his future. Not many left at that time, not many left when they were 18 and ambitious for Zimbabwe was full of opportunities in those days. It took almost 30 more years for my grandparents to leave Zimbabwe. But after leaving for university it became clearer and clearer that he could not return. And in those years, he met my mother. And the third reason my parents came to this country was, and this I attribute primarily to my mother, their inability to see how she could make Zimbabwe her home. In Zimbabwe, she was the outsider.

1. It is this legacy that I add my own experience. I am the older of two kids and grew up in a relatively small Jewish community. My parents did not know from US history. They did not know the ins and outs of applying to college or college life. They did not know about football or baseball. I did not have an older sibling to pave the way through these experiences. My parents and I made our way together.

1. My Judaism set me a part as a child. I have always had a strong Jewish identity, but the Judaism of my childhood home was very different than the Judaism that I live today. My mother’s Jewish experience was non-existent and we were a long way from the Jewish community and Jewish family in Harare that was familiar to my father. As a child, I did not have the infrastructure and support to guide me and help me grapple with my desire to see the world through a Jewish lens. As a child, I struggled at it alone and then with the guidance and skill of a most fabulous teacher I was able to open my eyes and experience the world as a Jewish adult. Nonetheless, I felt as a child, and continue to feel today, that being Jewish and a first generation American is like being a stranger.

1. Twice in Mishpatim we are reminded that we were strangers in the land of Egypt. Chapter 22 verse 20: “You shall not wrong nor oppress a stranger, for you were strangers in the Land of Egypt.” Chapter 23 verse 9 once again: “You shall not oppress the stranger, for you know the feeling of the stranger having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt.” I read these lines and think of my family’s history, we came out of Africa too. My family were strangers first in Eastern Europe, then as a part of the Jewish minority in the Zimbabwean white minority community and now as Jews in this Christian country. We were not just strangers in Egypt; for my family we are strangers everywhere we go. The question in my mind is, will we always be strangers?

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1. Mishpatim is not the only time that Torah reminds us that we were in Egypt and how to act because we were there. This central Jewish theme is repeated and amplified during Shabbat and High Holiday liturgy, it becomes like an anthem. We celebrate Pesach because G-d led us out of Egypt and out of bondage. Egypt is synonymous with slavery and oppression and the alienation that arises out of being a stranger. Mishpatim begins with the laws relating to slavery. Immediately after we are led out of slavery we are taught how to be the slave’s master. Excellent timing for such an important lesson. After leaving Egypt, it is very powerful and extremely convincing for G-d to say “Don’t oppress the stranger because you suffered the ultimate oppression by being slaves in the land of Egypt.” In Mishpatim, we are taught something else too, something just as powerful, but more subtle. The reason we are given for the law is because we were strangers too. Linguistically Mishpatim works nicely; we don’t oppress the strangers because we were strangers. It is easier for me to identify with the stranger than it is to identify with the slave. In Mishpatim, we are taught not to oppress the stranger for reasons more than just because of what Pharaoh did to us, that we were his slaves, but simply because we were there. Before we were slaves, we were strangers in Egypt. The stranger, the outsider, has the heightened risk of experiencing oppression, and oppression can lead to slavery. We were vulnerable when we arrived in Egypt, and then we experienced slavery. We know the extreme vulnerability, as slaves we were at the nadir of oppression. G-d is teaching me to embrace the feeling of the stranger. From there, I can protect the vulnerable, and I am more prepared to embrace Torah. Because I am a stranger, I have found another entry point into the teaching of Torah and into myself.

Simon Anolick