Pesach began at sundown yesterday. Pesach is the celebration of that
time when the Angel of Death passed by Jewish households when it spread
calamity across Egypt. It also marks the joyful but speedy exit of the Jews
from their captivity; in too much of a hurry to let bread rise. Ergo matzoh.
Pesach is a time for huge family gatherings around the table,
recounting the whole story, eating (but nothing leavened) and drinking, talking
and singing. This year, though, so different; no extended gatherings. No latkes
for 20. No kitchens piled up with the food and wine brought by family and
friends. Just each immediate family social distancing and asking the four
questions as best they can.
Elijah will find many empty seats to choose from.
So today my entry for National Poetry Month is a poem about this
holiday by one of my all-time favorite writers, Primo Levi. The second line is
highly appropriate.
“Passover”
Tell
me: how is this night different, from all other nights?
How,
tell me, is this Passover, different from other Passovers?
Light
the lamp, open the door wide, so the pilgrim can come in,
Gentile
or Jew; under the rags perhaps the prophet is concealed.
Let
him enter and sit down with us; let him listen, drink, sing and celebrate
Passover;
Let
him consume the bread of affliction, the Paschal Lamb, sweet mortar and bitter
herbs.
This
is the night of differences, in which you lean your elbow on the table,
Since
the forbidden becomes prescribed, evil is translated into good.
We
will spend the night recounting, far-off events full of wonder,
And
because of all the wine, the mountains will skip like rams.
Tonight
they exchange questions: the wise, the godless, the simple-minded and the
child.
And
time reverses its course, today flowing back into yesterday,
Like
a river enclosed at its mouth. Each of us has been a slave in Egypt,
Soaked
straw and clay with sweat, and crossed the sea dry-footed.
You
too, stranger. this year in fear and shame,
Next
year in virtue and in justice.
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