Our first sedarim (seders) here in Portland were wonderful and each had a distinct and touching individuality. As wonderful as they were, I still inevitably think about the seders of my childhood. My grandparents crammed a horseshoe of tables into their dining room, which allowed them to magically fit more than forty people into their modest middle-class home.
How many times have you given the “two-minute warning”? As parents we count down for everything. But counting the Omer is an upward climb, reminding us that there are always new moments and milestones ahead.
Why is Passover the most celebrated home ritual? What continues to make it compelling to us, and to so many others who have adopted its messages? Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes beautifully in his Passover Haggadah how we Jews live within an ancient structure of words, and how that story is itself a home for us--a home in which past, present and future are united.
Big transitions leave you changed forever. Sometimes they leave you feeling as if it would be impossible for life to continue the way it had before. For me, I can pinpoint two such transitions: one was the death of my father, and the other was birth of our daughter. When my father died almost nine years ago, my entire world stopped.
The Shabbat that precedes Passover is known as Shabbat HaGadol, the Great Shabbat. Different explanations have been given for that name over the years--often a sign that we no longer possess the original reason. Regardless of this uncertain history, I am pleased to say that this weekend, the name is quite fitting as we have a number of remarkable events rolled into our Saturday morning service.
Next time your kid resists cleaning up her room, tell her the Torah says so. Because this too is Torah.
Transitions are emotional for me. I get weepy watching kids get on the camp bus for their first summer, knowing that they will return forever changed. I celebrate a pre-K graduation in the same way as I celebrate a high school graduation.
