We were Jewish, growing up in a predominately Jewish neighborhood, with a choice of at least a dozen if not more Shul’s Temples, or Synagogues and a Jewish Community Center, it was easy to celebrate the holidays, ceremonies, traditions in which many a Jewish family participated. My dad was a Jewish Cop in Pittsburgh, that was not the norm, and he would remind us that who we are and how we believe is important, but to never, ever take for granted, that the rest of the world understood our priorities. Be yourself he would tell us, never be ashamed, but be aware, because some people instead of believing in their God pretend they are God. He would add, once a human considered he or she to be of equal or greater value to a God, then nothing but selfishness, bigotry and bias can be the end result. Even within the my Jewish community, I grew up learning that how we adhere to customs, or interpret what it means to be Jewish, even our prayers to our God can cause debate, and not the kind where there is a good conclusion, but sometimes a greater conflict. I became a Jewish Communal Worker, wanting to rid the world of difference, and hoping to find the commonality we all shared within the Jewish Community and also within the world around us.
Passover, had been a family holiday, one in which, as I grew up, I discovered just how many relatives I had living in the Greater Pittsburgh area, and just how many cousins lived driving distance. We came together, fought about whose grandmothers, or mothers recipes were tastier, and openly pooh-poohed the story line of the purpose and cause of celebrating the holiday of Passover. Who knew there could be so many interpretations of a story, so many suggestions as to what God meant, and so many ways to demonstrate your appreciation for the history that came before you. I was young, it was the 50’s and the 60’s, I could not even understand the randomness and vastness of the universe, there was no way, i was about to, even with my own big mouth, dispute all of the versions of suffering, slavery, subjugation, with my relatives, let alone wonder why as Jews, some of us seemed to be more sure that their knowledge was more insightful and in-depth then others!
As a man now considered an older adult (not quite senior, OY), I have become wary, or should I state warier, regarding the meaning of religion, and how I have noticed over the six decades (Yikes, am I that old), of my life religion has become a weapon rather than a tool, that more people are acting as a God then understanding the power of a Higher Being! I have witnesses evil erupt from something as simple and good as loving thy fellow man. I have witnesses, that freedom, equality, shared existence is not as easily demonstrated and much easier demonized. I used to have great hope for the holidays. My mother in particular loved Pesach, because the crocus would bulge up against the harsh wintry mud, the very light green buds of the leaves on the tree would try their best to begin a new life, and this holiday in particular was one which warranted warmth and hope, and a chance to begin again. I miss my mother and father and their take on life and their stories regarding being Jewish, I miss them because I felt safe way back when. For those who sing the song Dayanu (“It would have been enough”), I only wish that true…but in this time of Trump, and the use of religion as nothing more but one more weapon of war, I wonder when will it be enough! Chag Sameach!
