As I remember, the week before Easter, my parents would make an extra trip to the Star Market, Grocery Store on lower Murray Avenue, and pick up 12 cartons of 12 dozen eggs equalling a total of 288 fresh white oval almost porcelain canvasses upon which, they would apply the three dozen PAZ Egg color kits with an array of more colors than the rainbow, schlepping all of this home so we could invite the entire neighborhood, plus some to decorate Easter Eggs. I, as the boy, the future master of the world, has to hone my skills and very carefully carry from the recesses of a dank and dark basement two cardboard boxes filled with a cacophony of coffee cups, to be exact at least 40. We were a proud Jewish family, but for my mother the fun of dying Easter Eggs, was a priority. This was serious business. Our dining room table had two leaf’s to extend the seating arrangements to accommodate at least 20 people. These leafs were only used for Rosh HaShannah meals, Seder night, the Cousin’s Saturday night Poker Games, and Easter Egg dying. Once I dared to reach into the spidery webbed portion of the underbelly of our basement for the coffee cups I also had to fiddle my way into boxes filled with old plastic table clothes dressed up as picnic table covers with their red and white checks, and years of baked on easter Egg dye, hoping to God that some spider or worse some unnamed insect had not nested there making it, its home. Being the only boy in a family in the 50’s carried lots of dangerous responsibilities. If easter dying fell on Passover, my mother would have baked the best Pesach desserts for everyone, leaving some of the non Jewish kids asking why their parents could not make Passover food. And if the the dying of the eggs was on a non Passover day, EVERYONE hung out until my mother presented her most fabulous pies, cakes and cookies. No one was asked to leave, and if you stayed long enough, you could eat brisket for dinner while we watched in living black and white the movie Easter Parade. There was no religious symbol related to this annual event in our house, but it was a personal pleasure my mother enjoyed to express that like Passover, Easter too could provide the renewal of life, Her renewal revealed itself in the colorful designs and patterns of the Easter Eggs.
I listen to the words of so called Christians, those whose only desire is to exclude, eliminate and exaggerate how difference is the enemy rather than similarity the friend. I watch the actions of so called Christians whose only desire in the world is to make their God a gladiator, a gold digger, a bully goon who lacks compassion and certainly demonstrates the lack of inclusion. I often wonder, when the disconnect between a loving God and acting as a dissolving God took place. Why are those Christians of today, the ones screaming bigotry, hate, venom, and words so vile as to frighten even the Devil, so insecure, so sure their God somehow cowers when he witnesses people of color, the LGBTQ community, those who believe in a different God, this who want nature to flourish have a voice. Why do so many of those Christians believe that an army of guns is the only way to save their Lord and Savior. My mother believed in the colors of the world, for her spring was the resurrection filled with hues, and shades each rich with promise. To those who celebrate, Happy Easter!
