A New Resistance

GOOD MORNING, AMERICA. HOW ARE YOU?

For the next 4 weeks, I’m going to make these 6 phone calls every day, except Shabbat. I wanted to give myself a limited time to see if I could pull it off without pulling my hair out.

Today, I want to let them know that I oppose Sessions appointment to Attorney General. He is unfit to serve.

Day One:
Cornyn’s Washington office: Can’t reach a staffer, though there are many rabbit holes to follow on the options menu. They all lead nowhere.
Cornyn’s Austin office: Busy signal.

Cruz’s Washington office: Their voicemail inbox is full.
Cruz’s Austin office: Found a lovely, yet repetitive human! (It only took about 5 tries.)

In William’s DC office, a lovely human being named Elise answered the phone and listened to my concern. Super polite.
William’s Austin office: Voicemail inbox full…….

On my way out of town, I might stop by Cornyn’s 6th Street office – just to check to see if he is okay!
Senator Cornyn, you’re not answering ANY of your telephones, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?

Note: It only took about 20 minutes to call, including trying each number a few times and talking the two people I actually reached.

A Litany for Black Lives Matter – written by the Church of God in Christ – adapted for the American synagogue.

Leader: Today, we stand together in solidarity with our African American brothers and sisters. We unite with all of those who have lost their lives to the unjust forces of police brutality, racial profiling, and systematic oppression.

Congregation: Together, we will stand. As co-created ones, we affirm that all Black bodies mirror the image of God. (Gen 1:27)

Leader: Together, we will march. In efforts to embody the prophetic command, “Let justice roll on like a river and righteousness like a never-failing stream.” (Amos 5:24) We will dismantle racial and social barriers in order to stand as one and march to the beat of peaceful protests, until God’s work is done.

Congregation: Together, we will march. Adonai, you have taught us to march for freedom and justice. We will march together like the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. and Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. We will learn from the marches of generations past, and we will prepare the next generations to march with us.

Leader: Together, we will remember Tamir Rice, Akai Gurley, Rumain Brisbon, Cameron Tillman, Reneshia McBride, Trayvon Martin, and so many others who have lost their lives at the hands of police brutality. We hear the ringing of the twelve shots that were fired at Michael Brown’s body. We see the horror in Eric Garner’s face as he uttered his last words – “I can’t breathe.” We grieve the unfulfilled dreams of Aiyana Jones, who was only seven years old.

Congregation: We know that we should not stand idly by the blood of our neighbors, (Lev 19:16) and yet we have ignored the graphic images of tragic deaths. We have ignored the cries of victims, their children, their spouses, their parents. With new awareness and humility, our souls lament.

Leader: Together we will boldly name the unjust acts throughout our nation, the unwarranted deaths and shamelessly prejudiced acts. Yet, we are honest enough to also name the reality that resides within these four walls. We too have been unjust. In our ignorance, we too have persecuted. In our privilege, we too have closed doors and silenced voices.

Congregation: Together, Adonai, we seek your forgiveness and the forgiveness of our neighbors.  We have ignored the cries of those whose stories did not beckon the media’s response, whose graves went unmarked, whose bodies remain missing, whose memorials are forgotten.

Leader: Together, Adonai, we refresh our commitment to justice. The Prophet Micah taught us to walk humbly with God and to love mercy. We are also called to act justly. (Micah 6:8)

Congregation: We will walk with humility, and we will love mercy. Our humility and love would be empty without our just action. Together, Adonai, we strengthen our commitment to act justly.

Leader: Together, we proclaim the value of Black bodies. We will deconstruct discriminating stereotypes that have legitimized the death of African Americans, criminalized Black boys and girls, and dehumanized Black women and men.

Congregation: Together, we will proclaim: Black Lives Matter.

Leader: For the parent who grieves a child she will never hold again, we will proclaim –

Congregation: Black Lives Matter.

Leader: For the child who lives in fear because his neighborhood is barricaded by police, we will proclaim –

Congregation: Black Lives Matter.

Leader: For the father who feels compelled to teach his son how to keep his head down rather than hold his head up, we will proclaim –

Congregation: Black Lives Matter.

Leader: For the sister who is doubly-subjugated because her skin is labeled ugly and her gender is less-valued, we will proclaim –

Congregation: Black Lives Matter.

Leader: Throughout our congregations, our cities, our classrooms, our work-places, and our homes, we will continue to declare: All of us are created in the Divine Image. This is a truth older than the United States, a truth that America cannot erase. Therefore, we proclaim –

Congregation: Black Lives Matter. African American Justice Matters. Black Freedom Matters. African American Dignity Matters. Black Lives Matter.

 

Thank you to the Church of God in Christ for the Black Lives Matter Litany and other powerful, meaningful prayers which respond to current events.

A Nechemta – just a bit of comfort

Today is Shavuot, not usually a day I’d spend on the computer. BUT the news today has been terrible: Last night someone shot a number of people in a LGBTQ nightclub in Orlando, Florida. So, I wanted to share my comforting news. This blog post won’t heal injuries. It can’t undo any murders. BUT I need something positive/productive to focus on, and I thought I might not be the only one.

Last night, I was honored to teach at Congregation Agudas Achim, the congregation who generously hosts a Community-Wide Shavuot Celebration every year. (Thanks for the cheesecake and the warm welcome, as always, y’all.)

I study Hebrew Bible at Brite Divinity School, at Texas Christian University. I’ve been working on my ThM Thesis since November 2015. I’m struggling with staying “focused & disciplined” as wisely instructed by my advisor. I’m working on my “scholarly voice.” I’m slow, BUT I’m grateful that this lengthy process has given me the opportunity to learn so much. Of course, I want to share what I’ve been learning. So, when my friend Dr. Harvey Raben asked me my topic, I quickly answered: “The Mother of Moses in the Quran and the Hebrew Bible.”

Last night at 10:30pm (!) I welcomed about 25 lovely people who came to learn more about Yocheved/Um Musa. During the course of our discussion, I had occasion to ask some questions.

Q: How many of you have read a little of the Quran before?

A: Many raised hands.

Q: How many of you want to study more Quran?

A: More raised hands.

Q: How many of you want to learn more about the Quran because you think it will make the world a little better?

A: Almost all the hands raised.

I want to say thank you to these folks. Thank you for studying with me. Thank you for choosing a class without a very sexy title or blurb. Thank you for staying up until 11:30pm discussing some challenging texts. Thank you for pushing yourself to try something new.

Today, I take comfort in having met a nice group of people who want to make the world better by breaking down walls and opening doors. Many of our neighbors don’t want to move out of their comfort zones to learn new things and meet new people. You and I both know people who paint Islam, the Quran, and Muslim people with one broad brush. Those folks are not going to be the ones who repair what is broken in our world.

So, here are a few closing words:

  1. If you want to learn more Quran, you should check these out –The Study Quran: A New Translation and Commentary AND/OR The Message of the Qur’an.
  2. If you want to meet some cool Muslims, look on line for Open Houses and various learning opportunities at Muslim Community Centers in your neighborhood. This year I attended the Pre-Ramadan Open House at the North Austin Muslim Community Center and it was uplifting, welcoming, interesting, and delicious.
  3. Dr. Raben and I talked briefly about experimenting with an interfaith text-study class next semester at Agudas Achim. If you are interested, please reach out to us. Even if we only study briefly, casually, I believe that we can learn more together and maybe even attract some Muslim friends to study with us.
  4. Check out the Interfaith Ramadan Blog curated by Sarah Ager. Reading this blog is a super easy way to enter into interfaith relationship. You can read it in the comfort of your own home, in your own time. Reading these authors/teachers is a fun way to learn more about being Muslim from the Muslim writers and about interfaith opportunities from the non-Muslim writers. (I’m not just saying this because Sarah invited me to write this year. I promise.)
  5. Please share your interfaith success stories. People around us need to hear about the positive, productive results of connecting with people who aren’t exactly like us. Thank you.

 

Love at RAWA

Submitted respectfully by Rabbi Susan E. Lippe, at the Raindrop Turkish House at Ladies’ Night hosted by the Raindrop Women Association on February 7, 2016.

Good Evening. Shabbat Shalom.

First, I want to say that I am honored to be here tonight. I’m excited to be included. I want to thank Rabbi Swedroe for not being able to come tonight and asking me to step in for her. And I want to thank my lovely friend Sarah Jew for helping me think about what and how I love.

This – interfaith dialogue – is my passion. And you – people who love interfaith experiences – you are my tribe. Thank you for inviting me and thank you all for listening.

The topic tonight is both simple and complicated. I have a list of many, many things, people, activities, experiences, and even colors I love. Also, I want to represent my culture truly and well.

Every answer I give is only partial, because I am only one small pixel of many bigger pictures. I can’t represent all American Jews, but I will try to share parts of my story that represent being Jewish in the United States. I will try tonight to meet this challenge and to share who I am, how I got here, and what, who, how I love and why.

Bubi

We called my father’s mother, my paternal grandmother, bubbe. Bubi is a Yiddish word for grandmother. It can be pronounced a few ways, but we said buh-bee. My Bubi arrived at Ellis Island with her parents and her siblings at age 16 in 1921.

Until then she had lived in Poland in a town called Bialystock, famous for those flat bagels that are filled in in the middle with onions or sesame seeds. They are called Bialys. You can get them at Sweetish Hill on West Sixth Street.

When my Bubi and her family arrived at Ellis Island, they were separated by gender for medical examinations. They were starving and wearing all the clothing they owned. Poland was dangerous for Jews then. Even so, her mother turned to her and said: “Your father is sick. If they send him back, we’re going back too.” Thankfully, the US Immigration Officials allowed them to stay. They travelled to Chicago to live and work with family. Eventually, my bubi, her husband, and her kids moved around the United States and ended up in Los Angeles. My bubi drove a Chevy painted in avocado green. She had her hair and nails done every Thursday. She took me for my first manicure.

She worked at the Beverlywood Bakery counter for 25 years. When I was a child, my bubi would take me behind the counter, to the back of the bakery and the guys would make roses out of icing in the palm of my hand. We ate chocolate babka, a kind of rolled up cookie that I still love. These you can get at the Kosher corner of the HEB on Far West.

My Bubi told jokes in English, but she always told the punchlines in Yiddish. She called us Mein Kinder.  When I was in college, I would call her before exams and she always told me that I “would pass with flying colors.” She believed that we were the best grandchildren in the world. I’m wearing her necklace now.

My maternal grandparents were born in America. So, we called them Grandma and Grandpa.

Grandpa

My Grandpa’s family originally came from a place that was sometimes Russian and sometimes Polish because the borders kept changing. Until two of his brothers died in the tenements of Lower Manhattan, my grandpa lived in New York where his dad was a peddler. Their family came to Los Angeles where his parents believed the kids would be safer because the buildings were short, only one or two stories tall. My grandfather quit school in 8th grade. His first job was selling newspapers on the corner.

My grandpa was in the auto parts business for a long, long time. In 1942 our government began to relocate Japanese Americans to internment camps.

Before they left Los Angeles, Japanese people my grandpa knew from work asked him and his partners to purchase their refrigerators and their cars. They knew my grandpa would give them a fair price, and they were only allowed to take clothing and some other small possessions with them to the camps. After the war, when Japanese neighbors and business associates were allowed to return to LA, my grandpa offered them credit so they could re-start their businesses and get back to their American dreams.

My grandpa had a big heart. He cried during cowboy movies. He also did a hilarious Tarzan impression, loudly. He wore suspenders and a straw hat. When any doctor would tell him he was obese, grandpa would just switch doctors.

While my grandmother was cooking dinner, my grandpa would play cards with me. After dinner, my grandma would play cards with me while my grandpa washed the dishes. None of them – not my Bubi, my grandpa, or my grandma – ever just let me win at cards.

Grandma

My grandma grew up with a single mother before it was trendy. They called my grandma’s mom Bubi Schissel. She tutored people in Russian and drank vodka, because apparently that is how you learn Russian. My grandmother’s mother wore sunglasses and slacks and lived in Venice Beach.

My grandmother always wore skirts and red lipstick. She had her hair done every week so she was blonde until she died at the age of 93. My grandma took the bus everywhere.

She was happy to take us shopping, but she also made our dolls sweaters and personally hemmed every pair of pants I owned until I went away college. She, however, refused to get involved with Barbie clothing because it was just too tiny. She and my grandpa would go out for margaritas and chips and salsa.

My grandma could spell anything. She told us that, when she grew up, she was going to be a detective. My grandma would make each of us our favorite meal for our birthdays. In fact, she made my parents’ wedding dinner. I am on a quest to make egg salad or potato kugel or a blintz as good as hers, even just once. I’m also wearing my grandma’s necklace.

At my grandfather’s funeral, my grandma sat in the front row wearing her sunglasses. At her funeral, we played their song,  “Night and Day” by Frank Sinatra. I love Sinatra too, and I never go anywhere without my sunglasses.

Torah commands Jews to respect our parents. (Exodus 20:12; Deuteronomy 5:16) One of the best ways I know to respect my parents is to love and remember their parents.

I think of my Bubi every time I make chicken soup or matza balls. I’m sure my dad does too. My grandfather loved office supplies. I do too. Just like my grandma did, my mom does a lot of laundry. In fact, my dad says that he only gets to wear 3% of his shirts because my mom always washes them and puts them back on top of the pile. I love laundry, too.

I’m not exactly like any of them though. My grandma washed her face with Ivory soap. My mom still does, but I love all creams, lotions, and essential oils.

So, that’s where I come from. My DNA comes from Russia and Poland. Both sides of my family were Jewish. I grew up in Los Angeles with almost all of them close by.

I know that some of you are thinking of tonight’s theme “Love” in terms of relationships like marriage, maybe because Saint Valentine’s day is coming soon. That is not really my expertise, but I will pass on this wisdom from my mother who has been married to my father for 52 years. She advises: “Staying together is based on choosing to grow in the same direction.”

But I’m not here to give relationship advice. From my long list of what I love, I’ve chosen to focus on what is different about me and what might be common to American Jews and/or to this particular interfaith group in Austin tonight.

I love this city.

I love the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center in South Austin. I love the Natural Gardener and learning to grow vegetables myself. I love Deep Eddy and Shipe Pool. I love my neighbors. I love the tofu spring rolls and peanut sauce at Yaya and Mitad y Mitad tortillas from HEB. I love live music at Gruene Hall and the Continental Club. I love the Austin Public Library system. I love air conditioning and ceiling fans. I love taking visitors to bingo at [Ginny’s] Little Longhorn Saloon and to Sinners’ Brunch at Jo’s on Sundays on South Congress. I love that tipping is part of our city’s culture. People in Austin never ask me why I’m not married or why I don’t have kids, and I love that more than you could ever guess.

I love our country.

I know that the United States of America isn’t perfect, but I love it anyway. I love our democratic right to disagree. I love freedom and feminism. I love the Separation of Church and State. I love that we have an opportunity to educate ourselves and to share what we learn with others in the hope of making our country and our world better.

I also love Israel.

I’m not talking about politics, borders, or birthrights. I’m talking about my friends and my cousins in Israel. I love the Hebrew language. I love Israeli art. I love films by Yoav Shamir. I love the Mediterranean Sea. I loved living in a place where Jewish holy days shape the civic calendar. I love an Israeli December where you don’t have to listen to the same twelve Christmas songs everywhere you go. I love hummus and jachnun. I love the store in the Jerusalem market called Machaneh Yehuda that only sells halva. In fact, I assert that every vegetable is better in Israel with the sole exception of celery.

I love being Jewish.

Until I was ten years old, we were mainly gastronomical Jews, unaffiliated with a synagogue. For every Jewish holiday, my family got together and ate Jewish food. Then, I started going to Jewish sleep-away camp every summer and fell in love with Jewish life and tradition. I love arguing about Torah and truth. I love Shabbat and Passover. I love that the Jewish calendar keeps me organized so I won’t miss an opportunity to celebrate or to mourn or to learn, every year. I love that there are multiple authentically-Jewish, time-tested, ethical answers to almost any question we might ask.

I love to crochet, and I love my camera.

I love using my eyes and my brain for more than reading and typing at a screen. I love sharing what I crochet and the photographs I’ve made. I love these things, not only because they are fun to do and fun to have, but also because they are fun to give away.

I love connecting in person.

Even though I love to text and I love Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, I really love to sit or walk with people I love. I love old friends and new friends. I love making people laugh.

My assignment tonight was to speak about love from my cultural perspective.

When I edited this speech, I searched for ways I can best represent the American Jewish experience. Most American Jews I’ve met have great-grandparents who arrived at a port like Ellis Island from a far away country where Jewish safety was threatened. Most Jews whose families came from Europe eat the same things at holidays: gefilte fish, matza balls, chicken soup, and challah. Most American Jews I know have some relationship to Israel, though our relationships vary greatly.

We, as a group, talk with our hands, and we argue when our families are together. Jews seem to argue the way puppies play-fight. It looks and sounds like we are angry, but really we are loving interrupting each other and ripping apart each other’s theories.  Our funerals are in Hebrew, and somewhere we all have a record of our parents’ or our grandparents’ Hebrew or Yiddish names. In a variety of ways, American Jews fulfill the obligation of tzedakah, righteous giving. Whatever we each call it, Jews share what we have others.

Not all Jews in America have family who worked with their hands, like mine. In fact, the stereotype that Jews love school and succeed there only describes the most recent generation of both sides of my family. Not all Jews are attorneys or doctors.

According to the National Jewish Population Survey, the one thing that we all have in common is Passover. More than any other Jewish holiday or life cycle event, Jews in the United States celebrate Passover

In addition to Passover and righteous giving, the main thing Jewish Americans share is humor. It’s true that I am hilarious in my own unique way. In this, however, I am not alone. The Jews who have sought refuge in the United States of America collectively brought a dark sense of humor, which has kept our people alive and hopeful through tough times. We laugh at each other, we laugh at ourselves, and we try to laugh in the face of danger.

So, to reduce my cultural background to a short slogan:

We American Jews dearly love Passover, tzedakah, and humor.

These three things give Jewish Americans the strength and stamina to remember where we come from, to stick around, to help each other and our neighbors, and to make friends with people who aren’t just like us.

The Safety of My Quran

A couple weeks ago I ordered The Study Quran to be delivered to my house. Then, the day before it was to arrive, it started to rain. I had to drive to FW early and wasn’t going to be home to receive the Quran.

Well, the weekend before this some jerks defaced some Qurans and posted photos of their hateful, shitty work.
I was gripped with the irrational fear that something would happen to my new book – even though it was wrapped in brown cardboard, even though I don’t live at a mosque. So, I frantically messaged my lovely neighbor and they rescued the Quran and hid it on my back porch.

I got home just now, and the book is safe and sound in my house now. I don’t know why I thought some jerk was going to come deface my Quran. Or why I thought that a hidden Quran alone in the world would be in danger.
But the lessons we’ve learned today are:
1. Me gustan mis vecinos. (I love my neighbors.)
2. THIS Quran is safe for now.
3. I was a WRECK worrying about my BOOK. Imagine how people with Muslim CHILDREN must feel.

Good God, we have got to be better at making peace.

This happened on Facebook.

I posted this on FB this morning:

“I can’t believe I have to say this, but here we go:
Not all Arabs are Muslim.
Not all Muslims are Arab.
Not all Americans are Christian.
Not all Israelis are Jewish.
Not all Israelis agree with every policy of the Israeli government or the Israeli police force.
I can support Israel, call myself a Zionist, and still disagree with things that happen in Israel.
I can love Israel and fear for Israelis’ safety, and still think critically about how they protect themselves from terrorism.
I can love Israel and my Israeli friends and family, and still care about the Palestinian people.

“If you are reading this and you are surprised, please go read more about the situation. Maybe try +972 Magazine or Al Jazeera English. NPR and the New York Times don’t always present all sides of the story – partially because the story is 2,000 years old. There are not only two sides to this story.

“If you are surprised that I am posting this, please know that I don’t want to have to, but every once in a while, I am surprised and disappointed by how ignorant/naive/hateful some smart people are. (Sorry for the run-on sentence.)”

A whole bunch of people “liked” it, and some people “shared” it.

Then, I came home to make dinner and I had to write this:

“A blogger who shall remain unnamed here (who I’ve already blocked) gleefully posted his blog on my FB page with the caption:

‘I mentioned you in my blog!’

(Apparently, I am the idiot below.)

Here was the mention – “Some idiot on Facebook wanted to take this opportunity to remind us that Palestinians are people too. Here’s the thing: I don’t divide people based on race, religion, or creed (I don’t even know what creed is). This is my simple framework: If you run around stabbing innocent children, you are not a person. If you cheer the stabbing of children, you are not a person. If you hand out candy when airplanes crash into buildings, you are not human.”

1. This inarticulate public tribute to my idiocy reminded me that I have my own blog that I never use and I’m going to start using it RIGHT NOW.

2. People who proudly post that they don’t know something – while on the internet that holds the answer – are too full of themselves to look up the thing they don’t know. Public confirmed ignorance is a lifestyle choice.

3. I loathe terrorists, but I don’t deny their humanity. Terrorists are human beings, which is why this situation is so complicated.

4. People who think of any human being as less than human SCARE THE CRAP OUT OF ME. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let fear stop me from seeing humanity in every other person on this terrifying planet.

5. There is a spark of divinity in every single one of us, even the people we don’t like. (Genesis 1:27)”

So, welcome back to my blog.
Get ready for some ranting.

May Peace Prevail on Earth.

Community Conversation at Brite Divinity School

Hi. I’m Susan. I’m bringing you three problems and a list.

FIRST Problem: Today a disgusting bill is going to the Texas State House of Representatives. I am unable to stand here today and not take the opportunity to tell you about it. So, please find out who your representative and your senator are. This is really easy on the web. Call them and tell them that you are against “HB 562 by Leach,” also known as “American Law for American Courts.”  If you believe in religious freedom at all, you are against this bill. It claims to prohibit the application of “foreign” laws in Texas. Nationally, advocates for this type of legislation characterize it as “anti-Sharia” or “anti-Islamic.” The legislation would restrict access to many kinds of religious mediation arrangements such as rabbinical courts, Roman Catholic diocesan tribunals, and Muslim mediation providers.

Here is the easiest way to find your representatives: http://www.fyi.legis.state.tx.us/Home.aspx

SECOND Problem: I’ve been invited to talk with you about Passover and Exodus, but Passover is very personal to me. That’s why I’ve been invited to speak to you today. I don’t WANT to teach you about Passover from an academic point of view. Exodus is real to me, and as a teacher, as a rabbi, as a cousin, I have done everything I can to make it real to my nieces, nephews, and students. I’m 44 years old. I’ve attended at least two seders every year for 44 years. I don’t remember all of them, of course, but I have years of Passover seders echoing in my head. I’ve been to chocolate seders, women’s seders, teen seders, anarchy seders. I’ve been to a few seders with incredible singing (not with MY family). My uncles, my cousins, and I – we’ve all taken our turns leading the seder. The seders I’ve been to have challenged my feminism and my theology. The night before the Exodus feels real to me. To me, the story Exodus is real, more real than any cartoon recreation or Universal Studios tour. The seders have shaped the way I hear and feel the story of Exodus.

HERE IS THE LIST. The Haggadah, this book we use to guide us through the seder, is the best lesson plan. Passover is an excellent teacher, and I’m going to list the reasons why.

ONE: EMPATHY – Exodus 13:8 – “And you shall explain to your child on that day: ‘It is because of what Adonai did for me when I went free from Egypt.’” It tells us to empathize. I don’t think I empathize because it tells me to, but how can we tell? I can feel the story in my gut and my heart. I’ve been told that I should empathize with them, and I do. I don’t know why. Could it be because every year, twice a year, every seder, Judaism tells me to feel/be/act/speak as if I were there – waiting to be freed from bondage?

TWO: FOOD, SYMBOLS, & GAMES – Passover makes the story of the Exodus tangible. The seder plate and the symbols on it are perfect visual aids. The special foods we eat – matza, haroset, etc. – are crunchy, delicious props. Some of us invest in masks that make each of us a plague or two for Passover selfies. Some students make plague bags, but you can purchase them, too. Before computers could even do such a thing, I’ve remade the haggadah by literally cutting and pasting all of the steps and prayers and rituals, by hand. I once found a page full of Homer Simpson’s face to use for the counting of the Omer. Homer, you get it? I’ve made bingo versions of the order of the seder to keep the kids (and most adults) from rebelling. The games, the symbols, the food make Exodus real to seder participants.

THREE: REPETITION & ECHOES – It’s not just the symbols. I believe it’s also the repetition that makes Exodus tangible. If education is repetition, then Passover has it right. These famous phrases resonate with me:

With an Outstretched Arm (Exodus 6:6)

Then came a Pharoah who knew not Moses (Exodus 1:8)

My father was a wandering Aramean. (Deuteronomy 26:5)

When I hear them in Exodus or the Haggadah, I feel the story of Exodus on a level deeper than I read.

FOUR: READ THIS STORY WITH PEOPLE WHO MATTER TO YOU. My grandfather, my grandmother, my great aunt and uncle, my bubbe, I’ve heard their voices reciting the words of the seder. I’ve listened to all the nieces and nephews take their turns at the four questions.This cacophony of memory is my soundtrack for the Book of Exodus. I hear the voices of leaders who went on too long or who skipped the pages I thought were important. I can’t read Exodus or the Haggadah without hearing the voices of my parents’ parents and the voices of of my favorite rabbis and cantors.

I’M NOT HERE TO RECOMMEND THAT YOU TRY OUT PASSOVER OR BEING JEWISH.

Keeping Passover is hard.

Carrying the weight of centuries of anti-semitism is hard.

Non-Jews don’t need to try this in order to connect with Exodus.

AND NOW WE COME TO THE THIRD PROBLEM. Apparently, there is some concern over non-Jewish groups celebrating Passover with a seder. I’m not sure how someone else celebrating Passover without us would affect how Jews observe Passover, but enough rabbis, pastors, and professors are concerned that I have been thinking about this challenge as well. BUT, Friends and Pastors, I believe you can make Exodus real for your congregants and students. Here’s how:

  1. I think one solution is: You can ask us for help. Even in Texas, wherever you go, there is always someone Jewish. We can come to your congregation or your school to help you.
  2. Create an interfaith opportunity. Invite yourselves, your congregation, your students to a Jewish Passover celebration. The Jews I know would be thrilled to create some common ground.
  3. Use a haggadah. I put a bibliography at the end of this post. Use what the Haggadah brings to Exodus. Use its lesson plans. Use the games. Use the artwork.
  4. Use the guilt trip. Exodus tells us to read these words as if we ourselves got out of Egypt (Exodus 13:8). Tell your students to put themselves in the Israelites’ sandals.

Here is a Selected Bibliography of Awesome Haggadot:

A DIFFERENT NIGHT: The Family Participation Haggadah, by Noam Zion and David Dishon, Published by the Shalom Hartman Institute, Jerusalem, Israel, 1997. (This is the one I use now.) Leader’s Version, Participant’s Version, Compact Version

The Women’s Haggadah – “With women, holiday begins before ceremony, with cleaning, preparation, presentation. If seder is order, that Spring of ‘75 in Haifa we changed the order. We three women – a Member of Parliament, a social worker, and I – announced somewhat hubristically that we were holding a ‘Seder of the North.’ But this would be different. The invited men would prepare the meal, serve, and clean. The women would contemplate the traditional Haggadah and write new and relevant prayers….Marcia Freedman, American-born member of the Israeli Knesset, or parliament, came with women’s prayers. Nomi Nimrod, social worker, composed a prayer of Miriam driven mad by losing her role as prophet. I wrote the questions of the four daughters instead of the traditional questions of the four sons.” E. M. Broner with Naomi Nimrod, Hebrew translations by Efrat Freiman. HarperSanFrancisco, 1994

THE JOURNEY CONTINUES: The Ma’yan Passover Haggadah, 1994-2000 – “Ma’yan: The Jewish Women’s Project, a program of the Jewish Community Center on the Upper West Side. Ma’yan is a Hebrew noun meaning fountain, spring, source, or well. Ma’yan acts as a catalyst for change in the Jewish community in order to create an environment more inclusive of and responsive to women, their needs and their experiences. Ma’ayn facilitates this transformation by training and supporting advocates for change and developing and [distributing] innovative educational programs.” A companion cassette/CD recorded by Debbie Friedman (z”l) and a songbook are available through Ma’yan and Sounds Write Productions, Inc. ISBN 0-9667107-1-1 – www.mayan.org

Let Us Begin: The Sha’ar Zahav Haggadah – “Welcome to the first published edition of the Sha’ar Zahav Haggadah. This book has, in a sense, been in the process of coming to you since Congregation Sha’ar Zahav began. That beginning was a commitment to live as Jews in the world today, and to welcome all who wanted to join, whatever their sexual orientation.” Congregation Sha’ar Zahav, 220 Danvers, San Francisco, CA 94114, 1996 – ISBN 0-9619242-1-7

THE SANTA CRUZ HAGGADAH: a Passover Haggadah, Coloring Book, and Journal for the Evolving Consciousness, by Karen G. R. Roekard, Nina Paley, and Paula Bottone Spencer. Published by The Hineni Consciousness Press, Berkeley, 1991. “In my Orthodox Jewish childhood, the Haggadahs that we used at our Passover Seders followed the prescribed text: my father led the Seder and did most of the reading thus following traditional practice. Once I had grasped the basic story line, it became boring. Through the years, the addition of Midrashim, of interpretations and legends, gave Passover Seders additional meaning. And yet I noticed that my connection to the Seder and to the concept of slavery was mainly through my mind and through my mouth. Over the past 20 years, with the addition of the liberation and feminist Haggadahs, a new and very exciting dimension was added. I could relate to the feminist struggle; I could relate to the anguish of Jews unable to practice their religion and to other countries wherein there was no political freedom. I noticed that in addition to my intellectual connection to the concept of Passover and the Passover Seder, I was also connected through my guts — the space of my power, or powerlessness, whichever the case was at that point in time.” – Karen G. R. Roekard (1992) – Leader’s Edition – ISBN 0-9628913-4-7 – Participant’s Edition – ISBN 0-9628913-8-X – Children’s Version – ISBN 0-9628913-0-4

A Passover Haggadah, As Commented Upon by Elie Wiesel and Illustrated by Mark Podwal. A Touchstone Book, Published by Simon & Schuster Inc., New York, 1993. “On this evening, all questions are not only permitted, but invited….What can we do so as not to forget the question? What can we do to defeat oblivion? What significance does Passover have, if not to keep our memories alive? To be Jewish is to assume the burden of the past, to include it in our concerns for the present and the future….Have we learned nothing?….Why is there so much hatred in the world? Why is there so much indifference to hatred, to suffering, to the anguish of others? I love Passover because for me it is a cry against indifference, a cry for compassion.” (Weisel, pages 6-7) – ISBN 0-671-73541-1