Passover! Even though Mama always referred to Passover (of course, she called it Pesach) as a “hard holiday” because it involved scrubbing and cleaning, washing and changing, planning and preparing, still as a child I looked forward to this holiday with joyous anticipation. Even as a 6-year-old, I couldn’t help but keep asking, “How much longer? How many more days until Pesach?”
My grandmother (we called her Bubbie), seemed to be working round the clock with a frenzied elation, telling me that the gefilte fish had to be just right — not too much pepper and just a touch of sugar. She said all this in Yiddish, but it didn’t matter, because when I was 6 I saw and heard no difference between English and mamaloshen, although in school I knew that I shouldn’t use that special dialect or the children would laugh and call me a “greenhorn.”
And then came the big evening. The first seder, with the special tablecloth and napkins, the beautiful plate with all the interesting foods and symbols, the silver goblet for Elijah the Prophet. (“Maybe, Bubbie, this year he will come. You think so?” And I got an extra hug for an answer. Which wasn’t too bad a response.)
We all sang songs and said prayers. And tasted certain foods. There was such happiness that was shared by my big brother, my mama and papa and especially Bubbie. Little by little, we all began to tell the story of slavery leading to freedom, of tears turning to laughter, of hard work bringing relaxation. And at this very thought, we all leaned more heavily upon the pillows behind us.
This is how my memory should end. With the singing of “Chad Gadya,” (“One lone kid”), and “Who Knows One.” And we should all go to sleep having found the hidden piece of matzah called the afikoman and getting a special treat from Papa that we all shared — some special marmalade candies, “Kosher for Passover,” of course.
But the year I turned 6 and had not yet reached 7, something happened to disturb the frivolity. I looked at Papa and asked, “Did they all die?” There was a pause and I went on, “… all those Egyptians who were drowned in the sea?
“And when the angel went from house to house, did the children all die, even the babies if they were the firstborn? That wasn’t nice and that wasn’t fair. The children didn’t do anything bad, just because they were Egyptians. And how did their mama feel when they learned that they were drowned? They must have been sad too.”
And Papa cleared his throat when Mama said, “Answer the child.” But no one could. But Bubbie pulled her chair closer to me and told me how the Holy One, Blessed Be He, scolded the angels who were happy that the Egyptians had been punished and had suffered so. And that’s why, she told me, we put a few drops of wine from our glass on the napkin, because wine is for happiness and there is sadness too. And the sadness is for us and for the others as well.
I didn’t completely understand what Bubbie was saying but I knew that I liked her explanation better than what I had been taught. And I let her hug me and then Papa told us to sing another song.
Many years later I heard how Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir rebuked the Egyptians, telling them how she hoped she would learn to forgive them for harming and killing the Israeli children, but how could she ever forgive the Egyptians for making her people kill Egyptian children?
I think that Golda Meir would have liked my grandmother. And I think too, as I celebrate Passover (or, if you’d rather, Pesach) this year, I could wish with all my heart that the Palestinians could have heard my grandmother speak of the Israelis (or the Israelites) of long ago and could have learned from the lips of an elderly grandma who had little schooling but much wisdom.
Because if they learned from her, there would be no rejoicing in Ramallah when teenagers are slaughtered in a Tel Aviv cafe or when a suicide bomber climbs aboard a bus in Jerusalem. Then, if they wept instead of rejoiced, they too could join us at Passover and have Bubbie lead them in singing “I Know One.”
Leo Lieberman is associate professor of Holocaust studies at the Richard Stockton College of New Jersey. Excerpted from “Memories of Laughter and Garlic: Jewish Wit, Wisdom and Humor to Warm Your Heart” by Leo Lieberman ($12.95, ComtQpublishing.com).