Growing Up Jewish in America
The Passover Seder has been one of my favorite celebrations of the year, but I’m so troubled by what’s happening in the Middle East, that I don’t know how—or even if—I can celebrate a holiday about escaping oppression this year, or ever again.
I was raised in a Jewish family, and I have passed on certain beliefs, superstitions, and rituals to my children: the dead live on in the memory of the living; it’s unlucky to name a child after someone who is living, lest the Angel of Death take the wrong person; and family dinner is sacred.
One of the first things I understood about being Jewish was that my family lived outside mainstream culture. When I was in first grade in 1961, I didn’t know which was worse: to say the school prayer we recited after the Pledge and invoke the wrath of my family’s god, or to refrain from praying, and offend the school authorities. I was relieved, later that school year, when the Supreme Court banned prayer in public schools. Only much later in life did I learn that what we’d recited in school was Psalm Twenty-three, which is now one of the two bits of Biblical text that I’ve committed to memory. The other is, “Jesus wept.”
I was probably in my teens when I learned about the Holocaust, and understood the significance of the tattooed number I’d seen on the arms of my grandparents’ neighbors in Brooklyn and their friends in Miami.
When I was sixteen, my parents took me to Israel. My most enduring memory of that trip is looking out past the Shrine of the Book where the Dead Sea Scrolls are housed, toward a dusty, parched, plain, a plain I sensed had been blood-soaked time and again, and would continue to be so, again and again.
At sixteen, I didn’t understand the geo-politics of the creation of Israel, just as I didn’t yet understand that the Pilgrims and the Europeans who followed displaced the natives of North America, nor that my European grandparents, who came to America at the beginning of the Twentieth century, weren’t Pilgrims, nor were they seeking religious freedom as much as they sought survival.
Europeans are by no means the only ones in the history of the world who usurped others’ land. The tradition goes back at least to when Homo Sapiens pushed Neanderthals off their turf. What’s sad, is that despite the reputed evolution of humankind, this pattern persists.
It wasn’t until I was an adult, living in Vermont, that I understood that as a Jew, I was expected to support Israel. At the same time, I became aware of Israel bending toward theocracy, and that it oppressed its Palestinian neighbors. As one who has celebrated Passover for almost seventy years, I realized I couldn’t support either a religious-based government, nor one that denies Palestinians autonomy in a separate state. I was dismayed with Israel’s West Bank settlements and restrictions on Palestinians living in Gaza.
And then came October 7, 2023.
Of course, I was horrified when Hamas attacked Israelis and took hostages. As a non-practicing Jewish woman and acculturated American, I felt both conflicted and unsafe. In those days immediately after the attack, I wanted more than anything for Israel to turn the other cheek, to engage in a diplomatic process at least, and in a reparative process at best. And I will admit, that while these sound like lofty, ideal-driven dreams, they really arose from fear for myself, my family, for an Israeli friend who lost friends and colleagues that day, and for Jews around the world.
Israel’s biblical destruction of Gaza has made the world less safe not just for Israelis, but for all Jews. For me. And being American, which I grew up thinking was the best thing in the whole world, will not save me. The United States’ participation in the genocide in Gaza is as misguided as retaliating the September 11 attacks by invading Iraq. Wars of vengeance have made the world less safe for everyone.
As recently as the beginning of this century, I celebrated Passover with joy, able to rejoice in the story of the Jews’ escape from slavery in Egypt, enduring forty years in the desert, receiving the Ten Commandments, and coming to the Promised Land. I feasted with family and friends, each year weaving new stories, poems, and songs into this foundational story of a persecuted people. How, then, can I celebrate when those formerly oppressed are now the oppressors?
A Civic Prayer
I gave up on the idea of an all-powerful god years ago. When I lift my eyes to the mountains, they’re the Green Mountains of Vermont. What I believe in is civil society, where we worship democracy at Town Meeting and participate in the holy rite of voting.
This year, Newfane’s Town Meeting addressed an article regarding the war between Israel and Hamas. The meeting adopted an amendment to the somewhat technical article. It’s the last three sentences of this amendment that I can fully support. Indeed, they read like a prayer.
“We, the voters of Newfane, call for both sides in this conflict to acknowledge the pain and trauma they have inflicted on the other. We, the voters of Newfane, call on both sides, for the sake of all our children, to accept the right for both sides to exist, with freedom from repression, with freedom from the threat of annihilation from the other, and with self-determination, in peace.”
Amen.
This really hits home. I am still in NJ but where I am being a Jew is a VERY big minority. There are only 4 or 5 other Jewish families in my town of about 9000. This past December I did not put my electric menorah in the window or hang my chanukah flag-for the first time ever! There have been many anti-semetic incidents in Philly (the city closest to me). Now Israel talks of retaliation with Iran. Will it ever stop? I really like Newfane’s amendment.
Thanks for your comments, Wendy. Be well.
I totally agree with everything you wrote and said.
Thank you and I felt the same about growing up and celebrating
Passover with my whole family and I will not carry this on any more
Thanks for your kind words.
Deb, your words and thoughts are so on point.
Thanks for your affirmation, Matt.
Dear Deborah<
I really admire and respect you for writing this. I have so many Jewish friends, and none of them has taken this stance. Thank you for putting this out there.
Thanks, Kathryn. While it was easy to write, it’s scary to publish. Your affirming words are encouraging.
What a difficult time this is to navigate for Jewish people everywhere! Ultimately, I will share that I feel we might acknowledge Passover by choosing to step into and take our seat in freedom with accountability (for ourselves and others who cannot in this present moment), from whatever oppression is at hand, for there surely are many many versions of oppression taking place between people on our dear planet Earth at this time in history. I will celebrate the rituals with my family in new and creative ways (letting go of old constructs and expectations) inviting deeper conversations about freedom, sovereignty, and the essential connections to our past which we honor, with strong conviction to uphold the right of all beings to live freely, exist in safety, and thrive with respect for one another on this planet, no matter what species, race, color, or religion. May we ALL find peace and liberation in the unfolding times.
Thank you for sharing your plans, which I greatly admire–even fantasized being able to pull off. But I’m too grief stricken this year. Maybe next year there will be peace in Jerusalem.
Dear Deborah,
Thank you for your heart-felt and wise words.
The pain, grief and suffering in this world is all man-made, barring natural disasters and illness.
Why, oh why, do we do this to ourselves and our fellow humans?
Why can’t we just live and let live?
It is a very bleak world at the moment but we mustn’t give up hope,
Judith
Yes, we must find hope and joy where it appears–spring returning, a grandchild thriving, a long marriage. Whatever it takes.
Three sentences?
Yeah, I’m arithmetically challenged.
Amen
“. . . to accept the right for both sides to exist, with freedom from repression, with freedom from the threat of annihilation from the other, and with self-determination, in peace.”
I am bewildered by the endless violence the human race inflicts on one another. We are not a clever species to deny each other basic human needs and to treat others as we wish to be treated. My father who was born in China to missionary parents, believed during his 97 years that someday there would be no need for passports, and the world would live as one. I am so sorry this has not come to pass, but grateful to have been raised by such a loving man who has instilled this in his family.
Glad to live in a rural Vermont village that can discuss and propose an article regarding the war between Israel and Hamas. Thankful for you Deb, for your years as town moderator and your wisdom and insights, and to call you a friend.
And I to have once sat at your passover table . . .
Namaste
Isn’t it a great irony that the Golden Rule is at the heart of major religions, yet religious wars persist?
I’m hoping to find a way back to celebrating Passover, but it will take an enormous effort of reimagining. More than I can manage at this moment.
Thanks for all your kind words, Deb.
I tend to agree with you and hope we can grow as humans so we can share and believe in love for everyone. Difficult to practice the Passover now because we have not been able to keep the love and peace that we learned a long time ago in action
Hi Deb. This is Amita Jarmon, the rabbi of the Brattleboro Area Jewish Community. I am sorry you were not with us last night. I started the seder by inviting people to talk for 10 minutes with at least 2 other people about how this Passover feels different from all other Passovers in the shadow of the horrific conflict and suffering in Israel-Gaza-West Bank. And I lit 3 candles for our community, for Israel and for Palestine. We addressed Israel-Palestine throughout the Seder. I will email you the attachment to the Haggadah I assembled especially for this year. If anyone reading these comments is interested, email me at ravamita@bajcvermont.org and I will share it with you as well.