To me, what actually connects us is not Hanukkah and lighting candles. It's not fasting on Yom Kippur, all dressed in white. It's not even Shabbat, our day of rest.
To me, it's Passover. The ceremonial dinner, where we sit and retell the story of our Exodus from slavery in Egypt. Including our ultimate arrival to Israel, the Promised Land.
For thousands of years, we have gathered around tables with our families and communities and told the story of Moses and Pharoh while drinking wine, recounting plagues and miracles, singing songs, and declaring שנה הבאה בירושלים - Next Year in Jerusalem.
This year I was honored to be part of two Seders (traditional ceremonial dinner). One for the kids, held early in the afternoon, cutting to the chase of songs and story. The other was at my aunt's house at a traditional time in the evening. At this second Seder, I used my newly inherited Haggadah (book we use to retell the story) from my nearly 98 year old great uncle Bob.
What I find amazing about these Haggadahs is that no matter how they are printed or what they look like, they all carry the same structure. My particular newly inherited Haggadah is a family timepiece. It was printed in 1928, one year after my uncle was born. Although I don't know for sure, I'm guessing his Russian American immigrant father, Boris, bought it and used it at Seders in New York with his growing family. The first inscription is from 1931 and I'm not sure what language it's written in. (Give me time though, I'll find out.)
By 1974, Bob had inherited the Haggadah and began documenting everyone who was at a Seder with him every year. My grandmother's aunt, cousins, family friends and so many more. I, personally, am written in the book starting in 1985. I was almost 4 years old.
It has clippings, essays and insights gathered over decades of retellings. Some written by me, some by other family members. Each a different shade of yellowed paper with tiny wine spills, denoting how many years and Seders it's seen. As I gently turn the pages, I can hear Bob singing around my grandmother's table (his little sister) in Bakersfield אחד מי יודע? - Who knows One? With a rhythm so uniquely special that we desperately tried to imitate.
This nearly 100 year old book, is now the most precious piece of history I own. It is a connection to 4 generations of family members who came before me, and a new one just forming. It connects us to thousands of years of history and culture.
This is our origins story.
This is how it all begins.
So each year, no matter how religious or not you are, we all gather together and tell the story again, and again, and again.
From generation to generation.
דור לדור.
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