Blessings and greetings from the Sinai Peninsula. There are profound Biblical and historical perspectives being here in all the five senses…well six (+ spirit too). For virtually everyone on this dear planet, life has been difficult and traumatic as the events of the era we’re living in continue to assault our hope, our health, and our peace. I came across a helpful commentary in this week’s Sinai/Israel headlines that blessed me with a fresh dose of perspective and hope. As much as it blessed me, I hope it blesses you too. Blessed Passover and Easter Fam (1 Corinthians 5:7)!
The Ancient
Jews Carried Trauma And Joy Into Their New Lives. We Can, Too
by Jessica Ullian,
March 30, 2021
“Passover, the
Jewish holiday that commemorates the ancient Jews’ liberation from slavery in
Egypt, arrived three weeks into our 2020 quarantine. We adapted last year,
moving our family seder dinners to Zoom — quickly learning its limitations with
group singing. On the second night of Passover, we began counting the Omer, the
49-day period that’s connected to the harvest and to the holiday of Shavuot, when
the Jews received the Torah at Mount Sinai.
It’s difficult,
already, to remember the specifics from those early weeks of the pandemic.
Uncertainty and fear colored every moment. Each day brought a new, terrifying
milestone as COVID-19 cases and deaths rose, and our return to school and work
was delayed indefinitely. But back then, 49 days seemed just distant enough to
hold promise; maybe, I hoped, the pandemic would be under control in those
seven weeks, and we’d be back to normal.
Instead, our
quarantine year anniversary has passed, and a second Zoom Seder with it. I’m counting the Omer again this year, with
a new blend of emotions: grief, resignation, a touch of superstition — should I
repeat my rituals from 2020, or consider them cursed? Yet I’m also counting the
days with a stronger sense of hope. I don’t believe in “back to normal”
anymore; with all the losses of this year, normal is a state many of us can’t
reach. I do believe in better, though, and these days I wake up knowing that
some version of better lies ahead.
At Passover, we
re-tell the story of the ancient Jews’ escape from Egypt: the plagues raining
upon Pharaoh, the Jews fleeing so quickly there wasn’t time to let the bread
rise, the Red Sea miraculously parting to let them through. When we begin
counting the Omer on the second night, we’re continuing the story: we fled
Egypt as a group, but didn’t become what most of us recognize as “the Jewish
people” until we received the Torah at Mount Sinai. That’s what we celebrate on
Shavuot, after counting those 49 days: the moment we agreed, collectively, on
the shared identity and principles that bound us together.
This year, I find
myself wondering about that in-between time in a new way. I’d always envisioned
the ancient Jews leaving Egypt with joy and excitement about a life of freedom.
In truth, many must have been terrified and unsure. They probably worried about
what lay ahead, and doubted their compatriots along the way. Counting the Omer,
and celebrating Shavuot, are a reminder that it’s not always so easy to emerge
from trauma; it takes time to heal, and trust in one another to become whole
again.
This past year, we
have all been living through trauma, and it feels hard to become whole. There
has been so much loss, so much bitterness, so much disappointment and distrust
to bear. We’ve battled our teachers, our neighbors and our family members. We
have not embraced, sufficiently, a shared sense of identity and responsibility
for each other.
By counting the
Omer this year, I’m allowing myself to sit with this darkness, even as we move
toward some light. Taking it day by day, I find myself more patient with the
process, more grateful for how far we’ve come already. At this time last year,
our playgrounds were blocked off with caution tape; this weekend, my children
played for hours, masked, with friends. Last year, we worried about finding
groceries; now, we’re adept at scheduling curbside pickups. Last year, we
held two Seders on Zoom; this year, we braved the rain and gathered in our
backyard for the holiday's second night, in a small group at a safe
distance.
It wasn’t anything
like normal, but it felt like a moment of triumph, and a reason for joy.
When the ancient Jews received the Torah, it didn’t bring the story to a neat and tidy ending. The pandemic won’t have one, either. There are losses we won’t ever get over; many of us will be hurting for a long time. But with each passing day, I know that I’ve held on this far, and can hold on a little longer. By the time we finish counting the Omer in May, we’ll have long days of warmth and light waiting for us. This year, that’s enough.
