Big Tent Judaism

Passover and Jewish Identity

Growing up a child of intermarriage, Passover was the time I felt the most “Jewish.” We had an otherwise secular household—went to High Holiday services, but not much else. For Passover, however, my mother went all out.

A few weeks ahead of time, my mom would bring up the Passover dishes from the basement. A few days before the Seder, she would become a cleaning maniac, on a mission to get out every single crumb in the entire house. She’d pull out all of the couch cushions and move the furniture. My sister and I had to clean our rooms, under our beds, even our closets. We’d even burn the remains of last year’s afikoman to symbolically nullify all of the crumbs that might have been overlooked.

All this care and attention may also happen in other Jewish households, but in my home it came from a woman who was raised protestant. She was doing her part to make sure we were raised in a Jewish household.

We’d always go to my Jewish father’s parents for the first Seder, where there was lots of reading in English or in Hebrew. I didn’t know any of the Hebrew, so I never had to read the Mah Nishtanah alone. My cousins always had that role. I felt a mix of relief, jealousy and shame. They were Jewish on both sides of the family—“real Jews,” I thought at the time. Though it was no one’s fault, as hard as I tried to take part, I felt like an outsider.

On the second night of Passover however, my mom would make a Seder at our house. We lived in a small town and my sister and I were the only Jewish kids in our school. Yet somehow, a small group of “wandering Jews” would gather at our house. Each year we would set the table not knowing exactly how many would be there. At our Seder, the extra plate was set out as the Passover Haggadah says, “[for] all who are hungry [to] come and eat, all who are in need of company come join our Seder meal.” And every year it was used.

That night our house would come alive. Our reading of the Haggadah was animated, perhaps a little irreverent, but always interesting. Of course, we read almost entirely in English—except the parts that were transliterated, which we struggled through. We would read around the table popcorn style—sometimes ending in the middle of the sentence for the next person to pick up. With several different versions of Haggadot, we had to see who was paying enough attention and who would be caught drifting. Everyone would vie to be the “Wicked Son” when that part came around. It was more fun than being the “Wise Son.” We laughed our way through the night.

We always started the Seder at sundown and went well into the night—way past our bedtime. People would straggle in throughout the night so that when we finally opened the door for Elijah, it seemed he must have already slipped in with the guests.

When I think about my childhood Seders, who was around the table and the way we came together to celebrate, I knew that I, too, was a real Jew. Even though not everyone who attended was Jewish, that was my Jewish family. Passover spoke to all of us, perhaps because we all felt like we were wandering in the desert. But once a year, we gathered to celebrate our collective liberation. And in those moments, my Jewish identity was born.

Now that I’m a mother, I want my daughter to have special memories like these. I want her to understand that Passover represents more than a few good meals. It symbolizes the warmth and welcoming that the Jewish community has to offer. It’s also why I’ve dedicated my professional career to help the organized Jewish community better reach and welcome all those who may feel on the periphery of the community as I once did. Passover is a time when we can invite newcomers to be part of our family, for a night or for a lifetime. It’s a holiday that can serve as the catalyst for individuals young or old to begin forming their own Jewish identities.

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