PASSOVER Rabbi Micah Lapidus
Allen H. Lipis
Freedom is timeless. The essence of freedom, particularly from a Jewish perspective, never changes. Human beings are endowed with free will so that we might choose, of our own volition, to live lives of goodness, decency and kindness. Stated in more pious terms, we are free to cultivate our God-given capacity to serve God and bring about a better world. Very different from other ideas of freedom, to be free, Jewishly, is to consciously and joyously align ourselves with God’s vision for humanity and all creation.
On Sunday, March 7, my extended family celebrated via Zoom the 100th anniversary of my grandparents, my uncles and my mother arriving at Ellis Island, leaving Hungary and Romania for good. I look back on the freedom they found for themselves and for the rest of my family as a gift that I can never repay. They allowed me to live in the greatest country in the world, to survive the Holocaust, to get an excellent education, and to live here without war and in peace. The freedom I have is to live where I want, work where and at what I choose, and live the life I want for myself. I cherish the fact that I am an American citizen with all the rights that it entails: the right to vote, the right to criticize, the right to peacefully demonstrate against the government, the right to pray as I see fit, and the right to be treated fairly under the law. As we have seen only recently, democracy is not something we should take for granted. The will of the people is not something every country on earth agrees to offer to its people. Our country fought wars to establish democracy, to let us decide how we should be governed. The right to vote for whomever we want is a right that must be protected. What a privilege it is to vote, and to change who governs us by majority vote. I am thankful that the governments we have provide the water I drink, the lights I use with the flick of a switch, the heat that keeps me warm in the winter and cool in the summer, the sewer system, the garbage that is picked up from my home, and the police, firemen and other public safety organizations that make my life free for so many other things I enjoy. I have the freedom to travel to almost every part of this country and most everywhere else in the world. I have the freedom to call my family and friends as I wish, to see them via various technologies on my computer and to celebrate with them on so many occasions throughout the year. Freedom makes me happy and joyous. Our ancestors fought for the freedom I enjoy. I pray that I don’t have to fight for freedom now or ever, but if the need arises, count me in.
Rabbi Micah Lapidus is the director of Jewish and Hebrew Studies at The Davis Academy
Rabbi Shalom Lewis One of the most awkward moments in the haggadah is opening the door for Elijah with the words “Shfoch chamatcha el hagoyim … Cast your wrath upon the non- Jews.” If we have seder guests who are of another faith, we typically rush through the Hebrew and mumble some creatively non-inflammatory text. Yes. I know the horrific history behind the open-door policy. Showing our gentile neighbors we are not involved in murderous deeds but merely celebrating a family holiday with good food, libation and song. It is a tactic of self-defense against the blood libel. The Passover-Easter season was a terrifying one for our ancestors not so long ago when hostility between Christian and Jew was raw, nasty and brutal. Thankfully, we have come a long way since those vulgar days of pathological malice; and to underscore this shift, allow me to share a personal story that celebrates tolerance and harmony, not religious dread. She wished to meet with a rabbi and discuss the Book of Prophets. Teaching a Bible class in her church she wanted insight from a Jewish clergyman. We made an appointment. She showed up right on time. I welcomed her and offered her a seat. She sat down with pad and pen, we shared pleasantries, and then we began the Q&A. Her inquiries were well thought-out. We had a delightful chat, but as our time together wound down, our conversation took an unexpected turn. I noticed a cast wrapped around her left arm. It was covered with signatures and brief messages from friends and students. I asked if I might add my name to the well-wishers. “Certainly. That would be very nice of you,” she replied. I continued. “May I write speedy recovery on your cast in Hebrew?” A simple, innocent request. Her demeanor suddenly changed. She looked at me, grabbed the arms of the chair and began to quiver. She stammered in response. “In the holy language of Hebrew? In God’s sacred tongue? I would be so deeply honored.” Shaking, she held up her injured arm and with a Sharpie, I scrawled “refuah shleimah,” on the rough, plaster surface. From her reaction you would have thought I was Moses giving her a signed copy of the Ten Commandments. She stared at the Hebrew characters, transfixed by my message. After a few seconds, she stood up. In a soft, reverential voice she thanked me for my time, turned and left the office caressing her inscribed cast. I was a bit startled by her actions but understood. We birth Jews are jaded by our rituals, our customs, our traditions, but for an outsider we are the authentic people of faith living the holy words of the Bible. An eternal nation covenanted to God. Too often we brush aside our treasures, dismissing our magnificent legacy that literally tamed and transformed Western Civilization. Too often I have seen the stranger who values the wonders of Judaism while so many of us cast off the precious, glorious yoke of Sinai with a yawn. And so, I cry out with unapologetic gratitude, “Thank God for non-Jews.” It is they who can inspire us to greater spiritual fidelity while reminding us of the privilege of descent from Abraham and Sarah. Perhaps now when we open the door for the prophet, we should chant “Shfoch ahavatechaw el hagoyim … Cast your love upon the non-Jew.” Somehow that feels much better. Rabbi Shalom Lewis is rabbi emeritus of Congregation Etz Chaim. 44 | MARCH 31, 2021 ATLANTA JEWISH TIMES
Allen H. Lipis is an AJT columnist.
LaVon C. Mercer It is truly an honor to be able to write for Passover this year from a place that has shown the world a challenge. My first thought is that I’m still present among the living to share my Passover thoughts with you. Now just look at us today; people have forgotten that the Torah and Bible are living instruments to use for us to grow! I feel that challenges have slowed us to a grind to reflect, and for others, to gather to spew hatred! Passover is just what it has always been: a choice to find God or hate his children Black, Brown, Asian or White since life has become a place of color! As a child I felt trapped in hate because of my color. Today I feel all people are trapped because they only see color! So, to amplify what Passover means for me, is for God to grasp all this hate and remove it from this world! In closing, blessings to all of YOU and I love you so much, because GOD has commanded that we spread LOVE! LaVon Mercer, who played basketball while attending the University of Georgia, is a former Maccabi and Hapoel Tel-Aviv basketball player, and first African American Israeli national team member.