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In Hebrew, Haggadah ( )הָדָּגַהtranslates to “telling.” The basic narrative stays essentially the same, but the way it has been told is in constant flux. Telling stories is one of my favorite pastimes, though I’ve never really thought of myself as a “storyteller.” In fact, my sister Alexis and I (but honestly, more my sister) are infamous for telling stories with no point and no ending. That may sound kind of cool and Kafka-esque here, but in reality it’s exasperating to our friends and family, who are really just waiting for us to get to the point. Sometimes the point is difficult to locate. Sometimes, I think all my stories are actually one long story, and locating the point is something that is, well, besides the point. Stories can also change, and sometimes the moral is more like a moving target than a fixed thing. Take the story of Passover. I thought I understood the point: the Jews were wrongly enslaved by the Egyptians and they broke out. Duh. But the deeper I went into the foolhardy task of writing this Haggadah, the more I understood a constellation of ideas rather than a straight path, a fixed moral. We’ll get to the story of Exodus shortly, but here’s another story to start us off: I think I was eight years old, so the year would have been the Passover/Easter of 1995, when my parents took me to midnight mass at my dad’s church. I can’t recall if it was the service or the sermon, but the mass was deeply disturbing and sounded to me like my dad’s church hated Jews. I didn’t understand how a place that seemed to accept half-Jewish me could publicly condemn my mom’s religion. Didn’t they know that you could “be” Christmas AND Hanukkah? (As my elementary school colleagues described Christians and Jews, by latching on to the most salient aspects of the religious difference.) That week, driving home from school in my mom’s white Mitsubishi Montero, I asked her about the mass, and the anachronistic anger at the Jews over the death of Jesus. Throughout the course of my life, my mom has imparted many accidentally major lessons, and this particular morsel ended up defining my way of approaching organized and unorganized religion. What she told me equated to, “Take the things you think are good and want to keep. Don’t worry about the rest.”
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This is the central premise of the Haggadah you hold. Be together. Share a meal. Tell stories. Build traditions. Last year, when I hosted my first ever Seder, one of the guests and fellow artists included in this edition, Carla Fisher-Schwartz, mentioned to me that before computers became widespread, her reform Jewish family would just rip out pages of the Haggadah to shorten a traditionally long ceremony (you’ll notice here that while a singular spiritual force is absent, the ceremony is not brief ). There are no lack of things that I wish I could simply rip from society, and the concept of a single, patriarchal god is one amongst them. However, Passover is far more than celebrating the Jewish god. As Cecil Roth notes in his introduction to Ben Shahn’s 1965 Haggadah, “although the ritual and celebration are associated particularly with the Jewish religion, their implication is universal.” Passover reminds us of the coming of spring, in both a physical and metaphysical sense. Spring is the eagerly awaited transition between winter and summer, known by many as the time of resurrection, and by others the time to celebrate the vernal equinox. For me, a sun child making do in the Midwest, there is nothing quite as exuberant as the joy of seeing a crocus flower peak its stems out from the snow. That is the feeling of Passover. The Torah (known to many as the “Old Testament”) commands its followers to perform the mitzvah* of “tell[ing] your sons” the story of Exodus each year during Passover. This prioritization of intergenerational discourse, however masculine, is special. It’s something that enriched me so much as a child, at our neighbors’ Passover Seder, and a part of my community that I, until more recently, have lacked as an adult. -2-
In the painfully corny movie that is my life, my brain can’t help but play the song “Teach Your Children” by one of my dad’s favorites, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young (my dad would tell you he doesn’t really care much for Neil Young). Revisiting the song for inspiration, it’s weirdly appropriate to the point where I’m not convinced that the song isn’t actually about Passover. CSN&Y instruct “you who are on the road” (the Jews wandering the desert?) to pass on a code or way of life to your children, and speak of the impossibility of truly knowing the pain of your ancestors. Even the songs’ opaqueness reminds me of religious Hebrew texts. The second verse signals an inverse relationship, where children teach their parents through sharing their youth, helping them transition from this world in peace. We seek this duality in the Passover Seder. Passover is a time to be together. It’s a ceremony that punctuates our lives with a story, gives us a reason to celebrate and to be participants in a two millenia-plus-old conversation. A conversation that predates nations and modern history but is of contemporary relevance nonetheless. Seder, meaning literally the “order”, has been manifested hundreds, if not thousands, of varying ways. The Haggadah has been translated and reprinted more than any other Jewish book.
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“Teach Your Children” Written by Graham Nash You who are on the road / Must have a code that you can live by / And so become yourself / Because the past is just a good-bye. / Teach your children well, / Their father’s hell did slowly go by, / And feed them on your dreams / The one they picks, the one you’ll know by. / Don’t you ever ask them why, if they told you, you will cry, / So just look at them and sigh / And know they love you. / And you, of tender years, / Can’t know the fears that your elders grew by, / And so please help them with your youth, / They seek the truth before they can die. / Teach your parents well, / Their children’s hell will slowly go by, / And feed them on your dreams / The one they picks, the one you’ll know by. / Don’t you ever ask them why, if they told you, you will cry, / So just look at them and sigh and know they love you.
So, naturally, you might ask, why is this Haggadah different than all other Haggadahs? When Stella Brown, another artist included herein, jokingly asked me, I had so many answers to this question. However, in researching and reading more about the history and tellings of Exodus and the subsequent lamb sacrifice that ultimately evolved into the Passover Seder, it became clear that in so many ways this Haggadah shares more in common with a traditional Seder than it deviates. The Haggadah has a long history of artistically illuminated pages, making the illustrations herein completely fitting. The ritual has always included the participation of children, so why not make it a coloring book? Many celebrants consider the psalms and passages a type of poetry, so why not include poems and lyrics? The Haggadah has always been at once a ceremonial and practical document, and it’s always been used for the purpose of bringing people together. Why not again now? Most people are down to hang out and drink a couple (or, specifically four) glasses of wine. I hope wherever and whenever you find yourself reading this Haggadah, it brings you joy and a deeper appreciation for your own history, however you see fit to locate or honor it. That’s the point. Thanks for coming to my TED talk. PS: I recently asked my mom if she remembered the episode in the car where she imparted her wisdom upon me and she had zero memory of it. She also said that the mass probably was anti-semitic, but that she likely didn’t tell me because she didn’t want to upset an 8 year old.
* A mitzvah is kind of like a sacrament, except that there are like 631 mitzvahs and [I think] only a dozen or so sacraments. Mitzvahs are kind of like Pokemon or scout badges, there are a bunch to collect.
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T h e
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3 Matzah wrapped in cloth (+ one extra cloth to hold the afikomen) Four cups of wine S Cup for Elijah Cushioned arm chairs
Seder roles:
Y The leader \ The singer
i The child R The readers/ participants -6-
The Seder Plate is placed on the table in front of the leader of the Seder. A special Seder Plate or any normal platter can be used. Traditionally, the six foods shown above are included in the platter, each with a special significance to the Seder and the Jewish people. In modern times, new objects, such as the orange used to acknowledge those who may feel marginalized by the Jewish community, have become a part of the evolving tradition. Parsley (Karpas): This green is dipped in salt water as a means of representing the tears of the Jewish people enslaved in Egypt. The living green symbolizes the hope and redemption from that life in bondage, as well as the coming Spring.
Egg (Beitzah): Symbolic of the “Paschal” lamb sacrifice made in biblical times, also a symbol of the Spring season and the circle of life. Bitter Herbs (Maror): Usually represented by horseradish, this symbolizes the bitterness and harshness of life under slavery.
Charoset: This sweet mix reminds us of the bricks and mortar used by Hebrew slaves forced to build for the Egyptians. Its sweetness reminds us of the sweetness of freedom.
Lettuce (Chazeret): Not all plates include a second bitter herb, but those that do cite the literal instruction of the bible to eat the paschal lamb with “unleavened bread and bitter herbs” plural.
Shank Bone (Zeroah): Symbolic of the Paschal lamb historically sacrificed every Spring at Passover.
In addition to the Orange, which has come to signify acceptance of the LGBTQ community at the Passover Seder, celebrants have added many personal touches to the plate. Including an Olive as a symbol of peace or an Artichoke to represent acceptance of interfaith relationships, are some examples. -7-
Order
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Service
Kiddush The leader of the service begins. Alternate readers after each paragraph:
YBehold this cup of wine! Let it be a symbol of our joy tonight as we convene
to celebrate the Festival of Passover. Together we are present and prepared to perform the mitzvah of the first cup, the enactment of partaking. Pour the first glass of wine. S
R We are blessed as we bless this wine. Tonight, as we consider the pain of
slavery, let us put aside the biblical distinction of Jews being a “chosen” people. We are fortunate tonight to perform this ancient ceremony, acknowledging it as amongst the myriad unique and beautiful rituals human culture has created in the persistent search for meaning and virtue.
R We are beaming to share this holiday and to rejoice in its commemoration
of the Exodus of the Jews from Egypt. Exodus recounts the call of freedom, and reminds us the work towards fully realizing freedom for all people may never cease. This is the glorious challenge of the Passover Seder.
R Let us raise our glasses in gratitude to ourselves and to each other for taking the time to perform this ancient ritual. Let us give thanks that the love of freedom still burns in our hearts and those of our colleagues. Let us hope that soon is the time when all the world’s creatures will be liberated from cruelty and oppression. Drink the first cup of wine. S Washing of the Hands Self explanatory. This section of the ceremony is meant to be silent.
R Next participant reads:
Parsley
These greens are a symbol of the upcoming Spring! Before partaking of them, in the words of Pablo Neruda’s “Spring”:
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R R R (all read together) The bird has come to bring light to birth. From every trill of his, water is born.
And between water and light which unwind the air, now the spring is inaugurated, now the seed is aware of its own growing; the root takes shape in the corolla, at last the eyelids of the pollen open. All this accomplished by a simple bird from his perch on a green branch.
Y
Division of the Matzah The leader breaks the center matzah, takes the larger of the two pieces, and wraps it in cloth. This piece is the afikomen and is hidden for the youngest attendees of the Seder to search for after the meal.
R Reader:
Now we prepare to hide the Afikomen. Afikomen translates to “that which comes after,� and as is tradition, we will share it following the Passover meal. This practice replaces the ancient tradition of sacrificing and sharing the Paschal (sacrificial) lamb on the first night of Passover. Either way, it is a bond formed by sharing.
Y The Afikomen is discreetly hidden. The leader uncovers the matzah cloth. R Behold the matzah! This is the bread of affliction. Eating this bread
connects us to our ancestors, who also ate unleavened bread while enslaved in Egypt. Let it serve to remind us of those who are today poor and hungry. A reminder to show compassion, and to continue to strive for the time when all people will enjoy freedom, justice and peace.
R We recount tonight that the matzah was made in a great haste as the Israelites
were fleeing from Egypt. During Passover we abstain from leavened bread to share the experience of their hardship and to heighten our appreciation of the bread as life sustaining manna. Even though it is flat, and not particularly appealing, it still provided necessary sustenance to the Jews during their journey to Canaan. Re-cover the matzah and set aside. Refill the wine glasses.
T h e
N a r r a t i v e The Four Questions
i The youngest participant at the Seder asks the questions on the left. R Participants answer with the passages on the right: i Why is this night of Passover
R Indeed, this night is very different
i On all other nights we eat any
R We eat matzah tonight to remind
i On all other nights we eat any
R We eat the bitter herbs to remind
i On all other nights we don’t even
R We dip the parsley in salt water
i On all other nights we are
R In ancient times, reclining at the
so different from all other nights of the year?
from all other nights of the year. On this night we celebrate one of the most momentous and enduring events in the history of our people. On this night we celebrate the triumph of going from slavery into freedom.
bread we want, on this night why are we compelled to eat only matzah?
us of the great haste in which the Jews were forced to flee Egypt, without even leaving time for the bread to rise. It baked flat on their backs as they left their homes. This is why we eat only matzah tonight.
vegetables we please, why tonight do we partake of bitter herbs especially?
us of the bitterness of slavery experienced by our ancestors.
think to dip our herbs, why tonight do we dip them twice in salt water?
to symbolize the tears if the Jews in Egypt, as well as the eventual coming of Spring. Similarly, we dip the bitter herbs into the sweet charoset as a sign of hope, that we may replace the bitterness of slavery with the sweetness of freedom.
expected to sit upright at dinner, why on this night do we all recline?
table was the mark of a free people. Since our ancestors were freed on this night, we recline as well.
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The Telling of Exodus:
R Reader:
We dedicate tonight to remembering the bondage of the Jews in Egypt and to their bumpy path to freedom. Similarly, the Seder compels us to dedicate ourselves to the struggle for freedom in its many gorgeous and contradictory forms.
R Exodus teaches us that even while the Israelites were enslaved by the
Egyptians, they were further enslaved by their own distrust, sometimes preferring their lot in Egypt to the potential risks of the unknown. Similarly, the freedom we seek tonight is more than broken chains.
R The story of Exodus tells us that Moses, the protagonist of the story at
hand, was born during a time when Jews were enslaved by the Egyptians, who demanded that the Jews throw all their sons into the Nile. Moses was protected by his mother and sister, Miriam, who placed him in a basket made of reeds and floated him down the Nile. Luckily for Moses, he was picked up and adopted by the richest family in Egypt, Pharaoh’s.
R Time passed. Moses got mixed up in some ancient Egyptian trouble, and
was having a hard time finding his place in the world, so he fled to a town called Midian where he ended up meeting his wife, Zipporah, and became a shepherd. As the story goes, Moses was minding his own business, shepherding his flock, when God appeared to him in the form of a burning, talking bush. God, the shrub, basically told him to go back to Egypt, gain the trust of the Jews and demand their freedom from the Egyptians.
R God told Moses that he would back him up, and then taught him this really
wild trick where he turned his walking stick into a snake and then back again. God taught Moses some more tricks, and Moses was pretty apprehensive about the whole deal, citing his stutter as the reason he wasn’t the ideal candidate. God insisted, and he did let Moses bring a buddy, the prophet, Aaron.
R So off they went to Egypt. Oh also, God mentioned that it was going to be
insanely difficult to convince Pharaoh because for some unknown reason, God was planning to harden Pharaoh’s heart to Moses’ request. There were a few, strange, bumps along the way, but Zipporah kept the party moving and eventually they made it back. -12-
R Moses and his partner, Aaron, met with the current Pharaoh (who was, by the way, pretty much Moses’ adoptive brother). “Let my people go,” cried Moses, but instead the Pharaoh became even more demanding of his slaves, doubling their work. The slaves were extremely pissed at Moses and Aaron. Then the torah kind of goes on this family history tangent, and we discover that people somehow managed to live an extremely long time in ancient history, including our hero, Moses, who was apparently 80 when he appeared before Pharaoh. His prophet, partner, Aaron, was said to be 83 years old.
R Then things got really real. Moses did his staff-to-snake trick, but Pharaoh
had some other magicians on hand who performed the same trick. Moses’ snake ate all the others, but the Pharaoh was still unimpressed! Then Moses turned the Nile to blood for an entire week, which is completely mindblowing, and apparently smelled really bad as well. But the Pharaoh was still not willing to let the Jews go.
R Next came the frogs, and the Pharaoh told our dynamic duo that if they removed the frogs, he would let the Jews go. So, they got rid of the frogs, but that tricky Pharaoh took back his promise and probably had never planned to release the slaves in the first place.
R Then came the gnats from dust. Then the flies, which only swarmed on the
Egyptians and left the Jews alone. Next Moses unleashed a plague on all the livestock of the Egyptians, and not a single animal belonging to the Jews fell ill. Next they all got boils all over their skin. Next was huge, deadly balls of hail, the worst Egypt had ever seen. Next was the plague of locusts, which pretty much killed everything else that hadn’t already been ruined by hail, or illness, or flies. Still nothing. Then darkness. For three full days. Still no freedom.
R Finally Moses unleashed the most frightening plague of all, the death of every firstborn. God made special provisions for the enslaved Jews, instructing them to slaughter year-old lambs at twilight on the 14th day of the first month. They were to reserve some of the lamb’s blood to put over their doorways, and eat the lamb roasted with flat bread and bitter herbs. The people were instructed to eat with their cloaks and shoes on, ready to leave Egypt. According to the story, God “passed over” the homes that were marked with blood, and killed the firstborn of all other families.
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R This is why we commemorate Passover on the 15th of Nisan, the first month
in the Hebrew calendar. The torah sets out a bunch of extremely arbitrary rules for who can and cannot partake of the Passover feast, and what should go down during the festival. Then the Book of Exodus gets back to the part of the story where the Jews were fleeing, with the hastily made yeast-free bread on their backs. God decided to take them the long way on a desert road towards the Red Sea, not wanting them to encounter any obstacles that might convince them to return to Egypt.
R God led the escaping Jews in circles to give Pharoah the impression they
were weak and lost. So, Pharoah showed up with chariots and hellfire, and the Jews freaked out. God told Moses to part the sea with his trusty staff, and so he did. God made a huge cloud of smoke and confusion to delay the Egyptians, who followed the Jews into the dry land between the walls of water. Once the Jews made it to the other side, Moses closed the sea and the Egyptians drowned.
R The former slaves were overjoyed, started singing songs about how great God and Moses were, and danced with tambourines. Then the Jews wandered in the desert for forty years, until they made it to Canaan, presentday Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, and Israel. -21-
The Four Children
R The story of the four children comes from an old anecdote about five
old rabbis who stayed up all night reading the torah and talking about Passover, a perennial favorite. Like most Jewish fables, there is not a single straightforward reason for the presence of these children.
R The four different types of children (wise, irreverent, simple and
unaware) could each be considered as part of the trajectory towards spiritual or religious development. They may also remind us of the difference in perspective and experience of those attending the Seder. Each of the four children may comprise a part of each of us.
R The wise child asks, “How can we be fastidious in observing Passover?” We traditionally answer this assertive child by reminding them of the laws of Passover and that they must follow each portion of the Seder exactly. They may not eat dessert following the conclusion of the Seder.
R The irreverent child asks, “What is this service to you?”
We traditionally answer that this “wicked” child would not be rescued from slavery had they been present in ancient Egypt, but we may also use this question to interrogate the significance of the Seder in our own lives.
R The simple child asks, “What is this celebration about?”
We answer them with the story of Exodus, and the importance and history of the Passover celebration to the Jewish people. We hold this child’s hand and guide them through what is likely their first Seder.
R The unaware child does not think to ask anything. It is our job to make this person feel comfortable enough at the Seder to ask any questions that might come up, but we are also willing to accept that this attendee is bashful, or does not like public speaking. Drink 2nd cup of wine. S
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Washing of the hands For a second time. Blessing of the Matzah Reader: R The symbolic meaning of the matzah we eat tonight is threefold. We have already learned that the matzah reminds us of the affliction of poverty, and recalls the haste in which the Jews left Egypt.
R The third and final significance is related to the prosperity of the Jews
after they settled in Canaan. During this period, inequity grew in the Jewish community, and the matzah became a reminder and a symbol of a simpler and more modest time spent in the desert.
R Let us share in all of the lessons of the bread of affliction. Luxuries can be amazing and can bring great joy and peace. But when the few have much more than they need, and others cannot fulfil basic necessities, we still must strive to bring about equality and justice for all. All eat the matzah. Bitter Herbs Reader: R We share these bitter herbs tonight to remind us of not only of the bitterness of Egyptian bondage, but of the sharpness of all types of oppression. All eat a bit of the bitter herb, either dipped in charoset or not (there is a lot of variation on this particular part of the ceremony).
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Hillel Sandwich Reader: R In remembrance of the first century scholar Hillel the Elder’s fulfillment of the Seder, we take a second portion of bitter herbs between two pieces of matzah.
R When the Temple stood, Hillel performed the Seder in this manner. He would bundle the Paschal meat, matzah and maror, and ate them together to fulfill what is written in the Torah: Upon unleavened bread and bitter herbs shall they eat it. Eat the hillel sandwich.
The Meal is Served
Afikomen
Grace Fill the third cup of wine. S
R Reader:
As we partake of the 3rd glass of wine, we also give thanks for the meal we just received and for those who prepared it. This sense of gratitude extends to all of those who have toiled to pursue the freedom extolled the story of Exodus.
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R This Seder asks us to perform and experience the ritual as if we were
the ones who left Egypt, and we are grateful to have this opportunity. We are grateful to those who have developed and performed this ceremony before our own time. May we always have the freedom to gather and celebrate as we see fit. Drink the third cup of wine. S Fill the fourth cup of wine. S
R As we fill our fourth cup of wine, we also set aside a glass of wine for
Elijah and one filled with water for Miriam. Moses’ sister, the prophet Miriam, helped to protect a young Moses when he was set into the reeds of the Nile and led the triumphant Israelites in song and dance on the safe side of the Red Sea.
R Elijah is traditionally associated with hope for the return of the Messiah, a hope that either literally or metaphorically would shepherd in a new era of peace, justice, and harmony.
RAs we symbolically invite both of the prophets into our home by opening
the door, may we also endeavor to invite others into our lives with their same compassion.
R We will close this section with an except of the poem, “The cup of Eliyahu” by Marge Piercy from 2006.
R In every generation you return speaking what few want to hear words that burn us, that cut us loose so we rise and go again over the sharp rocks upward. Open the door for Eliyahu that he may come in.
R You come as a wild man,
as a homeless sidewalk orator, you come as a woman taking the bima, you come in prayer and song, you come in a fierce rant. Open the door for Eliyahu that she may come in. -26-
Prophecy is not a gift, but sometimes a curse, Jonah refusing. It is dangerous to be right, to be righteous. To stand against the wall of might. Open the door for Eliyahu that he may come in.
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Hallel
R Reader: Now we will drink our fourth and final glass of wine. To give our Seder, we will read this excerpt of Adrienne Rich’s poem “For Memory” from 1979: RRR
Freedom. It isn’t once, to walk out under the Milky Way, feeling the rivers of light, the fields of dark— freedom is daily, prose-bound, routine remembering. Putting together, inch by inch the starry worlds. From all the lost collections. Drink the fourth cup of wine. S The Close Reader: R Traditionally, we close the Seder by saying together, “next year in Jerusalem.” Like the prophet Elijah and other aspects of the Seder, Jerusalem may considered a symbolic space, representative of freedom from the bondage the Jews experienced in Egypt.
R Let us tonight close with two readings to acknowledge the ongoing and existential nature of redemption and fulfillment.
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R We begin with the poem “my dreams, my works, must wait until after hell” by Gwendolyn Brooks:
R I hold my honey and I store my bread
In little jars and cabinets of my will. I label clearly, and each latch and lid I bid, Be firm till I return from hell. I am very hungry. I am incomplete. And none can tell when I may dine again. No man can give me any word but Wait, The puny light. I keep eyes pointed in; Hoping that, when the devil days of my hurt Drag out to their last dregs and I resume On such legs as are left me, in such heart As I can manage, remember to go home, My taste will not have turned insensitive To honey and bread old purity could love.
R
R We will now close our Seder with a reading of the poem “A Mark of Resistance” by Adrienne Rich:
R Stone by stone I pile
this cairn of my intention with the noon’s weight on my back, exposed and vulnerable across the slanting fields which I love but cannot save from floods that are to come; can only fasten down with this work of my hands, these painfully assembled stones, in the shape of nothing that has ever existed before. A pile of stones: an assertion that this piece of country matters for large and simple reasons. A mark of resistance, a sign.
R
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היה חופשי Be free
A
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Cover Ben Marcus
C
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End Papers Jesse Malmed
Page 3 Ben Marcus
Page 5 Selina Trepp
Page 6 Leo Kaplan
Page 7 Stella Brown
Page 8 Ben Marcus
Page 9 Andrew Freels
Page 10 Etta Sandry
Page 13 The Plague of Blood Carla Fisher Schwartz
Page 14 The Plague of Frogs Leslie Baum
Page 16 The Plague of Flies Harry Kuttner
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s
Page 17 The Plague of Pestilance of Livestock Harry Kuttner
Page 17 The Plague of Pestilance of Livestock Danielle Tamir
Page 18 The Plague of Boils Leo Kapan
Page 19 The Plague of Locusts (Paul Germain)
Page 20 The Plague of Darkness Alex Bradley Cohen
Page 21 The Plague of Death of the First Born Danielle Tamir
Page 22 Jesse Malmed
Page 23 Ben Marcus
Page 24 Ben Marcus
Written by Dana Bassett with Leo Kaplan Designed by Andrew Freels
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Thank you thank you so much to Leo, who has been my constant supporter, co-conspirator and sounding board for this project. Thank you to my Mom and Dad for their begrudging and loving support of all my wicked inclinations. Thank you to the Tamir/ Bernstein/ Silvers Family for teaching me about chosen family and educating me in all things Jewish, and showing me that Seder is full of love and fun and great food. Thank you to everyone who contributed illustrations, writing, editing, or their time and expertise in any way to this project, especially Andrew Freels, the goy who made it all come together. Thank you to all my friends for listening to me go on about Passover, and to my husband and sister in particular since they had to hear it the most. Amen.