Passover is approaching and we will once again follow the commandment to tell and to listen to the story of the Exodus.

But is this The Story of our people?  The story by which we define ourselves?  Or is our story that of Sinai, when, as a people, we stood at the foot of the mount and, as we are told in the Torah, G-d was revealed to us.

Or is our story the Holocaust?

It matters. 

If we believe the Exodus is our story, then we are people who define ourselves as having once been slaves but are now free.  Because of our years of slavery, the laws we are founded upon are very strict about how we treat others--especially those who are in need and who cannot care for themselves.

If we believe the Sinai is our story, then we are the only people who have in our canon the idea that G-d revealed Himself to us all (other religions have individuals receiving revelations).  It is through this story that we believe that we were all at Sinai--that we live our lives according to a covenant made with G-d.  We carry the burden of being the chosen, which is often misunderstood as meaning we think we are better than others, but in actuality means that we have the understanding that we are to set an example for others, that we are to reach out and help others, that we are to be a light to other nations in a way that lifts others out of darkness and despair.

And, if we are a nation defined by the Holocaust, then we are a people who suffer and who are victims and who, yes, ultimately survive and create a homeland so that we will never be without a safe haven--relying on the kindness of other nations to shelter us.

We take care of our own because we must--because no one else will.

But I am getting too bogged down and too serious.

I was asked yesterday if I thought being Jewish meant suffering or joy.  My quick answer was both.  Our history is full of suffering, but it is our joy that allowed us to survive beyond the suffering.

My teacher made me see that Judaism is about joy.  As a religion, we do not believe in hurting ourselves or doing without.  We do not see suffering as a path to eternal happiness.  We celebrate life now.  We are commanded to see the blessings in life (and, in fact, are commanded to say 100 blessings each day--talk about a "gratitude journal").  We are taught to pray with joyfulness, to celebrate our holidays with food and wine, to bless our children, to enjoy our marriages.  We are limited as to how long we may mourn, we are forced to be with our community in times of despair, we are commanded to feed the hungry, shelter the poor, welcome the stranger.

And we are funny.  Very funny.  And it is our self-deprecating humor that underlies our strength.  We survive in joy.

A very wise friend of mine told me about a lesson she taught her children.  She fashioned two pairs of eyeglasses out of pipecleaners.  She instructed her child to put on one pair and look about the room.  "Tell me everything bad that you see," she said to him.  He told her about his broken toy and the games he wished he had and the cracks in the ceiling.

"Now, put on this other pair, look around the same room, and tell me all the good things you see."

Suddenly, the room was full of toys he loved, the sofa he sat with his family to watch movies, the carpet he wrestled with his brothers on.  Funny how the space altered when seen through a different lens.

So this is how I choose to tell the story of my people.  It is a story of survival, of strength, of godliness and righteousness, of compassion and hope, tzedekah and tikkun olam.

And it is a story of joy and laughter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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