The Scattering and Gathering of Wits

I’d have written more but I’ve been busy keeping my wits about me.

Seems they’ve been scattered everywhere. Some on the floor of my car, others crumpled in the pocket of my blazer, still more glittering in piles on the kitchen counter next to where I sliced a dozen onions for a Passover brisket that cost me $125.

The brisket was terrific. The carrots and the onions – the tzimmes – were divine. They roasted 4 hours with the meat and then another hour by themselves but still had just a hint of bite to them. I am not Jewish, but I can cook a Passover carrot that would make you cry.

Our Passover Seder was lovely. We use a Haggadah created by a dear relative. It is short but not too short but, more importantly, it connects the themes of tyranny, oppression and freedom to things happening now. For example, there are the standard ancient plagues – cattle disease, locusts, and so on – and then a list of modern plagues which you can imagine but then I added another one, especially current in this moment. I will let you guess.

Our guests included our two sons, our daughter-in-law, her son, her baby granddaughter, our grandson and his partner. Our grandson is trans – this is new to us this year although it’s been true for a good while. And we are still working on rearranging our speech and references. But he is patient. Love is patient, love is kind. Everyone grows in the way they need to.

Laughter helps. And good sportsmanship. Our grandson’s partner, new to Jewish customs, readily agreeing to serve as the youngest child to read the Four Questions, everyone taking their turn reading from the Haggadah, the courageous consumption of the bitter herbs (horseradish) and charoset together in a Hillel sandwich. “The Hillel sandwich is a reminder of both the suffering and eventual redemption of the Jewish people.”

All the blessings, each cup of wine. Everything we did at our seder soothed the bruised parts of us.

Especially the laughter. Great bursts of laughter. Like rain on a cornfield broken by drought.