B”H
If I were to describe life as a
first year medical student, I think it would go something to this tune. Imagine
sitting in a well-lit corner and reading a textbook or syllabus for nine
months, with breaks for eating, toileting, and other necessary vital functions
– along with occasional freak-outs of impending sense of failure and inadequacy…especially
during test weeks. A bit hyperbolized, but suffice to say, it’s stressful,
intense, anxiety-inducing, and grueling.
But every so once in a while, med
students crawl out of our dark study caverns (read: library) and rediscover the
world beyond the text. This blogpost recounts one of those precious instances
in my life.
One
thing about medical school – it makes one dream about freedom. Freedom from
piles of pages to read, hours of lecture to retain … freedom to just live! A
testament to this yearning for freedom comes in the form of almost ritualistic
post-examination happy hour celebrations or victory dinners seen throughout the
first year class, with my friend group certainly not an exception. Recently, a
few of us wanted to plan a special post-exam getaway: camping. I had sadly
missed the group’s previous outing last semester, and my inner Eagle Scout was
determined to make the weekend getaway possible. Camping, I thought, would be a
fantastic reward and fun retreat.
However, the initials plans did
not go over so smoothly, as the weekend was booked at the park. Thus, a friend
set reservations for Monday night – April 14th – the first night of Pesach
(Passover). When I realized the change of plans, I’ll admit I was very
disheartened, because I really wanted to head out to the woods with everyone
else. But, being one of the only Jews in this circle of friends, I did not want
to burden my friends with all the complications of Pesach rituals: the seder
meals, the dietary restrictions, the traditions, etc. Plus, I’d be missing a
school day, and making up lectures is a pain in the toches. And so, I
had backed out in saying that it was Passover, and I couldn’t go due to
religious observance.
Two
of my friends then asked, “Well, can we do Passover in the woods?”
I
remember my first thoughts, “Pesach in the woods!? Who’s heard of such a
thing? Not me! What mishegoss!! Pesach in the woods. I couldn’t
bring good plates out to the woods, or possibly replicate the seder’s
ambiance in the woods. And how would we read the text…by flashlight?! Pesach
in the woods…what a silly suggestion!”
But,
I hesitated to respond. My friends’ question was said so matter-of-factly...so
innocently…so objectively curious…Pesach in the woods, eh?
I
replied to my friends with an honest confession of uncertainty. Truth be told,
I had never envisioned a seder outside of the home environment,
synagogue, or Jewish community. I asked for some time to think about it.
Later
that evening, I started to think. I could make food in advance, I guess. Print
out a bunch of e-Hagadot (books for the meal, oh does this word look so
odd) from the Internet. But, can it work? Can you make a seder in line
with Jewish laws and customs in the woods? I deconstructed the seder—its
elements, its requirements, its symbols, its liturgy, its adaptations, its
essence. Never in my life had I thought so much about the seder. WAIT A
SECOND! NEVER IN MY LIFE HAD I THOUGHT SO MUCH ABOUT THE SEDER! The
whole point of Pesach is to bring oneself into the story of Exodus, and
if bringing Pesach to the woods is providing this avenue, then I would
be a fool to abandon this path to heightened Jewish learning.
It was when I made this
realization that I told my friends to prepare for a seder in the woods.
Cue anxiety. I had never led a seder
before. Typically, I’m the youngest at the table who is willing (or able
usually) to read Hebrew, so my role is reading the Four Questions, not leading
the meal. And, I was going to be the only Jew on the trip, so nothing I say could
be implied knowledge. I was to be the only source of knowledge and expertise.
Not to mention, while I’ve attended non-traditional seders in years past, I’ve
never attended one in which I am the only Jew at the table. Part of the
celebration of the holiday is the joy of freedom of the Jews from Pharaoh’s
rule, and I would have no one with whom to partake in celebration of freedom.
Basically, I just agreed to do something given zero leadership experience, no
previous involvement in seder planning (logistics or really even cooking),
and a newly-realized struggle of deconstructing and reconstructing the seder
for non-Jewish attendees while maintaining the Jewish connection to the story
and its overall integrity.
But no pressure.
Setting
aside these reservations, I took on the challenge. I read the Hagadah
probably a dozen times, attempting to find the meaning…to search for the clues
to make this work. My heart told me that this process is imperative to my
personal Jewish growth, and I needed to follow it. I read online articles about
alternative seder ideas, considerations, and the like. And suddenly,
inspiration took over! I had a clear vision for this crazy seder…and how
it just might be meshuge enough to work and be true to custom. Pen and
paper in hand, I started to draft out the plans. (More on this “aha” moment
later)
Fast forward to Sunday before
departure. I yelled at basically everyone and everything trying to find
Passover food supplies. I used a third of a tank of gas yelling in my car
something to the tune of:
OHMYGOSHKROGERFAILSATPASSOVERSUPPLIESWHYWHYWHYINEEDMATZAHBOXESNOW…CENTRALMARKETHASONLYONESTANDOFPASSOVERSUPPLIESANDNOVARIETYLETSTRYTOMTHUMB…OHCRAPIWENTTOTHENONKOSHERTOMTHUMBWHICHHASNOTHING…OFCOURSETHEKOSHERTOMTHUMBISONTHEOTHERSIDEOFTHECITYWHYDOESNTDALLASHAVEKOSHERFORPASSOVERSUPPLIES?
After a few hours of driving in Dallas rush hour traffic all around the
freaking city, I finally made it to the “Kosher” Tom Thumb, which had
everything I needed, except wine. Thank goodness for good ol’ Spec’s kosher for
Passover wine section…easily labeled, decently priced, and good variety. And
the evening was spent making matzo ball soup, charoses
(apple-walnut mix), hard-boiled eggs, and other goodies for the meal.
The kitchen smelled like memories.
Monday afternoon. Somehow,
between a pickup and an SUV named Dexter, along with everyone else’s camping
gear, I managed to stuff everything into the vehicles. Car rides are interesting
for me…I always feel as if I learn something unexpected, but until a dialogue
gets going, they are kinda awkwardly quiet. This time, I found out that one of
my friends on the trip pointed out the window to show us his hometown. Somehow,
that connection made the car ride much more intimate, and before we knew it, we
had arrived at the state park. Campsite was set up, and I started heating up
the matzo ball soup over the camp stove once the charcoal turned grey.
As night fell, we began the
ceremony. The seder plate was constructed on a paper plate, matzo
ball soup served in plastic bowls, and libations served in cheap cups. I think
it’s almost a requirement to “leave one thing” at home when going camping. And
the seder started with a bummer, as I realized what I had forgotten this
time: a bowl or vessel for washing hands (a custom done twice in the seder
ritual). So, I surmised a grungy water faucet from the ground would just have
to do
I started to read the text, made
snide quips about the references of slavery reflecting current experiences in
medical school, and discuss the symbols and order of the seder. Eventually,
through the comfort of friends, I found my voice to carry the ceremony (I even
sang Dayenu alone since no one else reads Hebrew … oy vey). As I
went through, I delivered my explanations of the fundamentals and spiritual
meanings behind everything. I said kiddush over grape juice/wine, and it brought
me back to the intense feelings I had when I said the same brachah (blessing)
during my Bar-Mitzvah service. I explained karpas (parsley
appetizer), maror (bitter herbs…sorry fellow campmates…I didn’t warn you
that you’d be eating horseradish), and the other components with my new-found
appreciation for the symbols of the service. I felt a spiritual connection
unlike any order seder.
I finally got to the part in the
seder which provided my initial inspiration for how to conduct the
service: the pointing of the symbols and the direct explanations. After the
traditional elements were explained, here I inserted two very important
additional symbols to the seder plate: Miriam’s cup (a testament to the
embrace of female strength and equality of the sexes in Judaism) and the orange
(a symbol of inclusivity of ALL peoples of any sex, race, creed, sexuality, or
ethnicity). In bringing these symbols into the seder, finding a way to
merge the concept of inclusivity so essential to my faith, and tradition in the
customs of the service, I found a way to invite my friends to be welcomed into
this ritual meal with me –to learn about my customs and faith.
Throughout the service I was
receiving questions about the customs, text interpretations, and Hebrew
translations. Never had I been in a seder where so many questions were
asked. This was a blessing, for the motif of the seder is to ask
questions (the Four Questions, the questions of the four children, etc). A seder
SHOULD promote thoughtful questions. We SHOULD question the text. We SHOULD
bring meaning to the tradition in our inquisitiveness. So often, the seder
ends unchallenged, undiscussed, not internalized. Thus, perhaps one of the
truest seders I ever had was not inside the walls of a synagogue, not in
the community of a Hillel/Chabad/JCC/other Jewish youth center, not in the
comforts of a Jewish home– but in a state park in Glen Rose, Texas (population
2,444 and likely no Jews), under freezing conditions (yes, it DID ice over that
morning), over a picnic table with no accoutrements or fancy seder plate,
and in the presence of friends unfamiliar with my traditions, but
ever-accepting. And I couldn’t be more grateful to share my traditions, but
also my discoveries about the essence of Pesach.
Beyond
the service itself, though, the act of joining friends in finding comfort in
the wilderness (and yes, in so doing, playing hooky from class), I found a
personal liberation from the toils of medical school. This trip was an oasis of
happiness for me in traveling to a new place with friends, boundless bonding,
and celebrating life beyond the books. I spent the part of Yom Tov (the
holy days/nights of Passover distinguished from the middle days/nights)
frolicking in the wilderness, taking a nature hike, laughing with friends,
discussing faith and religions, asking the tough questions … simply being free!
The fourth of the Four Questions
reminds us to recline and relax during Pesach, for the Jews are freed
from the enslavement of Pharaoh. Being outdoors with some of the most amazing
people brought meaning to these words. I may not have been sitting on a pillow
or fancy recliner, but I was relaxed in the serenity of the woods. Somehow,
among the Solo cups, charoses in Tupperware, a food-snatching raccoon, the
clear night sky, and dear friends, I rediscovered the meaning of Pesach.
And it is truly beautiful.
חג שמח/Chag
Sameach/Happy holidays to all who observe the Passover season this year!
