Life lessons on the seder plate

Aging Jewishly — What our traditions teach us about growing old.

By Rabbi Barbara Aiello

The wine stained Haggadot are tucked away in the closet, while only the empty matzah box remains – a reminder of a seder filled with family and tradition, not to mention a “bissel” stress. But now that Pesach 5784 is a pleasant memory, that memory can now include a reflective look at the life lessons found on our seder plate.

If your seder was Ashkenazi, you dipped parsley into salt water. If your seder was Sefardi, like mine, you dipped celery into vinegar – both for the same effect. Yuk! As slavery diminished not only our physical strength but our spiritual strength as well, we cried bitter tears as there seemed no way out; no escape from the backbreaking, soul crushing work forced upon us.

As we recall the taste of our tears, we consider modern day victimhood. Has it been a bad year? Have I had a hard life? Like our ancestors, have I been a slave to circumstances beyond my control?

So, as I dipped my celery or my parsley, do I feel really sorry for myself? Am I an Olympic complainer? Have I taken the swan dive into the cesspool of self-pity while all my friends and family held up a perfect score?

Like my ancestors before me, I may have also had a backbreaking life, but how was my attitude? The memory of the parsley or celery compels me to take a look inside.

In our mind’s eye we see the Romaine lettuce that was added to our seder plate – a bitter herb, because life was bitter for our ancestors.

We had very little of anything, especially time. No time for family; no time for friends. No special days; no celebrations. Nothing to break the monotony of a bitter, nasty existence. In our Haggadah, we read that Jewish families were separated from one another. Men lived and worked with men; women lived and worked with women. Children were pressed into slavery as well.

As we recall the of taste the bitter herb we ask ourselves about the bitter pills we’ve had to swallow. Did we lose someone or something precious? Did a criminal take away our treasure? Did we cry out to God, “Why me? Why now?” Did we shake our fists at the heavens and shout that “Life just isn’t fair!”

The Haggadah says that Pharaoh’s heart was hardened. Not only are the Jews building temples, granaries, silos and palaces, but now we have to make the bricks and the mortar, too. How was this year’s charoset? Did the mixture remind us of the mortar we were forced to make?

We consider a modern take on the old story as we ask ourselves, “Where am I stuck?” or “What am I doing day after day, year after year, that’s got me stuck like mortar between bricks?

“Where am I trapped, and how have I trapped myself? Am I stuck in a dysfunctional relationship? Am I mired in credit card debt?

“Do I need to make a change in my life, my work or my behavior, but I’m too paralyzed by how I’ll look or what people will think of me? Am I too paralyzed to take a meaningful action?”

Finally, after 10 brutalizing plagues, Pharaoh relented to Moses’ plea to “Let my people go.” Moses and Aaron ran to share the news only to be stopped in their tracks. “We can’t go now,” said the women. “We must wait for the bread to rise!”

The Jewish women had a plan, and they were unrelenting. Moses finally convinced them that they had to act and act now. He shouts, “Put the bread on your backs and run away as fast as possible.” Matzah, the bread of our affliction, becomes the bread of our salvation.

As we reflect on the seder now passed, we consider that the matzah could be a symbol of hanging on to old ideas. No matter what happens we say, “We’ve always done it this way or that way. It’s my way or the highway!” The intransigence of some almost doomed us. What if we Jews had waited for the bread to rise?

I ask myself, “Does that sound like me? Do I pressure my family or friends to stick with tradition, long after the tradition has lost its meaning? Do I intimidate those around me? Am I a roadblock to taking a chance, to making a change?”

Did you have a bone on your seder plate? Or maybe a zucchini or cucumber spear? These signify the “zeroah,” which also symbolize an outstretched arm. They are placed on the seder plate to remind us of how God wants us to take an action –to move forward.

Our ancestors had tremendous courage to do what they did. So, today we ask ourselves, "Where is my courage? What am I a slave to? Am I a slave to food or shopping, or to my computer, to texting, to video games or pornography?"

"Am I a hoarder of stuff, useless items I can’t or won’t donate or discard? Am I a techno-hoarder immersed in thousands of emails, photos or Facebook posts? Does my obsession with technology isolate me from family and friends? Do I have the courage to leave it all behind?"

Finally, we recall the roasted egg as it sat on our seder plate — a symbol of life renewed. The egg reminds us to have hope; that no matter what my burdens, no matter what my sorrow, if I am willing, I can move forward from tsuris to simcha, from sadness to joy, from slavery to freedom. I can make the connection between ancient tradition and modernday relevancy, thanks to a backward glance at my seder plate.

For 10 years Rabbi Barbara Aiello served the Aviva Campus for Senior Life as resident rabbi. Her most popular columns are now published in her new book, “Aging Jewishly,” available on Amazon books. Rabbi Barbara now lives and works in Italy where she is rabbi of Italy’s first Reconstructionist synagogue. Contact her at Rabbi@ RabbiBarbara.com