Truth Thursday
This year, like many previous years, my family has had spring break plans … to go nowhere and do nothing. We have a big family event coming up in a month – my daughter’s bat mitzvah – which is taking on the pateen of a second full-time job as we careen towards the last days of planning. Plus, my husband and I already have full-time jobs, from which we would rather take time off when our family and friends gather in May to celebrate our middle child’s milestone.
So that left us with little choice but to stick it out at home during spring break.
Not such a big deal. I have absolutely zero memories of going away – anywhere – during the spring breaks of my childhood. It simply wasn’t done. And the Hollywood version of beach madness for high school seniors? Also not done. I believe I spent my senior year spring break hanging out in the city with friends and dreaming about college.
Today, spring break seems to be yet another opportunity to cleave the haves and the have-nots. Despite the fact that our family lives on the less affluent side of our very wealthy county, and despite the fact that my kids go to school with a lot of kids whose parents work two jobs and may not have the means to even consider a mid-year vacation, they (and we) seem to have friends all over the globe this particular spring break. Paris, Costa Rica, beaches up and down the East Coast. College tours (and I admit we dropped the ball on that one.) Israel. Skiing. New York City to see a Broadway show.
All really exciting and wonderful destinations. Ones that we could conceivably have visited ourselves if we didn’t want to save our time and our money for our own very large event next month – one that we are privileged to be able to host.
So why do I feel so inadequate? It reminds me of leaving my Brooklyn home and school, where no one ever talked about ski trips or flying off to a foreign country, and attending my private, upstate New York college where almost everyone did. I felt very small, unworldly and poor. I wound up spending money I didn’t have so that I could keep up (which got me in a world of trouble.) It reminds me of how I would puff up my chest and try to convince myself, in an annoying, self-righteous way, that I was somehow better off because I wasn't being handed life on a platter. Not that many or most of the kids living these lives were or are, but I didn’t know how else to differentiate my loneliness around not being able to play in the same sandbox.
I am reminded of these same feelings this week, as my kids and I struggle to find things to do that are fun without a lot of friends around. My oldest son has a job, so he has been getting up at a reasonable hour and taking the train to work. So that one’s taken care of. My daughter landed several babysitting and cat-sitting gigs, and we also planned a big bat mitzvah dress shopping day (which was highly successful) so she seems placated. And my youngest and I took a great bike ride together, and he’s been relatively occupied otherwise, despite the dearth of friends around. They all seem relaxed, happy not to have homework and content with the pace of the week. So perhaps I can let go of the little jealous place inside that has been haunting me this week.
Today I start the preparations for the Passover seder, which will consume my time and energy for the next two days. Tomorrow night, and then again on Saturday, we will sit down at our beautiful seder table, laden with food and surrounded by friends and family. We will intone the Passover story from the Haggadah, and talk about how the Jews escaped bondage in Egypt and reached freedom. We will explain to the children and each other about how Passover represents the coming out of a narrow place, and how in each of our lives, we find ourselves in these narrow places over and over and over again, and each time, we have to find a way out of our own bondage, like our ancestors before us.
My narrow place has always been a place of covetousness, of sometimes wishing for that which I don’t have, even though I know I have a lot. Thankfully, my children don’t seem to be replicating this. They are rightly appreciative of the bounty of our lives, and we are always reminded of our good fortune when we participate in community building projects and give tzedakah (Jewish charity) to help others who don’t have as much as we do. Of course they also want the latest gadget, or new clothes, and sometimes whine about it like any teen or tween worth his or her salt. But they know they must earn their own money to buy themselves these toys, and in their hearts, I am pretty sure they understand.
So this Passover, this spring break, I will chop up the apples for the charoset,which reminds us of the bricks and mortar the Jews used under Pharaoh’s whip to build the pyramids, and spread the horseradish on my matzah to remind us of the bitterness of our lives. These foods and moments will remind me to think about how I need to come out of my own narrow place of wishing we were somewhere else. We will sing the ancient melody of Dayenu, which will tell us that had we only been brought out of Egypt, it would have been enough. We will lift four glasses of sweet wine and laugh and sing and eat and enjoy the heralding of spring that Passover represents.
I am grateful for Passover's reminders of the beauty and the bounty surrounding me, despite my narrow places.
Photo by Paurian via Flickr
http://www.flickr.com/photos/paurian/127502681/sizes/m/in/photostream/
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