Every Passover, we celebrate the freedom of the Jews, that Moses led us out of slavery. We remember that we will never be slaves again. It’s a joyous holiday, with storytelling and singing and wonderful food.
Yet, in the midst of this celebration, we recite the plagues that were sent down to Egypt and, for each plague, we dip a finger into the wine and put a drop of wine upon our plate. The idea is that we take some of the wine away, diminish some of our joy, in remembering the suffering of the Egyptians, the despair they went through as they suffered through the plagues, their fear, their death as they drowned in the Red Sea.
I, like everyone else, feels—well, something, relieved, maybe? worried? uncertain?—in the death of Osama bin Laden. I can’t help feeling, someone died. We can feel avenged. We can feel vindicated. But I don’t think we should be rejoicing. Too many on all sides have suffered. And I can’t help but feel like we’ve just cut the head off of the Lernaean Hydra, and I fear what will come in its place.
Last night we lit a candle for Yom Hashoah. Holocaust remembrance. An odd coincidence, no?
I don’t normally blog about serious things here. I like to stay out of politics, unless it’s a matter of mocking my husband for his Republican ways. I like to keep things light and fluffy. But given that one of my very first posts, back in October 2001 when my blog was still searching for a voice, was about a woman who died in 9/11, I feel that it is something I should address. I feel as if things have come full circle. If I were looking for an excuse to end this blog, this would be it, although I still have stories to tell, so I’ll stick around.
Last Friday, I let Pie get up early and watch the royal wedding before school started. Today, I wrestled with the decision, but ultimately let the boy get up early to watch CNN. Both things they’ll most likely remember for a lifetime; the two eliciting such diametrical emotions.
On the way to school, I asked if the boy if had any questions. He didn’t, but he told me much of what he learned. At one point, he said to me, with a twinge of concern in his voice, “I guess I should be careful. They said Americans should be on their guard.” For the first time in a long time, he held my hand as we walked to school.
I nodded. And I said to him, “I’ll tell you what. You don’t have to be on your guard. I’ll be on guard for you.”
With that he gave me a smooch (a block away from school, where we won’t be seen) and ran off to school.
I don’t have an end to this blog post, no nice and neat wrap up. Because we can only wait and see what happens next.
Hello from a fellow Jenny…found you through Angela! Thanks for the thoughts here; I too had some concerns and bad, bad feelings in my tummy. The hydra on wikipedia has a damnable lot of heads, doesn’t it?
Hello fellow Jenny, who has a much better last name! I actually like the hydra, but mostly because that’s what I feel like in the mornings when my children annoy me.