Tonight, Jews around the world gather for Sedar. They eat, drink, laugh and retell the story of our escape from slavery in Egypt to freedom. It is one of my favorite holidays. Leslie, Rachel, and I would drive from Providence to Hartford to be with David, who had hosted ecclectic Sedars since we were all together in Rochester. When Ben and Adam were still on the East Coast, they would join us with Janine and Sarah. I would look around the room and feel a connection with the past, and seeing our children, the future.
Tonight, they are scattered around the country, and I am contemplating the meaning of freedom as I sit in a country founded by slaves who cast off French rule, and tried to live and prosper. Unfortunately, Haiti continues to struggle with poverty, class divisions, and tragedy. I tried to understand differences with the relative success of the Jewish people. Some is our time in history, some is the climate, and others may be intangible. Economics certainly played a part. Although the Haitians drove out the French, they agreed to a large repayment which crippled them for years. The ruling class was not the African blacks, but the Mullatos - and as I've noted before, the class divisions are obvious. Then again, since it was several thousand years before the Jews could have a successful homeland, Haiti still has time.
This is clearly not about belief. The Haitians are sustained by their faith in God. CRUDEM is a Catholic foundation associated with the order of Malta. Although it is clearly a spiritual place, noone asks your beliefs. Those who wish to go to mass, can do so. We are here for the patients, and for each other.
I was sitting outside on the porch this morning having coffee with the Board representative, talking about our experiences and beliefs. I mentioned I was Jewish, and we talked about the meaning of Passover and Easter.
It was a busy day, and when I got home, I took out the Matzoh we bought before I left. The warm sunlight was just fading, signaling the start of Passover. There was no wine, so rum and orange juice would have to do. We have spicy dressing with onions, peanut butter would be the charosetz, and I had a salad for greens. I couldn't bring myself to go after our pet goat for the rest.... As I sat in my room, said kiddush and made a peanut butter, onion, and matzoh sandwich, I felt incredibly lucky to have this experience.
The Board Member grabbed me before the nightly meeting that I lead. He asked if I'd be comfortable sharing my feelings about Passover with the group. I agreed.
We went through our usual routine of introductions, housekeeping, and logistics. At the end of the meeting I run an open forum of what went wrong, congratulatory shout outs, and what went right. We always try to finish on a positive note. When every was done, I took a breath and began speaking to the 60 people, many of whom I had known only a few days.
" I'd like to take off my CMO hat for a moment and talk to you about some reflections today..." I spoke of the meaning of Passover in the Judao-Christian context. The fact that I had agreed to come, before realizing it was Passover, and that my family nonetheless supported me. My voice cracked a bit as I described Sedar with friends...and as I spoke of the analogies between the Jews and the people of Haiti. I desribed the dietary restrictions, indicating that my normal happy hour beers on the porch would need to be replaced by rum and coke. I thanked the group for what they are doing and for creating an environment where we all felt safe. I closed with the meaning of "L'sahana habaha b' Yersushayim"
At that point, I swallowed hard and dried my eyes, and wished everyone a good night.
I walked back up to the porch, to compose this blog. Pat, a big, loquacious Viet Nam vet walked up to me. "Hey Doc, you'll need this."
It was a bottle of rum.
Sitting at David's last year, I never imagined when I said "Next Year in Jerusalem," that I would be in Milot, Haiti. Alot is going on, and I don't know where I'll be next year. But for the rest of my life, when I mutter those words, I will remember the taste of peanut butter and onion on a Matzoh, and the sound of the crickets on a humid night in a land founded by freed slaves.
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