Lauren Denton Headline
Two significant holidays in the Christian and Jewish faiths happen this month, and I had the privilege of celebrating both as I grew up. I’ve been a Christian for most of my life, but I’m grateful for the experiences I received as a result of growing up with extended family members who celebrated Passover instead of Easter. However, growing up with one Christian parent and one Jewish parent made for some awkward moments through the years.
We didn’t go to the temple for every Jewish holiday, but we always went when my grandfather blew the shofar on Rosh Hashanah as well as for Passover. Although many of the sights and sounds of the Passover Seder were familiar to me, such as putting out a glass of wine for Elijah and hiding the matzoh, some weren’t so familiar. I remember the Seder meal when I first tried the veggies and salt water, which represented the tears of the Jewish people when they were slaves in Egypt. I looked at my mom in panic, and she said, “Just try it.” So I grabbed some parsley and dipped it into the little dish of salt water like everyone else. Suffice it to say I couldn’t get it down, and I still wonder what the cleaning crew thought when they found the white linen napkin on the floor with a little blob of wet parsley inside.
After the first decade or so of my life, we went to the temple for Jewish holidays less and less. My dad converted to Christianity when I was in middle school, and all our celebrations revolved around the Christian calendar. However, we still had a Passover Seder at our house now and then for friends and family, both to remember what the Jewish people went through and to celebrate my dad’s heritage. Other than a wedding or two, I haven’t been in a temple since those days of panicking at the thought of eating salt water-dipped parsley.
Maybe that’s why I jumped at the chance when I was asked to attend a Seder dinner at the home of a family friend several years ago. When I entered the home of the family hosting the dinner, I remember receiving some curious glances. There was even a bit of whispering at my expense, but I assumed it was because I was the only non-family member there. Undaunted, I forged ahead, moving my lips as everyone recited the blessings, eating the matzoh, and dipping where and when I was supposed to (and yes, swallowing the parsley).
Later in the night, I learned what the whispers and glances had been about. One of the women pulled me aside after dinner and said that their synagogue was always having dinners that “the young people” went to, and she just knew her son would love to take me to one. Then she promptly pulled his photo out of her purse to show me. She looked so hopeful that I’d be the dear Jewish daughter-in-law that she’d been waiting for, so I tried to let her down lightly. I told her that I appreciated the offer, and then explained that I didn’t actually attend the synagogue since I was a Christian. I could see the news spread like wildfire among the women once she walked back into the kitchen to divulge her morsel of gossip.
As I think back, I smile when I remember the Passovers when my Aunt Susan would sneak in and drink the wine left for Elijah, when the kids would shriek with glee when we found the matzoh hidden in a napkin, and when I first experienced the burn of the horseradish on my tongue. I also have a lifetime of Easter (or Resurrection Day, as my mom calls it) celebrations to remember. I’m thankful for the different ways my family has celebrated over the years, and that regardless of the different faiths, we can all say together Baruch atah Adonai, eloheynu melech ha-olam. Blessed are you, our God, King of the Universe.
Lauren can be reached at LaurenKDenton@gmail.com.
