And the seasons, they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return, we can only look
Behind, from where we came
And go round and round and round, in the circle game
Joni Mitchell may not be Jewish, but her 1968 lyrics to “The Circle Game” might as well be, and they often pop into my mind as we move through the Jewish calendar. Never is this more true than at Passover. The painted pony goes down, and we are slaves in Egypt once again. The pony swings upward, and we watch in wonder as God performs miracles to impress Pharaoh. It heads south again with the death of the Egyptian first born, lifts triumphantly with liberation, dips with Pharaoh’s change of heart and terrifying pursuit, rises again with the parting of the Sea of Reeds... And every year, we recline on our “carousel pony,” reliving the highs and lows, the questions, the quandaries. We prep the charoset, hide the afikomen, sprinkle the salt water, and down the Manischewitz, maybe even break out the timbrels. Just like last year!
Only this year is not like last year. This year, there are innocent Israelis in captivity in Gaza. This year, American campuses seem like a flashback to 1968, rife with protest and tension, but this time antisemitism is at the center of the conflict. Politicians debate whether university presidents are doing enough to protect Jewish students. Protesters demand a ceasefire and divestment from anything that might support the Israeli military. Death tolls climb, bodies are uncovered, and the whole world seems riveted, taking sides, pointing fingers. Jews around the world find themselves at the center of a situation they did nothing to cause, swept up in an ancient tension that seems to follow us from generation to generation, l’dor vador.
And the seasons…
What will it take to break this cycle? Are we really bound to repeat it?
In the absence of answers, I looked this week to our Torah portion, which dips back into the Passover story in Exodus. Perhaps we might gain some insight by asking the same questions Moses puts to the Eternal in Exodus 33:
“See, you say to me, ‘Lead this people forward,’ but you have not made known to me who you will send with me. Further, you have said, ‘I have singled you out by name, and you have, indeed, gained my favor.’ Now, if I have truly gained your favor, pray let me know your ways, that I may know you and continue in your favor.”
The morning after Moses sought to know God’s ways, God passed before him on Mount Sinai and proclaimed, “The Eternal! The Eternal! A God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, extending kindness to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity, transgression […].”
I am deliberately cutting out the end of this passage, in which God talks about “visiting the iniquity of parents” upon future generations, for the simple reason that this seems unjust and outdated, a relic of another time than does little to serve us today, as we navigate the violence and vengeance that have plagued humanity for too long. But if we take a page out of the first part of God’s response, seeing in compassion, grace, patience, kindness, faithfulness, and forgiveness the essence of God’s ways, we have something of a path forward.
I love our rituals and those celebrations that help us to “look behind from where we came,” but I know that many of us are tired of history repeating itself. I don’t know how to break free from the captivity of “the carousel of time,” but I will strive nonetheless to be “compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness, extending kindness to the thousandth generation.” Maybe, just maybe, this will go a little bit toward parting the waters…
Shabbat Shalom,
Rebecca Abbate
