Spring Break
Muslim reporter explores Judaism, adheres to strict laws of Passover
Issue date: 5/1/08
In the end, I decided to adhere to the rules of Passover followed by the Chasidic Jews. I was prohibited from eating leavened bread, corn, beans and rice. Of course, this meant I couldn't eat anything made from these items including corn starch, corn oil, corn syrup and soy. No soda, no chocolate, no FFC French fries.
I would adhere to the strict laws of Kashrut and keep kosher. This didn't appear to be much of a problem; almost all the laws of Kashrut are the same as the dietary restrictions in my own religion, Islam. I also did not adhere to any customs that conflicted with my own religion, such as the drinking of wine during Sedar.
As part of the holiday, I planned to attend a Sedar, a religious ceremony, to mark the first night of Passover. To be honest, I was slightly nervous. I had attended religious services before, even Sabbath programs, but this was different. This, I felt, somehow had a deeper significance.
Passover is a time of remembrance, a time to mark the emancipation of the Israelites from bondage and their exodus from Egypt. It is a time to honor tradition, to remember the past and celebrate the Jewish heritage. I felt as though I stepped into a world quite alien and different from the one I knew.
The evening was spent reading prayers, singing and celebrating. Of all the prayers I listened to that night, there is one I remember most distinctly - an excerpt from the Haggadah [prayer book] entitled "Four Sons."
"The wicked son asks his father, 'What is this service to you?' He says 'to you,' but not to him! By thus excluding himself from the community he has denied that which is fundamental."
The days passed quickly; Sunday became Monday, Monday became Wednesday, and Wednesday became Friday. I was nearing the end of my journey. Yet, what had I accomplished? I had spent almost a week abiding by Passover's many rules yet I still did not understand the true meaning of the holiday.
I went and asked my friends and got many different responses. Some said Passover represented suffering, and others told me freedom and tradition. But none of this had any meaning for me. This was not my family's tradition, nor was it my people's freedom. Sure, it was not fun eating matzah every day, but I was not really suffering.
I would adhere to the strict laws of Kashrut and keep kosher. This didn't appear to be much of a problem; almost all the laws of Kashrut are the same as the dietary restrictions in my own religion, Islam. I also did not adhere to any customs that conflicted with my own religion, such as the drinking of wine during Sedar.
As part of the holiday, I planned to attend a Sedar, a religious ceremony, to mark the first night of Passover. To be honest, I was slightly nervous. I had attended religious services before, even Sabbath programs, but this was different. This, I felt, somehow had a deeper significance.
Passover is a time of remembrance, a time to mark the emancipation of the Israelites from bondage and their exodus from Egypt. It is a time to honor tradition, to remember the past and celebrate the Jewish heritage. I felt as though I stepped into a world quite alien and different from the one I knew.
The evening was spent reading prayers, singing and celebrating. Of all the prayers I listened to that night, there is one I remember most distinctly - an excerpt from the Haggadah [prayer book] entitled "Four Sons."
"The wicked son asks his father, 'What is this service to you?' He says 'to you,' but not to him! By thus excluding himself from the community he has denied that which is fundamental."
The days passed quickly; Sunday became Monday, Monday became Wednesday, and Wednesday became Friday. I was nearing the end of my journey. Yet, what had I accomplished? I had spent almost a week abiding by Passover's many rules yet I still did not understand the true meaning of the holiday.
I went and asked my friends and got many different responses. Some said Passover represented suffering, and others told me freedom and tradition. But none of this had any meaning for me. This was not my family's tradition, nor was it my people's freedom. Sure, it was not fun eating matzah every day, but I was not really suffering.
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anonymous
posted 7/03/08 @ 11:59 AM EST
I think this is a very thoughtful piece but I would have liked to hear more about the physical experience of not being able to eat normal foods, how it made you feel to turn down invitations to go out to meals with friends, etc. (Continued…)
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