Holy Moses or Passover Plotz?

Tonight at sundown my fellow “members of the tribe” will begin celebrating Passover…and I couldn’t care less. So what, you may say, neither could I.

Passover commemorates a mythological exodus of a people who weren't enslaved, led by a man who never existed. Wave goodbye to the Moses you supposes he should be.
Say goodbye to the idea of Moses as the deliverer of the Jews from slavery in Egypt.

But Judaism is the religion I don’t practice. And since I was raised by an agnostic mother who felt no desire to keep up traditions she felt no connection to, I grew up with little sense of what it meant to be Jewish.

When I was a kid, I learned to answer the question of what my religion was with a rote, sing-song, “We’re non-practicing Jews.” Later, when we moved to Birmingham, Alabama, I replaced that with, “We’re Unitarians.” That was true as far as it went, but it was also an intentional dodge.

I had seen open racial hostilities — sometimes escalating into fights — in my newly desegregated school. Why would I want to advertise that thing I only vaguely understood about my heritage when it could’ve gotten me further ostracized or even beaten up?

I was already being picked on for not being a “Georgia peach.” Imagine how I would’ve fared if the kids knew I was a prune hamantaschen (not that I knew what they were then). And all for something about my heritage that didn’t seem to have much to do with me.

I realize that for some nonbelieving Jews, Judaism is inextricably connected with Jewishness. For them, they stopped being Jewish when they lost their faith. Other Jews have denied point blank that I’m Jewish because I’m an atheist.

Yet to me, Jewishness is an ethnic heritage, with or without Judaism. And I’m far from the only one who feels that way. Indeed, this is the reasoning behind the self-identity of so-called secular Jews.

For many secular Jews, that means continuing the traditions they grew up with. I certainly didn’t. I can remember my grandmother giving me Hanukkah gelt, both the monetary and chocolate kind. And once my uncle gave me a dreidel and taught me “The Dreidel Song.”

That’s it, the sum total of my Jewish upbringing.

In fact, my sole connection to Jewish culture in my childhood was deli food. But in my teenage years, I began to identify with my Jewish roots, even as I was becoming an atheist.

One year, my mother and I decided to create our own secular Passover. We bought a bunch of traditional Jewish foods* and a Haggadah we barely glanced at. We dispensed with all the other Passover traditions too. Instead, we dug into the foods.

Once again, my passport to Jewish culture ran through my stomach. And what did I learn? Pickled herrings would make an excellent emetic.

A metaphor for religion, you say?

Passover Pisher: Holy Moses or Wholly Myth?

So I wasn’t going to be able to connect with my heritage via ritual. That Ark had sailed. And, really, even if we had obtained a secular Haggadah, it would be hard for us to talk about an imaginary tale of a person who almost certainly never existed freeing Jews whom scholars doubt were even enslaved by the Egyptians and definitely didn’t build the pyramids. A prophet so visionary he was even able to write about his own death. Oh, and those vanquished Canaanites? They’re what came to be known as Jews. We have met the enemy and he is us.

Secular Haggadahs often change the narrative to a nice, liberal lesson on freedom. But if the Jews were never enslaved by the Pharaohs, what kind of truth can you find?

“Let my people go!”

“Okay. Uh, who are you again?”

So where does that leave me? I’m not in Jewish culture or of it, neither gefilte fish nor fowl. Yet I’ll continue thinking of myself as Jewish as I eat my lox and bagels and ignore Jewish holidays. But let my people go have their pickled herring.

Like Moses, I returned to my heritage (after a fashion). But unlike the supposed Moses, I’m actually real.

The Passover story is as hard to swallow as this gefilte fish.
This gefilte fish makes the bricks in jars look positively appetizing. Image credit: Olaf Hurfurth, CC by 3.0.

*Yes, I know pickled herring isn’t technically part of the Passover tradition, but we were going the whole Jewish hog, so to speak. It wasn’t even pareve because it was in a cream sauce—double blech! But then, we didn’t exactly care about violating some ridiculous Bronze Age dietary restrictions. Okay, so we won’t boil a kid in its mother’s milk. What kind of sadists do you think we are?

**The above was a lightly edited version of a post that originally appeared in The Secular Spectrum.**


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