Family (Passover Potluck 2016)

Last year, the Peace Corps Panama Passover Potluck enjoyed so much success that new Volunteers were asking me months in advance whether there would be a Passover 2016 – based only on seeing my blog post.

So of course, I had to do it again.  And step it up.

First, I decided that instead of hosting Seder at my house and inviting Volunteers and my favorite community families, I would ask to hold Passover at the house of one of my favorite families – at Ema’s house, my abuelita.  Ema and Jose were delighted to host the Seder, but I needed to check about a few things first.  Part of the Seder is to have 4 glasses of wine throughout the course of the ceremony, each playing a different symbolic role.  Ema’s family is the Ngäbe religion Mama Tada, which prohibits, among other things, alcohol and dancing.  So I asked Ema: I understand that your religion prohibits alcohol, but can we include wine as part of this Jewish tradition?  Her response: Wine doesn’t count!  Of course!  This Seder was off to a good start.

Three other Volunteers arrived April 30 to join the Seder.  We carried several boxes of wine, matzah, Mom’s-recipe charoset, Seder plate items, and kosher-for-Passover appetizers on the hour hike up the hill, picking up Angel’s family along the way.  Once everyone was present – twenty-some people – and the sun was setting, the Seder began.

This is the first Seder that I’ve been to that was conducted in four languages – some Hebrew, some Spanish, some Ngäbere, some English.  Ema’s family was fascinated by the Hebrew prayers that we sang – lighting the candles, blessing the wine, the parsley, the matzah – and translated into Spanish.  We made sure everyone participated in the ritual handwashing at the beginning, as good Environmental Health Volunteers – after all, God wants your hands clean before you eat so you don’t get sick.

Rather than read through the Haggadah, the other Volunteers, Nayelis, and I acted it out in a sociodrama, true Peace-Corps-capacitation-style.  Zoe was Pharaoh, David was Moses, Nayelis and I were Egyptians, MC was God, and Ema’s family was the Hebrews.  Nayelis and I yelled at Ema’s family as if they were slaves.  MC and David communicated via cell phone – and it turned out that God kept running out of money on her phone, cutting short her calls to Moses.  Nayelis and I ran around as if the plagues were chasing after us.  It helped that the family had been listening to Moises on the radio, and knew the story – though this was a slightly different interpretation.  “Should Moses really be talking back to God like that?” someone asked me in response to the David’s increasingly sassy phone calls with MC.  “I mean, that’s actually kind of accurate – pretty much all of the Jews in the Bible argued with God!”

After the Seder and our four glasses of wine, prior to dinner, the kids even started an impromptu dance party – and were joined by the matriarch herself, as 70-something-year-old Ema surprised everyone and came out to dance tipico with MC.

The Seder sociodrama was hilarious, the potluck was delicious, the entire experience warm and joyful – better that I could have possibly imagined.  Ema’s family loved it.  The Volunteers loved it.  I loved it.  It felt just like all of those fun Seders of the past – with family and friends, part ceremony, part ridiculous, irreverent hilarity.

It was as close to being home as I could get without actually being there.  Here, in Panama, with my second family, this Seder had that warmth and comfort and closeness and joy.  Which is really what Passover – with its tradition of remembering and of passing along stories generation to generation – is all about.  Celebrating with family.

Next year in America!

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And, thinking about the family that is my community, I wrote this:

My Gente

In the beginning, they were my gente.  My people.

My people who were assigned to me.

Whom I was supposed to help.

Then, they were my gente.  My people.

My people with whom I live.

Who share their home with me.

Y’know, my gente.

Who feed me strange things.

And teach me their world.

Who frustrate me.

And make me smile.

Finally, they became my gente.  My people.

My people because I am a part of them.

And they are a part of me.

I am one of them; we are family.

I would fight for them,

They would fight for me.

We may squabble sometimes

But don’t you dare say anything bad about them.

‘Cuz they’re my gente.

Like my little brother

On the bus with me

Getting picked on by the big kids

Back in sixth grade.

They are my gente.  My people.

They are mine.

Because they are me.

My gente.  My people.

I wonder.

Can all the gente of the world

Become my gente?

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Pictures:

We sing in Hebrew the prayers at the beginning of Seder.

We pour the first glasses of wine for everyone…

…and hand them out.

I’m explaining something – Ema and Jose have front-row seats.

MC explains the importance of the ritual handwashing.