Giving Voice to the Voiceless: Reflections on the Passover Seder

This is the first year I have had Seder with my mother since her words were stollen from her more than two years ago (this is her third Passover without it) by a massive stroke. I have eaten many meals with her in this time, especially since I made the 3,000 mile cross-country move to be nearer to family - approximately two meals a week the last nine months.

But something profound happened at the Seder that has not happened in a single one of these other meals. My mother read. Out loud.

She put her finger on the page, she opened her mouth, and she vocalized and intoned as she ran her finger across the words. Her eyes were lit, and her voice filled with song and joy. The Haggadah gave her a voice, even if, in order to know what she was reading, I had to read silently to myself from the same words on the page. Once again, thanks to the built-in narrative of the Haggadah, my mother was able to participate in the conversation.

The Seder offers many opportunities to give voice to the voiceless. The narrative of slavery, that we all need to see ourselves as having come out of Mitzrayim, has us connecting directly with the experience of slavery (see my previous post). As we do so, we begin to tell a universal story of human growth, but also to connect ourselves, to listen for and to speak for those who are deeply entrenched in slavery, so much that they may not be able to use their own voice.

Let us go back to our 4 Children, for a moment. There is one, in Hebrew called: שאינו יודע לשאול. Usually this is translated as "Who doesn't know how to ask." But the "how" is read into a phrase that literally means "who doesn't know to ask." Not how, but simply to.

Sometimes we are so deeply entrenched in our own universe, we do not know that it is possible to ask, that asking is an option.

Enslaved for hundreds of years, it is only after Moses, a free man, rebels against the taskmaster (yes, kills him), that the Israelites are said to have cried out.

The Haggadah changed my experience of my mother's current struggle. It gave me hope and ideas about hearing her voice again. Nay, it actually allowed me to hear it, just a little bit, for just a moment.

And from this I learn:
We can give voice to those who are enslaved and don't even know it.
We can give voice to those who are traumatized and can no longer speak.
We must cry out from freedom so that others may cry out from slavery.

Torah teaches us that because we were "strangers," we must not estrange anyone from our community - not the poor, not the widow, not the orphan, not the stranger who joins us. As we continue through this Passover week, I invite my readers, friends, family to continue think about where we see voicelessness, and how we can offer a voice to them.



[edited for grammar and clarity - two words - 4/8/15, 11:48am]