Sunday, April 17, 2011
Tomorrow night Passover begins. As a result I have been researching haggadahs online. Skimming one option I found the following, "Everyone should feel that he or she personally came out of Egypt, and that the passage from slavery to freedom was a living experience to be told and handed down from generation to generation." Only two months old, and yet already worlds away, my memories of Cairo bleed like wine on a tablecloth. While tales of my travels, my friends, and the revolution are regaled often, the meaning of my six months in Egypt lurks in the gaps between thoughts, waiting for me to fully realize what lessons are buried in the rough. As I reflect on Passover's black-and-white tale of good's clear triumph over evil, I struggle to sketch my own story in shades of grey.