The Power of Questions
Last week it snowed in Minnesota on the northern edge of the ferocious storms that killed more than twenty people in the midwest. This after I saw the first spring flower push its way through the earth almost two months ago in California. It snowed eight inches on Friday, but on Saturday there was full sun and a perfection of whiteness covering the park like my mother’s linen tablecloth draped over the mahogany dining room table. White and hushed, the paths unshoveled. It was shabbos and I was here by myself, lighting candles in my great-grandmother Rose’s silver candlesticks. Rose would not have recognized the fact of Minnesota. She would have known only crowded immigrant precincts where her progeny incubated on the way to making something of themselves in America. But the striving has outlived its usefulness. There remains only the possibility of knowing something that one didn’t know before.
If nothing else, we are all free to inquire. Free is a much overused word. Buy one, get one free. Tonight, when many celebrants will sit down to make the seder, people all over the world will commemorate the freeing of the Hebrew people from enslavement in Egypt. The re-telling of the ancient story in the pages of the haggadah has a way of generating gratitude for what we have - food, heat, potable water, loved ones. But it also sparks a recognition of all the ways we are still not free. We are not free when our children cannot go to school without fear. We are not free when we are held hostage by criminal public figures who lie for a living. We are not free when the seas are rising. Contemplating freedom, I am aware of the ground beneath my feet shifting rapidly in ways I can’t even fully comprehend. There is aging. There is moving away from home. There is the whole damn virtual world chatting and botting away. The Passover haggadah poses Four Questions. But I’m not even sure what to ask. My son says the real question is can Artificial Intelligence suffer? What kind of a question is that?
The certainties have left the building. The linen tablecloth and silver candlesticks are artifacts of a ride on the Broadway bus. I carry them around to remind me of a time when I had the illusion that I knew what was going on. White anklets and Mary Janes, memorizing state capitals, parading around ‘50s America with its White House Easter egg roll and its newsreels before the double feature. Don’t get me wrong. I have a fear and loathing of nostalgia. I do not want to elevate the afterglow of post-war smugness as if there were no racial violence, no Battle of Algiers. I recall the past with considerable skepticism. But like all of us, I am a product of my times and I am ill-prepared for the future, whatever that is.
So given the slipperiness of the past and the inscrutability of the future, I will have to try to live in the present and do what I can to formulate the right inquiries. Considering the haggadah’s question - Why is this night different from all other nights? - I have arrived at a revision - Why is the present moment different from all moments that have come before? Here are some tentative aspirations from my heart.
On all other nights we eat leavened products and matzah, on this night only matzah. In this moment, I seek to take up just the right amount of space in the world so I am the best version of myself without becoming inflated with self-importance like bread that has risen.
On all other nights we eat all vegetables, on this night only bitter herbs. In this moment, I seek to grow in compassion so that I have a greater capacity to face suffering.
On all other nights we don’t dip our food even once. On this night we dip twice. In this moment, I seek to understand a second way in the world, another way different from my own.
On all other nights we eat sitting or reclining. On this night we only recline. In this moment, I seek to look impermanence in the eye and embrace my final reclining.
The great questions have no real answers. Let’s celebrate the power that questioning brings and the blessing of the freedom to ask.
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Though I'm a little late to the party, I want to tell you that I love your answers to the four questions, dear Susie. As always, so thoughtfully and beautifully expressed.
I've always wanted to visit Minneapolis, Duluth, and Lake Superior our sister lake, the biggest of the 5.
If I ever make it, I'll let you know. It would be fun to see you and Frank.