I went to Cyprus to see what could be done – if anything could be done – regarding the hundreds of children who were being held there. At that time there were 40,000 Jews incarcerated in the Cyprus camps and each month the British, with their punctuality and exactness, allowed 1,500 Jews to enter the Land of Israel: 750 came from the camps in Europe and 750 from Cyprus. In Cyprus the certificates were granted on a “first in, first out” basis and as a result many small children had to remain in the camps, where the living conditions were quite harsh for a long time. 

One day a committee of doctors appeared in my office in Jerusalem. “We cannot accept responsibility for the health of the babies if they remain another winter in the camps”, they said. That was why I started to negotiate with the mandatory government. We suggested some sort of framework in which families of survivors who had a child who was less than a year old would be allowed to leave for Palestine earlier than the regular queue. The amount of certificates would be adjusted retroactively. In order to do so we had to convince the mandatory government to act with some flexibility and logic, although at the time this government was neither. The survivors also had to be convinced that children should be given priority. 

It took some time before I arrived at some sort of an arrangement with the government but I did succeed. There was also a special consignment of certificates for orphans. The next step was to go to Cyprus and talk to the survivors themselves. I was told by my friends that I would never convince them to give up their turn. Getting to Palestine was so important for them that they would not want to give up their turn for any reason. I could not accept that verdict without trying, so I left for Cyprus. 

When I arrived I appeared before the British Camp Commander, who was tall, slim and elderly and a veteran of long service in India. One may say that this was a courtesy call. I told him who I was and what my purpose was and asked if I may tour the camps the following day. He listened to what I had to say with a cold and unfriendly demeanor and when I had done, he said: “I am informed of the families with babies but I have received no instructions regarding orphans.” When I informed him that that had been a part of the agreement he said that he would have to clarify  that. We continued our conversation when all of a sudden he agreed to add the orphans to the list. I could not figure out what made him change his mind so suddenly but the next morning I heard that he had received a report from the Chief-Secretary in Jerusalem in which he was told to “Beware of Mrs. Meirson, she is a tough one”.

I guess that that is what made him change his mind so suddenly. 

*Golda Meir was an Israeli Teacher, Kibbutznik, Politician and the fourth Prime Minister of Israel

Translated by Arieh Malkin 

Korech:  Mixing the Bitter and the Sweet

One of my favorite moments of the seder comes just before dinner is served.  It is called Korech.  It is also known as the Hillel sandwich.  It is the moment when we eat maror (the bitter herbs) and the charoset (the sweet apple and nut mixture) on a piece of matzah.  What a strange custom to eat something so bitter and something so sweet all in one bite.  I can taste it now, just thinking about it, and the anticipation is almost too much to bear.  I dread it, and I long for it all at the same time.  Why do we do such a thing?  We do it to tell our story.

The Jewish people tells our story through our observance of Jewish holidays throughout the year.  The holidays of Passover, Chanukah and Purim remind us just how close the Jewish people has come to utter destruction and how we now celebrate our strength and our survival with great joy, remembering God’s help and our persistence, and our own determination to survive. 

We also tell the story throughout our lifetime of Jewish rituals.  The breaking of a glass at a Jewish wedding reminds us that even in times of life’s greatest joys we remember the sadness of the destruction of the Temple.  When we build a home, some Jews leave a part unfinished to remember that even when building something new, we sense the times of tragedy in the Jewish people.  And on Passover we mix the sweet charoset with the bitter maror, mixing bitter and sweet of slavery and freedom all in one bite.

Throughout each year and throughout our lifetimes, we challenge ourselves to remember that even in times of strength, it is better to sense our vulnerability, rather than bask in our success.  We all have memories of times in which bitter and sweet were mixed in our lives, all in the same bite.  Judaism says, sometimes life is like that.  We can celebrate and mourn all at the same time.  And somehow, everything will be ok.  What is your korech moment?

We begin by recalling the first seder night in history when we "hurriedly left Egypt:"

"The Lord said to Moses and Aaron in Egypt...

This is how you shall eat it (the Pesach meal):  your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand: and you shall eat it hurriedly: it is a Passover offering to the Lord..

In the middle of the night the Lord struck down all the first-born in the land of Egypt...

The Egyptians urged the people on, impatient to have them leave the country, for they said,

"We shall all be dead!"  So the people took their dough before it was leavened, their kneading bowls wrapped in their cloaks upon their shoulders..." (Exodus 12:11-29,33-34).

Here I Am, ready to perform the mitzvah of retelling the story of the Exodus from Egypt.

"Forgetfulness leads to exile, while memory is the secret of redemption," says the Baal Shem Tov (18th C. founder of Hassidism).

Therefore, we celebrate Pssover by teaching ourselves to become inventive storytellers and empathetic listeners.

What Can these words mean? 

We are slaves because yesterday our people were in slavery, and memory makes yesterday real for us.

We are slaves because today there are still people in chains around the world and no one can be truly free while othes are in chains.

We are slaves because freedom means more than broken chains.  Where there is poverty and hunger and homelessness, there is no freedom; where there is prejudice and bigotry and discrimination, there is no freedom; where there is violence and torture and war, there is no freedom.

And where each of us is less than he or she might be, we are not free, not yet.

And who, this year, can be deaf to the continuing oppression of the downtrodden, who can be blind to the burdens and the rigors that are now to be added to the most vulnerable in our midst?

If these things be so, who among us can say tha he or she is free?

(Leonard Fein, founder of MAZON: A Jewish Response to Hunger, 1985).

When a person eats and drinks [as part of celebrating a holiday], they are obligated to feed "the stranger, the orphan, and the widow" (Deuteronomy 16:11).

But someone who locks the doors of their house, eating and drinking with their children and spouse [alone], and doesn't provide food or drink to the poor and depressed, is not participating in the joy of [God's] commandments but rather the joy of the gut, and about them it says, "their sacrifices are like bread for the dead; all who eat of them will become impure, for their bread is for themselves" (Hosea 9:4) Joy like this is disgrace for them, as it says, "I will strew dung upon your faces, the dung of your festal sacrifices"(Malachi 2:3).