Let my people go…home

This term, my parents and I put on our most stoic of faces and parted ways knowing that I, for the first time ever, would not be home for Passover. The three of us encouraged each other that this was the best of plans; I would be spending the first and second seder at school with my new friends and they would spend time with our friends and family as usual. When we chatted on the phone we all acted as though this was a marvelous plan, a chance for me to spread my wings within the Jewish community when really, we all wanted me to come home.

This charade was going smoothly until this past weekend. I was on the phone with Mom, and she was telling me about the garden or something—I honestly don’t remember—but the suddenly she changed the subject to Passover. Normally, I can follow my Mom’s train of thought with no problem, but this change of pace was so unexpected that I felt slightly whip-lashed, and slightly smug that I was not the one who cracked first. It went a little something like this:

Mom: DidwemakeamistakeinnothavingyoucomehomeforPassover?

Me: Huh?

Mom: Did we make a mistake in not having you come home for Passover?

Me: No, but I really wanna celebrate with my family!

It was cute. It was like two best friends confessing their deepest, darkest secrets to each other as quickly as humanly possible; like our shared utterances where taboo, forbidden, and yet, such a relief to say. And so, with that, my Passover plans changed. My family’s stoicism was challenged and defeated, and now, I get to be with my loved ones for Passover. As much as I am eager to take my place in the Galesburg Jewish community, it’s nice knowing that some things never change. It’s nice knowing that on Passover, the only place I want to be is with my family.