Passover and Easter:
The Season of Freedom and Rebirth
by
Terry Shulman
As most of us slough off this long, hard, cold winter and wait in anticipation for the new buds of spring, Passover and Easter remind us of the triumphs of breaking free and being reborn. You don’t have to be religious to embrace these universal themes and journeys.
Passover and Easter usually fall in late March to early April harbingers of spring. Both holidays celebrate the movement from sorrow to joy, darkness to light, death to rebirth. For Passover, it’s the remembrance of the ancient Hebrews enslavement in Egypt and their eventual (and miraculous) exodus across the Red Sea into the promised land. With Easter, its the remembrance of Christ’s crucifixion and his eventual (and miraculous) resurrection 3 days later.
I was brought up Jewish and, while I don’t consider myself very religious, I have fond memories of celebrating Passover and continue to do so. Out of all the Jewish holidays, Passover has always seemed to me the most interesting with its theme of freedom, its numerous Seder table rituals, the food and wine, and the fact that it’s one of the more family-oriented holidays, often celebrated at one’s home.
I grew up in Detroit in the ’60s and 70’s (Detroit is commemorating the 50th Anniversary of the 1967 July Riots). I remember being curious about Easter which most of my neighbors and friends celebrated. I often partook of painting (and hiding) eggs and was fascinated with the chocolate bunnies! I didn’t really understand the religious significance of the holiday back then. But over the last 18 years since I’ve been in an interfaith relationship, I’ve observed and celebrated Easter mostly, like Passover, for its rituals, fine food, and gathering of family.
This year, my wife and I are celebrating the first night of Passover with my 88-year old uncle and his family at his nearby home. We’ve been before and it’s a good time. The second night, I confess, I’ll likely be watching the NCAA Final Four basketball game as my alma mater-The University of Michigan (Wolverines)-battle underdog University of Loyola-Chicago Ramblers. For several years until recently, my wife and I hosted a Seder at our home for neighbors and friends, both Jewish and not Jewish. And, this Easter Sunday, we’re hosting my wife’s family and a couple of friends.
Sometimes I think, cynically, that holidays are just a prompt to get us to buy stuff and eat a lot; other times, I think it’s just an excuse (usually a wonderful one) to gather and bond with family. I’m not convinced about the accuracy and truth of most holiday stories, but, as I’ve written before, I do my best to appreciate their metaphoric value and to see if I can find meaning in relation to my current life. I encourage you to do so as well.
When I think about the shift from winter to spring, I think of rebirth of life flowers, trees, and of increased light and joy. I recall another tough-weathered season that toughened my soul but wore out its welcome. I also look forward to my own personal, professional, and spiritual growth and to shed off some of the old and obsolete patterns that no longer serve me.
This is a great time to ask ourselves the following questions:
What did I learn during my winter slumber?
What have I been enslaved to and how am I finding new freedom from this? How have I recently died (symbolically) and who has this process given rebirth to?
When is it time to take a stand and when is it time to let go and surrender?
When is it time to uproot and make an exodus and when is it time to allow ourselves to be nailed to the cross in the name of something bigger than ourselves?
Standing up for ourselves, for a cause, and to or for others can be hard. And we may suffer for it and die in some sense to be reborn. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Jesus and Moses certainly went through their trials and tribulations but they have endured as symbols of strength and transformation for millions.
Many of us feel as if we’ve wandered “40 years” between enslavement and freedom, have felt crucified and resurrected and those budding flowers of spring both delicate and strong beyond measure, we face the cycle of the seasons within and without. But we can endure, we can grow, we can move toward freedom.
So, what has died (or is dying) in you in order to be reborn? What is emerging?
During my winter slumber, I continued the process of reclaiming my truest sources of strength and abundance which does not lie within certain people but, rather, more deeply within myself and the universe. I’ve continued to see more clearly painfully sometime how I still have patterns of deep fear around failure and around not having enough money to survive.
I also continue to see more clearly how I have tended to live out my early family role of the strong one, the self-sufficient one, the one who never gets angry. Is it any wonder I shoplifted on and off for ten years from age 15-25?
I just celebrated 28 years of recovery last month. I can see how far I’ve come not only in my recovery but in my life. I feel blessed to have had so many opportunities in my recovery and in my work to meet and help others and to be a voice for hope and recovery. I continue to experience periodic doubts and insecurities, frustration and impatience around finances and where my path may lead. But, I hope, I can learn to speak my truth more, take myself and life more lightly, trust I will be provided for, and balance work and play. In other words, I hope the Terry I am continues to become more himself.
We may look at the world around us and see deep darkness: endless war, environmental decay, political polarization, and the lingering legacy of discrimination and prejudice in many forms. I try to remember the symbolism of the Hebrews “breakthrough” and subsequent 40 years of wandering in the desert before finding higher ground. I try to remember the persecution of Jesus and his suffering on the cross but try not to dwell on the crucifixion but, rather, on the resurrection.
May we all acknowledge our individual and collective suffering but also claim our victory over it. May we appreciate the beautiful rituals of Passover and Easter and the food and family and also appreciate the opportunity to start again, to renew, to be reborn, to find freedom and believe in miracles, in the impossible, once again.
Reflections on The 25th Anniversary
of
My Father’s Passing
by
Terry Shulman
Friday April 20th will mark the 25th anniversary of my father’s death at age 53. Robert Solomon Shulman would have turned 79 this June 19th. I will be 53 on June 27th. I’ve sometimes wondered if I’d live longer than my Dad. I certainly hope I do.
Less than five years ago, one of my best buddies-who’s just a few months younger than I am-suffered a heart attack! The surgeons placed stents in two of his arteries-one was 80% blocked. “Genetics,” my friend explained. His own Dad died of a heart attack decades ago and age 38.
Every April over the last quarter century, I do my best to pay attention to my feelings about my Dad, his life, his death, and our relationship in the past and in the present. I try to get a true sense of where I am in my ongoing grieving process. What’s most present for me lately is this: despite all the therapy, personal growth work, men’s groups, and recovery I’ve benefited from, I still feel the deep absence of a solid father I wish I could have leaned on then and now.
I am the oldest of 3 brothers. Each of us has been impacted by our father’s life and death and the way he fathered-or failed to father-us. I think I can speak for each of us in feeling confused, disappointed, and hurt by the fact that our father had so many great qualities and talents which we admired but which, sadly, were undercut by his alcoholism, bipolar disorder, and various personality tendencies which left us feeling like we, essentially, had to raise ourselves.
While our relationship with our mother-no matter how old we are-is likely the most important, primal and fundamental relationship we’ll have, fairly recent research and personal anecdotes from both sons and daughters point to the importance of our relationships (or lack thereof) with our fathers.
As with mothers, I can’t tell you how often in my counseling practice that clients’ “father issues” are at the very root of their addictions and relationship problems and, therefore, how important it is for us to acknowledge, understand, and do our best to heal old (or newer) wounds and to develop a healthier relationship with our fathers whether they are actively in our lives or not.
Some of the most common reasons both men and women have father issues include the following:
- a father died early in a child’s life or committed suicide;
- a father was addicted and/or mentally ill and was not able to be physically and/or emotionally present and attuned to his child;
- a father was overtly/covertly seductive/sexual with his child;
- a father appeared to favor one of his children over another,
- a father needed rescue, help, or companionship and his child played the role of partner or parent;
- a father held unrealistically high expectations of his child and the child became inauthentic to receive mother’s love/approval;
- a father was physically, emotionally, and/or verbally abusive toward his child;
- a father had little natural or cultivated interest in being a father to his child;
- a father betrayed his child’s confidence in some way;
- a father was “perfect” and modeled this in a way his child felt unable to compete with;
- a father was overly critical of his child;
- a father was overly domineering or controlling;
- a father committed infidelity in his marriage & her child knew;
- a father encouraged his child to tell or keep secrets;
- a father broke the law and/or modeled dishonesty; and
- a father was physically and/or emotionally absent due to working all the time or for some other reason(s).
The core effects of the situations described above often result in persistent feelings of neglect, abandonment, trust issues, low self-esteem/self-worth, codependency/care-taking others, as well as unresolved emptiness, depression, anxiety, and anger. Which of the above issues seems to resonate with you? There may be many other ways to express the wounds or conflicts that develop around our relationship with our fathers than are listed above. Have you had any experiences with this?
I recently read something about love that was powerful to me about “the four A’s”: Attention, Affection, Appreciation, and Acceptance.” Stop and think about this for a bit. How does this land with you? When you think about your relationship with your father, do/did you feel he was attentive? Was he affectionate with you in an appropriate, nurturing way wit hugs, kisses, or even a pat on the back? Was he appreciative of you, your feelings and your unique gifts, talents and efforts? And was he accepting of you with all your foibles, mistakes and so-called shortcomings? That’s real love, huh?
We all know that no parent is perfect and even those of us who are parents ourselves get to realized life’s cruel joke: we often become like our parents or at least learn to appreciate how hard it must have been to them to raise us!
As we grow up (and, hopefully, we do) we learn to differentiate from our parents, need them less (emotionally, financially, etc) and develop compassion for them (they did the best they knew how to do given how they likely were raised). But this doesn’t mean it’s easy. We are taught to honor thy parents but that doesn’t mean we don’t speak our minds our share our hearts.
Ideally, we often look to our parents to be a safe space to share our pain and our opinions (even if it hurts them). It doesn’t mean they don’t share their own pain and opinions back but, I believe, a primary role of a parent is to be strong and mature enough to absorb their child’s expressions, to model this even, and to be secure enough even in their imperfections to listen, try to understand, and try to see the gift in their child’s courageous, if imprecise, offering of their pain, their perspective. This is the ideal and, of course, it’s painful when we don’t get this from parents.
Dad, I can’t believe it’s been 25 years since you were alive. I was 27 then. Now I’m 52. I wish you could have been here over the last 25 years of my life to witness my journey-my peaks and valleys, my many accomplishments, met my wife, been at our wedding. I wish you could just be there for me to reassure me and cheer me on when I need it. I have friends, good friends I can turn to when in need. But when I see some men-especially those around my age-who have good fathers to hug them and admire them and laugh and cry with them…it still really hurts that I don’t have that, I didn’t have that. I’ve had to raise myself and, to a large degree, I’ve had to raise my brothers… your sons. I think I’ve done a pretty good job. But sometimes it gets so tiring and lonely being my own father.