I wonder if packing for the Exodus was any easier than simultaneously rebuilding a house with my new husband while getting ready to sell the post-divorce home where I raised my kids. Seems these days I look at things with a changed perspective. After scouting out many consignment shops, I note with irony the shelves filled with many items just like mine. Though sobering that no one wants to pay what you think something is worth, it begs the question of how we define value. Since there is little I need, other questions come into play. Is this something I will use daily? Or ever? Will there be a place for it in my new home? Will it go with our chosen contemporary spare look? Is it something I need to remind me of the life I have lived up until now? Is it something like my ex-husbands grandmothers china that I am ready to return to him? Is it something my other lovingly made by hand or a picture my father painted? What of the kids things should be saved? I discovered that what I wanted to save was not necessarily meaningful to them and visa versa. My twenty-something daughter commented that if she started saving everything now she would be quickly overwhelmed. Good point. When we looked through things together, she took photographs of things she wanted to remember but not save. She chose to throw away things attached to sad memories. An empowering choice. My son, never one to desire things, asked if he could have a series of landscape paintings. Before that I never knew he liked them. I agreed to hold on to a memory box for each of them. Going through my own things as my octogenarian mom is going through hers helped me realize that we cannot choose what is meaningful to another. The very act of choosing or disposing of objects might be viewed as a judgment of the worthiness of a memory. An object may flood us with memories we would prefer to leave behind (though we never forget). Conversely, we may realize we do not need a material prompt for every good memory. And, while we may feel deeply attached to something connected to a loved one, they may not share the same association. How do we process all this without judgment of others? In the end, I sold, consigned, donated, gave away and tossed a horrifying amount of material goods. I kept what has meaning to me, knowing it may not mean anything to past, present or future generations of my family. I have vowed to keep a less cluttered life as u leave behind the narrow straits of needing, wanting, possessing. This choice will free me from burden. My children will thank me in years to come. And, through shared experiences we will create memories that will come to life each time the memory is recalled until it becomes part of our family story. This is the Haggadah I pray will grace our table for years to come. Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Nina J Mizrahi Community Rabbi
Posted on: Fri, 28 Mar 2014 18:33:59 +0000
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