There was an ongoing disagreement that Rabbi Loeb and I had, a disagreement about which was his favorite holiday. The topic always came up on Yom Kippur, in that quiet hour or so in the afternoon before the open forum, when we would spend the time talking about how the services had been and how the Yom Tov season was going. Inevitably Rabbi Loeb would say, at some point in that conversation, "there is no question, Yom Kippur is my favorite holiday! Its a great day!" And inevitably I would reply - "Mark, it is a great day - but it isn't your favorite holiday - your favorite holiday is Pesah."
Well if you knew Rabbi Loeb you know that it was certainly not easy to win an argument with him, and it was especially difficult, ON YOM KIPPUR day - to convince him that Pesah was his favorite holiday. And the fact of the matter was that he did love Yom Kippur - he felt the special grace and spirit that only that day can give us as Jews. He loved the beautiful music and the singing of the Cantor and the choir - he loved the way people stayed all day, and the wonderful feeling of warmth and friendship and community that filled the building each year. And, quite frankly, he loved the opportunity to give sermons in front of full sanctuary. And I think more than anything else, he felt that Yom Kippur was the culmination of the Yom Tov season, and when we talked on those late Yom Kippur afternoons, he felt so proud of the shul, the staff, and the congregation, and as trying as the yom tov season can be for a rabbi he felt so fulfilled by it - that he couldn't help but say that Yom Kippur was his favorite holiday.
But I knew in my heart that it was really Pesah that he loved the most. The funny thing is he never said it out loud - instead, when he talked about Pesah he mostly grumbled and kvetched in that classic Loeb style - changing the dishes! He was never happy about changing the dishes! Who is? But it was especially the restrictive diet that made him crazy - for 8 days he couldn't go out to eat in a restaurant - that was tough for him! He could never understand why we Ashkenazic Jews don't eat kitniyot, legumes - he was not a fan of matzah by any means - and never one to mince words, those of us who were closest to him heard on more than one occasion how crazy he thought it was that we Jews had taken a holiday that was already too long at seven days and made it 8 days long! "Only the Jews," he would say.
And yet truth be told, he did love Pesah. He planned for it like one of his European trips - weeks and weeks in advance he would begin. A few days before the holiday started there was a special pilgrimage to New York - he would pick up brisket, chicken, pesadik kugels, and most importantly, the best gefilte fish in the world. He would work it out so that he could drive up in the early afternoon, see an opera or a show that evening, along with a dinner at one of New York's finest restaurants. Then the next morning he would begin - driving to this place to get the brisket, to that for the chicken, and to some special place on the upper West Side where he wold get that famous gefilte fish. He would drive back down the Jersey Turnpike, car smelling like Pesah, and arrive in Baltimore, only to make stop after stop delivering the orders that he had taken from friends. This one had 5 pounds of brisket - this one shmurah matzah - and on and on - and almost everyone got at least a few slices of the gefilte fish. He was by nature a deeply generous person, and he loved more than anything being able to give you something you wouldn't otherwise have - and folks, you can't get gefilte fish like that in Baltimore.
And then there was his seder. Each year he would begin by making a list of invitees - he would make that list and check it twice, as the saying goes. The number would vary year by year - on a quiet year there would be 45 people - a busy year, 60! And what a wonderful, eclectic, loving crowd. Jews and non Jews - some of his oldest and dearest friends and some of his newest. Clergy and lay people - politicians - insiders and outsiders. And one of the wonderful moments of that seder each year was the beginning, when Rabbi Loeb would say a few words of introduction, welcoming everyone to the seder, and then proudly introducing everyone there by name, even if he had just met them that evening. It was his way of making everyone feel welcome, of letting everyone know that they were included and part of something that was sacred -and that it was in fact at least in part THEIR presence that helped to create the sacred quality of that night.
And then he conducted the most wonderful seder - he engaged the children with special games and questions - and he took special pride and joy in giving out afikoman gifts. He kept the adults on their toes, from the most learned to the least, and everyone who had an opportunity to share in one of those evenings knew they had been part of something special. Oh! And he would never forgive me if I didn't mention that he always made his own tzimmis - enough for everyone, and it was delicious! I believe it was his mother's recipe. He did truly love Pesah.
Not just because of the rituals, the seder, the quality of the food (or lack of quality!). He loved it because of what it stands for, what it means. You see Yom Kippur focuses on the personal - it is about personal salvation and redemption, about the individual's relationship with God, with family, and with oneself. But Pesah focuses on the universal - on justice, freedom, responsibility, and tikkun olam - all of the values and ideals that spoke most deeply to Rabbi Loeb and informed his Judaism and his personal sense of meaning and mission in life. You might think of it like this - on Yom Kippur he was enormously proud to be the rabbi of a wonderful congregation - but on Pesah, he was simply - and yet profoundly proud just to be a Jew.
And these are the things that we remember on a Yizkor day. The quiet conversations on a Yom Kippur afternoon. The way a person might drive to New York just to get gefilte fish - how many Baltimoreans would do that? The taste of a delicious tzimmis - the shared sacred moments like gathering around a seder table to recall the story of our people. The deepened understanding that comes only with time - of values and ideals, of meaning and memory - of loss - and also of life. Yizkor - God remembers - and God willing, so do we, everyday - with gratitude, with love, and with faith. |
