During recent years, I found myself doubting my Jewish identity, tradition and faith, asking myself over and over what does it mean to be Jewish. When we were children, back on the kibbutz, everything was much simpler: not many rules to follow, not many questions to ask, only us and our imaginations.
People in Israel sometimes say that when you grow up on a kibbutz, you do not get to experience Jewish life. Kibbutz people are often considered to be so secular and so far removed from Judaism that Jewish values, terms and holidays are not at all part of our culture, let alone an inspiration in our lives. It is true to an extent (let us remember that there are also Orthodox kibbutzim; I am not talking about them, obviously), but it is true only if you look at the religious aspect of Judaism. Otherwise, it is completely false.
All children love Passover, and I assume parents do, too. My last three Passovers were celebrated on an IDF base, wearing a uniform, reading the Hagaddah with my fellow commanders and soldiers on the Gaza border. This Passover, I sat outside under the black skies of the city of Erode, in Tamil Nadu, India. In front of me was a white tablecloth, the Haggadah translated into the Tamil language, and some 50 children – and all the memories came back to me.
My name is Noa Sela. I'm 21 years old. I was born on Kibbutz Nahsholim. I'm not religious but I do believe in God. Growing up on the kibbutz, with a mother who came from a traditional city family and a father who is totally secular (as he would put it), led to a conflict that I believe many in Israel with similar backgrounds experience. This conflict gets harder every year before Passover when it is either my mother's or my father's side's turn to host the Seder. With my mother's family, we read the full Haggadah and follow all the detailed rituals; with my father's family, we sing out loud, play the accordion and laugh.
This year, however, I knew I would experience a totally different Seder. Together with Daniel, 23, I was sent as an emissary and educator on behalf of the Diaspora Affairs Department of the World Zionist Organization to the small Bene Zion Jewish community in Erode. Our job includes helping to organize the community to commemorate Passover, Israel's memorial days (Holocaust Remembrance Day and the Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers), Independence Day, Jerusalem Day and Shavuot.
This amazing, welcoming community has a unique story. Its members converted to Christianity from Hinduism some 60 years ago, and about 15 years ago converted again, this time to Judaism. A strong Zionist sentiment and a huge, passionate love of Israel have always been among the community's main pillars.
It was 10 a.m. on the eve of Passover and the house was filled with children. It was time to burn the chametz – the leavened bread products that one cannot keep during Passover – a ritual I had never done back home and was now about to lead. The boys were with me on the roof and I give each one a piece of bread to hide. Hiding and finding the bread to be burned is part of the ritual, and playing hide and seek is always fun, no matter how old you are, and no matter who or what is hiding, even if it's bread. The girls came upstairs. We held hands and said the blessing together: "Blessed are You, Lord, our God, king of the universe, Who sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us regarding the removal of chametz." We held candles and the search began, the girls running around the roof, super-enthusiastic, crawling, squatting, wanting to make sure they got rid of every piece of chametz before Passover began.
Later, every age group got papers and markers and were told to draw the Ten Plagues. I lay on the floor with fourth-graders and drew like I was back in kindergarten with my friends on the kibbutz. I drew the frogs and could not be prouder of myself.
Afternoon arrived and we all gathered to bake matzah and cook haroset. It was hard to keep up with the professional hands making the dough and creating perfect round matzot but I gave one hell of a fight. The hands of the little ones were all over, competing to see who could make the most holes in their matzah. By the time we finished, flour and squashed apples were everywhere.
The children's Seder began. I started near the table on a high chair and finished it just like one of the kids, sitting on the floor, mesmerized, focused, laughing and singing. Three hours flew by in seconds.
I was again transported back to 2004, celebrating in the small kindergarten on the kibbutz. The communal Seder the following day was just as good, though much of it was in Tamil. I could sense the emotions, the connection and the deep love. I came to this community less than a week earlier to teach and I had already learned so much. They don't know it but their special Passover brought me back to my childhood, when Judaism was not scary and tradition was so much fun.
My post-Passover resolution for this year is to never be afraid to learn and explore, own my identity and not let anyone determine for me how to be Jewish. The kibbutz is based on Jewish values; our day-to-day reality reflects the idea that all of Israel are responsible for one another. We celebrate the holidays as we like, as we enjoy, with no reason to be sorry. There are so many ways to be Jewish. Go to India and see it for yourself.
