י ב א ד ב א י מ ר
א My Father Was a Wandering Aramean
Wandering and Wondering
Rabbi Margaret Frisch Klein
My father was a wandering Aramean My mother, too. Wandering and wondering. Daring to hope, Full of bravado and courage, Not knowing Where were they going. Did they even know? They left, with just a few. People. Relatives. Friends. Others. Pots. Pans. Linen. Jewelry. A samovar. Candlesticks. Kiddush Cups. Tambourines.
Our parents. Grandparents. Great- Grandparents. As far back as we can remember. We are a people of wandering. Of wondering. Of immigrants, of sojourners, of strangers. We were strangers in the land of Egypt. With a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, God took us out of Egypt. Out of the narrow places. All of us. Each of us. You, me, the mixed multitude.
Therefore, we are told.
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