I've been out in California for the last couple days, visiting my younger daughter, Hannah, as she rapidly approaches her final days of college. Just last night, she held a Seder for about fifteen of her friends and relatives in the home she rooms in with three young men.
The Seder, I have to say, is evidence of the highest order of storytelling, relating the tale of the enslavement and exodus of the Jews from Egypt. Somehow, the retelling of the ancient story is best accompanied by chicken, matzoh ball soup and sundry other cookeries and the whole thing, meal, religion and "creation myth" comes out in a pretty tight package.
Things, naturally, are picking up for me on the job front, and while it would be hyperbole to state that my blower is hopping off the hook, with any luck and before long, at least one or two of the four or five things that seem to be percolating will come into fruition. Touch wood.
Maybe I'll find that the Jewish exodus from Egypt isn't all that different from my expulsion from my last place of employ. Of course, I would rather find a place of milk and honey than wander in the desert for forty years, but I suppose time will tell. In the meantime, I will watch the leavening and keep putting one foot in front of the other until I get where I'm going.
No real point today.
Except never underestimate the power of a really good story to hold a small and beleaguered tribe together. Last night Jews from around the world, even the few still left in places like Antisemitestan gathered together and thought of better worlds and of eventual triumph over travails.
You keep moving. You keep fighting. And that's that.