Honoring Traditions, Remembering Loved Ones

As Passover and Easter approach, families around the world are reminded of those who are no longer with us and the impact they continue to have on traditions both old, and new.

Growing up, my Papa Sy, the patriarch of the Resnick family, led our seders. Sy grew up in East New York in an observant household, and while he may not have upheld all of his family’s traditions, he took pride in overseeing the seder, reading the Haggadah, and ensuring we understood our history. I remember thinking our seders were 10 hours long, when in reality, they were probably 60-90 minutes, but no matter the length, Passover was always my favorite holiday. As an old soul, I loved listening to the stories around the “adult table”, longing for the chance to claim my seat, eating gefilte fish, singing, and playing games after the meal. I loved watching my grandfather begin the Passover story, wash his hands, and delight in seeing who found the afikomen. His love for his family was contagious, and it spread not only to his immediate family, but to my mother’s parents as well.

We were lucky enough to spend all of our holidays with both sets of grandparents, and while my mother’s family was not as observant growing up, her father, my Papa Bob, immensely enjoyed being with his family. He loved nothing more than when my cousins were able to join us from Boston and we were all around the table together. Today, we are lucky enough to continue having our extended family at our seder, which now consists of my sister’s in-laws, close family friends, and those who we open our arms and home to if they are without a place for seder.

In addition, we have carried on the traditions of making our own gefilte fish from my great-grandmother’s recipe(which I PROMISE is delicious), bringing generations of women together to prepare and cook, and of course, singing dayenu at the top of our lungs. We have incorporated new practices, including wearing plague masks, making matzo bark, and incorporating seder plates and Haggadot made by my niece and nephew.

As new practices and traditions emerge, I am reminded that they are all tied to the past in some way. I will never forget Papa leading the seder, but look to my father for a new perspective as he continues after his father’s passing. I will always treasure the way the excitement my Papa Bob had for the holidays, and his love for family and bringing everyone together. While I did not have that long with my grandmother, who passed away when I was very young, I am grateful to her family, the Buchbinders, for blessing us with family recipes that continuously bring us joy and full stomachs and will continue to be passed down.

What’s In A Name?

Naming traditions differ around the world, some cultures and religions name after the living, others after those who have passed, some have different time frames wherein they announce a newborn baby’s name, and some have ceremonies where they name a baby. Regardless of one’s practices, there is a universal understanding that there is meaning behind a name. 

I have always found names fascinating and I love learning about the etymology of words and names as it provides meaning and sometimes, a little bit of history. I remember sitting around our dining room table after my grandfather’s passing. My Papa Bob’s last name is “Metz”, which I had always assumed was part of our German heritage. Our Rabbi, whose love of history my grandfather appreciated, told us that it is actually a city in France, where our family most likely came from. Obviously, I went straight to wikipedia to find out more about Metz and discovered that it is a city on the border of France, Germany, and Luxembourg.

While I was excited to learn something new about my family, I was also upset that I did not have an opportunity to speak with my grandfather about this and perhaps learn a little bit more about his family and their history, which is something I do not know much about. Since I try not to dwell on the past, I have decided to lean into our family names and learn more about the people we are named after and why we were given our names. 

As an Ashkenazi Jew, I have an English name and a Hebrew name. While I am not named after anyone in our family in English, I am named after my mother’s great-aunt Rose and bear the name “Ruchel” or “Rachel”, which means “ewe”. 

When my sister was pregnant with her son, there was no doubt that his Hebrew name would be “Simcha”, which translates to “joy” and perfectly describes my grandfather, Sy, and my nephew. My niece is named after my Papa Bob, with the middle name Ruby, and my grandma Marian with the Hebrew name “Mindl”. She is a true gem like my grandfather, and while she does not necessarily emulate the meaning of Mindl (peaceful in nature, restful), neither did Marian! 

A name can have many meanings to an individual and to those around them. My family calls me Andrea, my friends call me Ange, my niece and nephew call me Drea, and if I am ever called up to the Torah it is as Ruchel. Regardless, all of these names shape who I am and I am proud to carry on Rose’s name and forge my own identity.