speak your bitter truth

Last night, Shosh and I were cleaning out our fridge in preparation for Passover. We composted shriveled carrots, yellowed kale leaves and some moldy anchovies. We wiped down sticky shelves and tossed old condiments. Towards the top of the fridge door Shosh found my secret stash, aka ice box apothecary. A shelf dedicated to homemade bitters, including cough cordial, fire cider and a roots and shoots tonic. I rinsed the bottles and returned them to their shelf, not wanting to waste a drop. 

Bitter herbs have been known to get a bad wrap. Of the many tastes, most people prefer things sweet or savory, if not spicy and salty. Few people fall in love with bitter. But I have known the healing power of bitter herbs. Dandelion root and burdock to cleanse the liver. Horseradish with cider vinegar and honey to clear a relentless cough. I have a soft spot in my heart (and even a tattoo) for bitter herbs. 

According to Jewish time, yesterday was the 10th of Nisan. This is an auspicious date in Jewish time, a date marked by many miracles. According to the Babylonian Talmud, it was the date of the original Shabbat HaGadol. The Israelites were believed to have left Mitzrayim on a Thursday, which would have been the 15th of Nisan. Therefore, that last Shabbat before their flight to freedom, known as Shabbat HaGadol/The Great Shabbat, would have been 5 days prior on the 10th of Nisan. 

Why then don’t we celebrate the anniversary of Shabbat HaGadol with its own festival on the 10th of Nisan? 

Because some 39 years after the Exodus, it was miraculously also the day that Miriam the prophet died. In reverence for her yahrzeit, the rabbis established that Shabbat HaGadol would be celebrated on the Shabbat immediately preceding Passover, regardless of the date. 

Miriam was one of the 7 prophetesses in Tanakh. She is counted among Sarah, Deborah, Hannah, Abigail, Huldah and Esther (B.T. Megillah 14a). She was the elder sister of Aaron and Moses. Among her many merits, she is credited with having saved Moses’ life, led the Israelites in song and dance as they crossed the sea, and drawn forth a well of water for 39 years in the desert. 

Every year I look forward to the moment at our seder when we fill a glass of water for the Prophet Miriam and sing her song. I am proud to have danced at the original women’s seders with Debbie Friedman herself, z”l. 

That said, this year, I am realizing that maybe Miriam was always present at the seder, albeit not explicitly. Miriam’s name actually means bitter, from the same root as maror. What medicinal wisdom might be held in her roots?

There is no question that Passover this year, and perhaps every year, is bitter/sweet. It is dreadful and devastating to sing of freedom with Gaza and Ukraine under siege. And yet we are called to find a way to see ourselves as if we are personally leaving a narrow place. The Passover story is at once a very political story, and a very personal one. Both are important. Hope is important. 

It occurs to me this year that perhaps more than the 4 cups of wine, or even the story itself, it is the bitter herbs that are essential. 

As we journey into Shabbat HaGadol and Passover seder(s), I offer you the prophetic words of the Puertorriquena poet Aurora Levins Morales, in her reflection on Bitters. 

“Eat bitterness.  Eat bitterness and speak bitterness and share bitter herbs upon your bread, for in bitterness we empty ourselves of poison.  Bitterness cools the boiling blood, dries the festering wound, tightens, reduces, expels, rejects, empties the toxic wastes that cruelty deposits on our souls.  Here are stories to be taken with horseradish on dry, unleavened bread; with gentian root, six drops of tincture in a glass of water, a dash of angostura in your orange juice; a tea of goldenseal and sage.  Without bitters you will sicken.  Your liver will ache.  You will not digest what is true.  So take these stories as bitters, as tonics for the centuries of lies.  Let your own pain dissolve into the larger streams of the world.  Find comfort with these women, those who lived, those who died.  The poison they took in, that made them retch and burn with fever, is the same poison you live with every day. But if you eat bitters, drink bitters, speak your bitter truth, your liver will unclench, your tongue come alive, your fever, the fever of the wronged, will break into luminous sweat.  Come clean. Come home. Be healed.”

And in the words of Cathy Cohen's newest poem "This Fragile Moment: Breaking the Middle Matzah", 

“Each of us must emerge
from this year, this story

and bring to the table
our pieces

to share what’s luminous 
among us.”

To fully prepare and observe Passover, we can’t just clean our fridges. We need to clean ourselves from the inside out. So consider grating your own horseradish. Indulge in arugula and romaine lettuce. Put a brave portion of maror on your korach sandwich. Tell your story, speak your bitter truth, share what’s luminous among us.