Monday, August 29, 2011

A son for each of us

I have just recently arrived in Vancouver, BC, having left behind familiarity, friendships, love, and a sense of security. Why did I leave Seattle to become an ex-patriot? Well, I am here to learn. After a three-year hiatus from academia (during which I engaged in much different pursuits), I am making a somewhat shaky return. Next week I start a Masters program at the University of British Columbia in Sociology with a concentration in Gender and Sexuality.

Asking questions is a central tenant of research. Maybe that is why I have been thinking about the four sons so much recently. However, it could just be because it is one of my favorite passages from the Haggadah. That is also probably a result of the fact that I had to read it every year since I learned to read. The story of the four sons is read on Passover, and it is supposed to be read by the youngest (literate) person at the table. It tells of a wise son, wicked son, simple son, and son who does not yet know enough to ask a question. These sons are representative of different ideologies in Judaism. As a kid, I did not know this. Still, it was an intriguing passage for me simply because of the wicked son, who asks the father "Why did God spare you in Egypt?" The wicked child clearly does not include himself in the Jewish people, judging by his use of 'you' instead of 'us'. Thus, the father is supposed to respond harshly by blunting his teeth and telling him that if he had been Egypt during the time of the Pharaoh, God would not have spared him.

Well, damn. That is a harsh response. Especially for a child. Especially given the fact that the father does not first talk with his son in order to better understand him. Was the kid really trying to separate himself from the rest of the Jewish people? Maybe, maybe not. And if so, is eternal damnation the way to get him to come around to his faith? Um, maybe. Maybe not.

I don't study religion. At all. But I read this passage out loud to a table of conservative Jews every year for about a decade. It never sat right with me. Sometimes I laughed because I found it so ridiculous. Now I kind of like it because the urgent fear that the father responds with represents the power of a question. Way to go, wicked child. Challenge it all with a question.

That is the tone I would like for this blog- challenge it all with a question. A question can take many forms. Sometimes a question is words, sometimes it's a photograph, sometimes it's a choice, sometimes it's a body. I will use this blog to engage with my experiences here in Vancouver, exploring a new city while asking questions.

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