Chop and mix in the well-worn wooden bowl handed down for at least six generations now. Deep-cut lines of memory, and the patina of time adorn its surface.
Peel and shred apples for sweetness, pour in a little wine to warm our hearts and enhance the color, shake in a few generous dashes of fragrant cinnamon to wake up our spirits, include walnuts for textural crunch and a hint of contextual bitterness, lest we forget for even a moment in our celebration tonight, that there is still great suffering in this world.
We chop and mix and add in a healthy handful of love, just as every mother before us did, and God willing, the next generations of mothers will do for years to come.
We chop and mix, chop and mix and recommit to creating a communal culture as varied as the assembled ingredients in our traditional family recipe; a society where our grandchildren, and theirs too, will be free to be who they are, who God intended for them to be; free to make charoset that our mother’s, mother’s, mother’s, mother’s mother would recognize and enjoy.
