Every night, often after crying himself to sleep, he dreams a sweet dream. His eldest son, brutally torn away from him by the evil forces, finally returns to his outstretched arms.
It has been four years since that bitter day. His life would never be the same. His young beerd whitened by worry and his forehead creased by pain. On that day at least ten years were added to his appearance. Who could have been so cruel to rob a father of his precious son?! Who could be keeping them apart for all these years?!
Not far away a young man is lying. In his disturbed sleep sweet visions are forming. He sees himself running towards a bereaved father. Evil forces had torn them apart. Now what he wants more than ever is to reunite.
“Come to me my child,” the dad’s shaky voice calls out, “for I have missed you terribly. I cannot bear the thought of you being alone!”
“Papa I miss you too,” the child cries back, “why don’t you come here to me?”
“My dear son, I would if I could, but how can I leave what I believe?”
“Father dear! Come see what I see; be here and be free!”
“Yitzchok! My precious Yitzchok! Why won’t you see what it means for me? I believe cuz I know and I know cuz I see. You have gone away and fallen astray: save your soul. Don’t hesitate!”
“Dad, how I love you! It is sweet where I stand. The sun shines and the stars smile! If only you could join me and we’ll live out life together! Free yourself: your chains have long been broken! Throw off your yoke: your master is long dead!”
“Neath you the fires are burning! You’re going under! Is this how I taught you? Is this why I had you?”
“Papa dear! You taught me to seek and I sought. Remember when you told me that for the truth one must die? Well, for the truth I lost you and death is not worse. I heeded your words; now when will you?”
“Yitzchok my eldest, I’d die for my faith. But you have let go and that pains me so! Woe to my eyes who have seen you this way! Why must my ears be working this day? You’ve abandoned your God and you refuse to come back; now you want me to leave the right track?!”
“Sweet dad! You are stuck in old ways and they are holding you back. You are better than this. The old times have passed; new days are upon us. Let go of the superstitious; don’t believe in the fictitious! Your inquisitive mind could have advanced the world: why are you wasting your talent on old myths and old laws?”
“My son listen to me. The festival is upon us; please make your dad proud. Drink some wine eat some matza. It won’t harm you if it won’t help!”
“I’ll do that for you, papa; you exist unlike God. I know that this means everything to you. But how can I be festive when you are still enslaved? If only I can free you from your own Egypt: your religion!”
“Oh, and here’s more. Promise this to me, that no bread or any crumbs will enter your lips on these eight days. Here! Take some food that your mum has prepared. She’ll have you eat that lest your soul gets cut off!”
My eyes are wet, a cheeky tear rolls down. I’m angry and heartened. I feel loved and rejected. Won’t reason redeem us after so long in darkness? How much more ignorance and folly must we inherit before we are free at last?! Why won’t they see, they won’t listen? They won’t read, they won’t learn?
These shackles should have been removed long ago! No gods, no angels, no heaven no hell! Just people and nature, just love and family.
Oh how I dream! Dad won’t you join me? Make mum stop her cooking; please you stop your praying. Just try it! Liberate your mind! Discover the world! Have no fear!
And I am angry. Angry at those who kept this lie going for this long. Angry at those who refused to see, to change, to adapt, to learn. Angry at the senseless stubbornness that caused all this pain; that tore us apart; that brainwashed our minds. Angry at this heavy sack of food that I’ll be carrying home. Food, prepared with love and fear and pain. Food that need not be eaten. Food that need not be prepared. Special food; holy food; food of superstition. Food of slavery, of bondage: bread of austerity and pain.
And my dad prays for me and I hope for him. My mum cries for me and I cry for her. My siblings miss me and I miss them more. They mourn me, so do I them.
My dreams are still sweet, so are theirs: our incompatible dreams.