The Four Children
The Passover Haggadah speaks of four children: the wise, the wicked, the simple, and the one who does not know how to ask
The wise child asks: What form does the hatred of our people take? And you shall answer them: There they called us capitalists, here they call us communists. To some, we are Middle Eastern foreigners, to others, the whitest of white. We are miserly aristocracy and/or beggars on the street, we are whatever is convenient to hate. We are always on trial. We never know what for.
The wicked child asks: What have you done to deserve all of this hatred? And you will answer them: Being a people is no crime by any metric worth considering. And there is nothing more my birthright than refusing to bow down.
The simple child asks: What is this? And you shall answer them: We are so much more than a memory of history. We dance even as the glass shatters. We know pain as thick as honey and we know happiness as sweet, we are, and always remain, Solomon’s riddle and the answer to Samson’s. We stand as angels. We are no ghosts.
And for the child who does not know how to ask You will tell them: Look, my dear, this is your birthright. The wind howls softer than you. We have known so many unmarked graves, but still, we name the living. There is nothing to a home but a family and books and I swear to you, my child, that the Alef-Bet will form the words even when your tongue stumbles.