In 1966 my family moved to Los Angeles. My father had gotten a promotion which necessitated the move. My mother was thrilled, as she had many relatives there. Most importantly, her only sibling, my Uncle Stan and his wife, Aunt Mimi (pronounced mimmy). Additional residents of LA were my mother's Aunt Minnie (not to be confused with Aunt Mimi) and her six daughters and their families. My parents bought a house catty-corner across the street from one of Aunt Minnie's many daughters, Gloria. Having been newcomers to so many neighborhoods for so many years, for my mother life couldn't be better than having an actual blood relative living right across the street. They didn't live in each other's homes, but there was enough going back and forth to keep my mother very happy. She loved having people just drop in. Whenever any of Gloria's sisters visited Gloria, they usually stopped in to see my mother as well.
The sisters celebrated all the holidays together. By tradition, Gloria was in charge of Passover, as her house was large enough to accommodate over 50 people for a sit-down dinner. My family usually invited Uncle Stan and Aunt Mimi and their daughter Ida, and we did the seder. My mother and Uncle Stan had little religious training, but my dad was well educated, so he could lead a pretty decent service. My mother went along to keep my father happy. I heard her quote Marx, "religion is the opiate of the masses" many times over the years. But, generally, she was pretty amenable to going through the motions. In 1968, there was a change. Our family was invited to join Gloria's family for the seder.
I had to look this up, but the first night of Passover was April 13, a little more than a week after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. My immediate family was very left-wing, including Uncle Stan and his family. We were always very political, and spent many hours discussing the politics of the day. The loss of Dr. King hit us pretty hard. After the seder, during the dinner, we were discussing the similarities between the Jews' freedom from slavery in Egypt and the work that was being done by Dr. King and his associates. There was fear that without him, perhaps the movement would cease to exist. There were riots all over the country, as his death brought such despair. Without hope, could the work continue?
At our table it was determined that, in addition to the traditional Passover songs, it would be appropriate to sing "We Shall Overcome." Our less-than-political relatives didn't get it. We tried to explain the similarities between the Jewish struggle and the Civil Rights Movement, but they looked at us like we were from another planet. They had their traditions, and they weren't going to change them in favor of the weird left-wing arm of the family. So, we thanked everyone and left.
No one was angry. They already knew we were different. And I don't know if they could hear us, but we sang "We Shall Overcome" as we walked slowly across the street. My father did the harmony.
Happy Passover, everyone.