MountainMornings

It’s Passover time again. Once we were slaves in Egypt, and once my ancestors were indentured servants to the British Empire. Now my Grands love watching the Great British Baking Show, while Jewish women and maybe some men everywhere sweep all the bread crumbs out of their kitchens while making matzoh ball soup.

Coming on the heels of #NoKings, this holiday feels heady. Handmaidens dripping in red led the march in Nashville holding the names of every single man in the Epstein files. Bill Clinton and Donald Trump were first in line.

Today I will chop up butternut squash to make my famous casserole. I realize that most of the people who loved this particular dish will not be here. I had to send all the leftovers home with Aunt Sue over the many years of Grandma Ada’s seders. Eventually newer, more modern recipes will take its place. We don’t keep carp in our bathtubs anymore to make gefilte fish. But matzoh ball soup has stood the test of time. Like a birthright.

On Wednesday, erev Passover, SCOTUS’ “… nine justices will hear arguments over whether to allow the Trump administration to end that promise of birthright citizenship. The landmark case will test whether the Constitution guarantees citizenship to all babies born on U.S. soil, including the children of undocumented immigrants. It could potentially redefine what it means to be an American for generations to come.” https://www.nytimes.com/2026/03/31/us/politics/supreme-court-birthright-family-histories.html?unlocked_article_code=1.XVA.1MWs.26nTC7VU3rcO&smid=url-share

I just read that Chief Justice Roberts’ Great Great Grandfather Albert Podrasky, was born in PA coal country to parents who arrived here from Slovakia. He was born before his parents were naturalized, and yet tradition had it that the baby was born on American soil and was therefore a citizen. It was not just tradition, it was the Law of the Land! It seemed sacrosanct. I wonder when, IF, my foster mother Nell’s parents were naturalized after immigrating from Czechoslovakia to Scranton, PA? 

Or what about my Great Great Grandfather who arrived here, in the same coal country as Roberts’ ancestors, from Ireland in 1854? Was he a citizen when my Grandfather was born six years later? This administration may try to rewind time, to ban books, to erase history, and yet we were all immigrants – we are a country of immigrants. And immigrants belong here.

I’m willing to bet if we all dug a little deeper, many of us would find a tiny blip, like our Chief Justice. I cannot imagine birthright citizenship would be overturned, and yet I couldn’t imagine that Mr T would win a second term. I couldn’t imagine that Roe would be challenged. I take nothing for granted these days.

When we pray on Wednesday night, over brisket and matzoh, I will ask God (if you’re listening) to stop this war that was started on a whim. To help ALL our citizens get out and vote in November, because I believe even the die hard MAGA supporters are beginning to question Mr T’s motives. And to forgive us for no longer making P’tcha, an Ashkenazi meat aspic dish made from jellied calf or chicken feet.