Easter

Leaving Our Egypt- A Path Unknown

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Wilderness or promised land?

You have been freed!

Hurry, because the slaves are leaving fast,

Having cheated the angel of death upon your doorstep.

At least for the moment . . . 

But there is a deadly new plague on the horizon.

Covid-19. 

Did your mystical God wreak the virus upon us?

I thought he was perhaps more powerful than our idols.

Hurry before Pharaoh changes his mind.

Or your people cower and decide to stay.

Bring only the essentials.

A dry unleavened cracker,

And vial of my hot magenta lipstick

Pharaoh’s wife cried.

Hurry my slave. 

Take your plagues with you!

Bring your sickness, destruction, and death.

You must leave the house of your birth.

Do not look behind.

Set out in the blackness, to wander an unknown path.

Will it be a barren wilderness? 

Or a promised land?

Can the promise of new life, 

Be sweeter than the safety of past misery?

As you stand on this beacon of light, 

Do you have the fortitude to step forward?

Go! You must hurry before you hesitate.

And fear to leave the tomb of your mind.

The Broken Easter Bunny

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From the chards of the chocolate Easter bunny and matzo crumbs come surrender.

The bunny was broken! Yet, he stood for sale in the window of Duane Reade with a noticeable gash. Maybe the store clerk didn’t notice that the confection had been maimed. It flew in the face of what we expect on Easter Day, this ancient rite of spring — garish hats decked with birds and flowers, perky marshmallow Peeps, and new pastel pumps. 

But then again, this was no normal holiday. Over the past months, humanity has been fleeing one another, only hoping to be spared from a modern-day plague. 

All at once, it hit me. Here was the perfect metaphor in a chain store window. It’s about me.I feel hollow and bruised like the boxed-in bunny. Frightened of slipping down the rabbit hole. My underpinnings have been torn away. I am fatigued from hoarding toilet paper and wee wee pads. Exhausted trying to figure out where this will all end.

All at once, the bunny spoke to me. “Yes, I am not perfect. I bring the parts of me that have been shattered and gutted to the full beauty of life’s experience. And so will you.” I stood dumbfounded on a painful Easter Day as I contemplated my broken humanity.

Signs of Spring

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Jane Ranzman Writer

Walking down Columbus Avenue in NYC, I passed storefronts and restaurants that were once my “old haunts.” But my hangouts were gone. A chain store remained. Or an abandoned space. I felt bittersweet sadness. There was hardly a remnant of my galavanting youth. I crossed the street and got a coffee in Starbucks. When I came out, I spied a small tree with bare branches. Pastel Easter eggs and bunnies were hanging from its tenuous limbs. A sign said “Happy Spring.” It had been right in front of me. I didn’t see it.

In my sadness, I saw there was redemption concealed.

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Easter Egg Hunt

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Jane Ranzman Writer

How this Jewish girl has always loved Easter. Jelly beans. Chocolate eggs wrapped in multi-colored tinsel. Marshmallow bunnies. Bonnets with birds and flowers. Pink suits and matching pumps. And last, Sunday brunch. Yes, Sunday was the perfect day to rise from the dead. Tuesday or Wednesday, just wouldn’t have been appropriate.