The House of Memory

Rivkah Khanin (2023)

This Passover I had the honor of co-holding a space called the House of Memory at Wilderness Torah’s Passover in the Desert. 350-ish people gathered in harsh conditions to connect with what our collective forebears experienced in the expansive wilderness after coming out from Mitzrayim (narrowness/slavery in Egypt). The festival had many affinity spaces, including a Queer Magic Haven, a Sanctuary, a Tea Lounge, a whole kids village. The space I was stewarding was created with the intention of honoring ancestors, and remembering the art of creating with our hands while telling stories together; something everyone’s ancestors have been doing in some form!

My partner and I set up an altar where participants were invited to bring photos/objects of their loved ones, and held a few programmed workshops (making salve with creosote, a plant that grows in the landscape we were in, and making fire by friction) and some impromptu workshops like broom-making.
An underlying secret wish was for people coming into the space to be in timelessness; to be able to be fully present and connect with themselves, each other, the land, and the Divine.

On a day with less programming, I was sitting with a friend who wanted to learn broom-making. I started to walk us through the process, and about 7 more people drifted in to join (of course, I had exactly enough materials for that number of people!) While this was happening, more people were coming into the space, engaged with different things, either spending time at the altar, or resting, or chatting… and completely unexpectedly and by chance, an elder Polish/Soviet Jewish couple came right to this space among all others; they happened to be coming through the desert searching for an endemic wildflower (not at all affiliated with Wilderness Torah). My partner graciously welcomed them in (still not knowing they weren’t part of the festival) and offered them seats and some nuts and dates. I heard them chatting and excitedly greeted them in Russian, and wished I could jump in on connecting with them, but my hands were literally tied in hemp twine providing tension on my broomcorn, so I turned my attention back to remembering how to do this craft and connecting with my group.

I looked up at one point from my broom to meet the eyes of my partner who was in tears. I gave a questioning look and he gestured around the tent… I saw the couple seated next to the altar sharing stories of their lives as Jews in the Former Soviet Union in a mix of Russian, Polish, English, a teen cracking acorn and pine nuts nearby, a friend nursing her child, and the group gathered with me deeply focused on weaving their brooms. I pouted my lip in response, recognizing the unbelievable moment of a dream of ours manifest: a taste of the village!

I’d like to think the invitation of a beautiful, cozy space, grounded in lifting up the people who came before us, and offering myriad ways of occupying our hands while being free to converse, aided in a feeling of ease and settling into releasing time and hurry and making space for magic. For myself, learning about my family that has passed on has been an incredible mix of beauty and pain and anger, and recognize that I wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t be me without all of it. So how to hold it all? I am blessed to have a living grandmother who is committed to sharing as much as possible; If nothing else, those stories are empowering and enlightening and grounding. It feels helpful to place myself in a lineage and think of past members of my family while cultivating the life I want to pass on to those to come. To have compassion for the ways they may have fallen short and gratitude for ways they've shown up in integrity, to recognize their story is my story, that I have what to learn from them, and that I have agency in how the story continues.