MemChurch Daily
April 27, 2021
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PRACTICING HOPE
The daily newsletter of the Memorial Church
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Dear friends,
Today we are delighted to share with you a reflection by Emily Malpass '21 of Adams House in our Virtual Senior Talks series of 2021. Senior Talks are a beloved annual tradition in which each House at the College is invited to nominate a senior to offer a Morning Prayers address. We are honored to continue this tradition virtually this year by way of uplifting their reflections in our Daily Devotional. Thank you Emily, today we celebrate you and all your fellow Adams House seniors!
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The Memorial Church of Harvard University
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SENIOR TALKS
Adams House's Emily Malpass '21
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By Emily Malpass' 21
Adams House
My family has congregated annually for approximately one hundred years to celebrate Passover. Our Passover Seder has followed the same format for the twenty-two years of my life, down to the specific type of gummy candy my cousin Laurie provides and the corny jokes that my uncle Joe stuffs into the prayer books (“President George Bush was walking through the Dallas airport when he caught sight of Moses….”). At the end of the service, we recite the names of every person who has attended our Seder who has since passed away. The list is a long one and, as I have gotten older, I have experienced the uncomfortable lurch of reading aloud the name of loved ones.
We conclude the service by singing God Bless America, a tradition that started when my grandfather returned from World War II as a reminder that our free worship has always been a privilege. In keeping with this sense of gratitude, my family deliberately eschews the Jewish tradition of saying “next year in Jerusalem,” because, for us, this country is the promised land – there is no more waiting, no more praying, no more “next year.”
Except, this year, during our second consecutive Zoom Seder, I caught several of my relatives saying, “Next year.” Next year in New York…next year in Houston…next year in Boston, we will meet together as a family. We will bring the correct gummy candy; we will laugh – unmuted – at the corny jokes; we will applaud the nieces and nephews – a little older, a little more literate – who stammer through the Four Questions. Next year in Jerusalem.
As my graduation from Harvard looms, I found myself listening to classmates and professors discuss the familiar refrain of “next year in Cambridge.” Next year in Cambridge, we will live in our Houses, attend classes in person, and eat together in dining halls. Next year in Cambridge, we will perform in acapella concerts, play basketball, and study together in libraries. Next year in Cambridge.
At times, the refrain of “next year in Cambridge” fills me with a sense of loss and regret, because, of course, I will not experience the wonderful promise of “next year in Cambridge.” During this unusual year, we should take the appropriate time to grieve the temporary loss of our old traditions and mourn the link that has been severed between us and previous generations. For the senior class, as my grade struggles to incorporate standard senior traditions into our graduation, we must grapple with a sense of lost time in the Harvard community. We should not shy away from the grief that accompanies lost tradition, nor should we discount the impact of foregone experiences and moments.
However, we should also rejoice in the creation of new traditions and relish the unusual privileges that accompanied this year in Cambridge. Some of the new traditions my family and grade have made will undoubtedly persist after the pandemic has concluded, and we should celebrate them as welcome additions to our old traditions. Tradition is neither linear nor static – our traditions, both secular and religious, evolve to pace the circumstances of this year, this family, and this grade. We must not wait for “next year in Cambridge” to celebrate but, instead, find boundless joy and heartfelt gratitude in the opportunities presented by “this year in Cambridge.”
Emily Malpass '21 is a senior in Adams House studying Social Studies and Economics.
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