Celebrating Overpass
That\’s what it would be called if we celebrated Passover on a bridge above a highway.
Luckily, my family long ago abandoned that ritual. We now eat indoors, at the table, in a clean and pleasant environment.
Or, we did, until this year. That\’s because my mom\’s house – where we normally celebrate – is under heavy construction. Where walls once were, there are now foam panels. And all the furniture that was once against those walls has been moved to other places in the house. Like the dining room.
So we will be indoors, and we will be at the table, but I don\’t how pleasant or clean it will be.
We thought about having Passover at my house this year (I even offered to cook), but my mom wouldn\’t have it. she said it would be more trouble to cook everything at her house and then bring it over. Note that she never even considered the possibility of letting me cook.
I am a bad cook. She knows that.
If you don\’t know, or don\’t remember (it\’s OK, I forget sometimes too), Passover is where we celebrate the Exodus from Egypt, an event of dubious historical authenticity that may or may not have happened thousands of years ago.
For a week, we don\’t eat bread with leavening, because in their flight from Egypt, the Israelites had no time to let the bread rise. Hence matzoh; the Saltine without salt.
By the way, they were Israelites. They weren\’t Jews yet. That would come later, after a few decades wandering in the desert, half starved and crazy from the matzoh. \”Crazy from the Matzoh\” … sounds like a Beastie Boys song.
So we\’re scheduled for tonight at my mom\’s house, the whole family, girlfriends and boyfriends included. No word yet on where we will sit, or if the electricity will be working. But one thing\’s for sure, there will be joy and elation, because we were once slaves in Egypt, and now we are free. Take that, Pharaoh.