The Seed Took Root
Wed., April 7, 01:28 PM
Passover is one of those holidays that I don’t always do really well. It takes a lot of preparation, and some years I just haven’t been able to do it. I do what I can, and I know God understands.
During the first four or five Passovers after we were married, I didn’t do much beyond traveling to my parents for the Seder. It seemed as if I was always struggling with morning sickness or else caring for a new baby. In addition, Husband views most Jewish holidays as nuisance rather than a celebration. It’s not that he hasn’t been taught, rather that he just doesn’t really believe.
As the children grew older, my efforts improved, at least to the extent of using different dishes and cooking foods that were unique to the season. Around the time the girls were in Sunday school, I began doing a second-night Seder at home, sort of reinforcing what the children learned at Gramma’s and at the model Seders at Sunday school. They weren’t always perfect – I had to do the preparation, cooking, and serving as well as the rituals – but it turned out to be good training for me too.
The children were five, six, and eight the year my Dad died. Mother was determined to have a Seder anyway, and my brother said he would come and lead it. But Brother was late – his (then) wife never came at all – and Mother was afraid that the children would be too tired to participate. “I can do it,” I told her. “Are you sure?” Of course I was; it would be a snap, because she would serve the meal!
And so we did it, as the kids knew their parts as well, and the Seder proceeded up to “intermission” – that time when we put aside the books and eat dinner. At that time, Brother arrived and told me, “get out of my seat!” No matter; the important stuff was done, and I had done it. (Mother would never tell me, of course, but she did tell Sister she was very impressed.)
After Mother died, I did some sort of Seder every year. But times change: my children’s jobs and friends might take them elsewhere. M.D.’s husband is not Jewish, though he will sit quietly through the ritual until the food comes; he likes the food. U.D. is a militant vegetarian, making it very difficult to include foods for her. (“I can’t eat that – it touched meat!”)
Last year I decided not to make a Seder, which was a good thing because I ran out of energy before my kitchen was even close to ready. And this year I really am not up to it and that was that. Son invited me to come to the Seder at his house. “I didn’t know you were having a Seder.” “I would do one for you.”
I considered it. Option One: travel to Boston on the train. I just don’t have the patience or energy to monitor Husband through a trip. Option Two: leave him home and go by myself. Tempting though that may be, it just wouldn’t be fair. I’m not going to do that.
Well, said Son, I will come and clean your kitchen. U.D. took my shopping list and JM to the store. And Son cleaned – hours upon hours of work on Sunday – so that I woke up to a clean sink and stove and could make soup. Son was there Monday morning to do more; all I did was make the soup and the knaidlach (matzoh balls). I took a nap and he made a place where we could sit and enjoy a meal.
But Son was also asking me for instructions and hints. He is going to make a Seder anyway, for the second night. He wants to demonstrate to his ladyfriend just how it’s done. It seems that some of my efforts paid off – and the seed took root.
