I hate Passover.
Some people think of it as the Jewish Thanksgiving. Not me. I never look forward to it.
You may ask: How can anyone hate a holiday where you drink four cups of wine, eat delicious food, tell stories and sing songs? In a word: relatives. If it weren’t for relatives, Passover would be a different holiday. I might even enjoy it.
Somehow a celebration of our release from bondage turned into an insufferable celebration of bragging rights. This one’s son got into that college, and that one is building a new house, and that one just sold his business and is moving to Florida.
Enough.
No more Seders, I fantasized, after I got married. But it only got worse.
It happened to be my wife’s favorite holiday. “How can you not like it?” she would ask. But as much as I tried to suppress the distasteful memories, the holiday only became more of a source of controversy and contention. There were arguments over everything–not with me–but with my folks.
Let me explain.
My wife grew up in a more Conservative household and was used to doing things differently. She sang the songs in Hebrew. We sang them in English. She went through the Haggadah from beginning to end. We skipped stuff. She ate brisket. We ate chicken.
And then there were the Haggadahs themselves. My wife didn’t like ours–too much English. This prompted endless discussions over which one to use. This one had too little Hebrew, this one was too modern, that one was too short,...
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