Pesach preparations are often fraught with frustration and angst. We rid our homes of chometz and turn over our kitchens while attempting to keep our families from starving. We pore over menus, shop for ingredients, and prepare Yom Tov meals for our loved ones. We also invite guests.
During the year, inviting guests is a simple process; on Pesach, however, it is different. Why is this invitation different from all other invitations? Pesach meals present a unique numerical challenge. Not only do we have first and second day meals; we also have first and second day meals of the first days as well as first and second day meals of the second days. Far be it from me to point out that virtually everyone I know can count to eight. After all, we spend the rest of springtime counting all the way to 49. This brings me to the heretical suggestion that we refer to the second days of Pesach as the seventh and eighth day. I know this is a radical departure from the minhag hamakom, but it might serve to ease some of the confusion that we face in these difficult times.
The pre-Pesach tension mounts as we approach the temporal abyss when we can no longer eat chometz. The lines that wend their way around Dunkin’ Donuts give witness to the fact that many G-d-fearing Jews are anxious about spending the next eight days without the emotional support of chometzdik carbohydrates. Gratefully biting into croissants and muffins, as if tasting the manna from heaven, we sigh as we dispose of our wrappers. We steel ourselves as we realize that that the next eight days will be devoid of these staples of our existence. Despite all of this, when we excitedly sit down at the Pesach Seder, we feel like we have reached the finish line. Little do we realize that the games have just begun.
For many children, the highlight of Pesach Seder is finding the afikomen. For some families, things go smoothly. For others, they need to call in a backup. At one family’s Seder, the older of two grandchildren was negotiating with his zeidy for a set of Mishnayos. The zeidy, who was enjoying the interaction, put up a little “resistance” and offered to buy only one masechta in exchange for the afikomen. The grandson, being a little too young to realize that his zeidy was just playing, fiercely stood his ground. Sensing that his older brother was in trouble, the younger brother leaned over and whispered, “Don’t worry, Bubby will take care of it.” After that, no negotiations were necessary. Of course, not all negotiations go so smoothly. One of my friends, whose toddler demanded a lollipop last year, was convinced that this year’s negotiations would go without a hitch. This year her son asked for a cow. They’re still sitting at their Seder table.
My first realization that things weren’t going as planned was when my last Yom Tov meal ended with the pervasive sentiment of “next week at Weight Watchers” instead of “next year in Jerusalem.” Eating four meals of sumptuous foods and delicious desserts in a sleep-deprived state had most of us feeling like we would be rolling instead of walking home. The only glimmer of hope was that during Chol Hamoed our sleeping schedules would return to normal and our family outings would counteract some of the caloric damage done on Yom Tov. Clearly, we were delusional.
Chol Hamoed activities should really be termed Chol Hamoed arguments. They really require an experienced team of negotiators. Unfortunately, after all the other Pesach expenses, there is no money left to hire them. Parents who fool themselves into thinking that they can provide this service and choose the activity for their family are often met with more than a little resistance. This, by the way, will be the only time your children agree on anything. Regardless of the age range in a family, there are at least 10 suggestions that are eliminated, vetoed, and shot down before a final decision is made. Unfortunately, the negotiations are far from over. Amidst the frenzy of packing up snacks, putting on shoes, and deciding whether to bring sweaters, we forget that each child expects preferred seating. In some vans, the middle seats are coveted, while in other vans it’s the back seats. Even when there are twice as many seats as there are children, disharmony will nevertheless ensue. For better or worse, everyone eventually finds a spot. We won’t even talk about making sure that each child has the same number of snacks. Yet, despite all this acrimony, Chol HaMoed memories linger fondly in the forefront of our minds, while the arguments get pushed to the background. Our children look forward to them year after year and, despite the bickering, we do too.
As we near the end of Yom tov, the feeding frenzy begins again. Despite the inordinate number of times we have frequented the supermarket, there is still a need to restock. Many a disappointed soul has returned to find only a few items lingering forlornly on the shelves. Often, the key ingredient of your recipe (which is also the key ingredient of everyone else’s recipe) is nowhere to be found. It is missing not only from the first supermarket that you check but from all the others that you frantically race to as well. The coveted item for us this year was whipped topping. Since there is no black market to sell it at $100 per fluid ounce, we turned to the traditional method of procurement: the phone chain. Calling everyone you know eventually produces positive results, but really, it’s more like playing a card game. It goes something like this: “I’ll see your one pint of Rich’s Whip and raise you a box of Sweet and Lo’ and five pieces of Bazooka.” If you need two pints, you might have to name your next child after one of their family members. Either way, there are ways to handle the situation. After all, your Pesach dessert is at stake.
The most amazing thing is that, once Pesach is over, except for the fact that we still feel full for another few days, it’s as if it never happened. We go back to our daily lives as if all that preparation and planning did not occur. We continue counting down the days until cheese cake – I mean Shavuos – without giving matza a second thought. This year I’m going to do something different. In order to keep that Pesach feeling alive, I’ve secretly stored some potato starch in my pantry. Every once in awhile I’m going to fling some around the kitchen to remind myself that “next year in Jerusalem” is not something we just cook for, but something we live for.
