Pesach in a new land

RAHLA XENOPOULOS

Asked why Judaism survived when the Aztecs, Babylonians and so many other cultures were decimated, historian Simon Sharma said, “We don’t need buildings or temples or tombs. We need our stories. We can pick up our scrolls and run.”

There is a saying that G-d created humanity, because G-d loves stories. I often think, therefore, that Pesach must be G-d’s favourite holiday, since it is so much about the telling of our stories. It is in the telling of our stories that we transfer not just the facts, but also our personal ideology and value systems.

I have come to wonder, am I the only person who feels like my generation, “the X’s”, is very much about making Pesach personal? Making the seder resonate with a narrative of liberation, feminism, and family truths. An authentic, meaningful seder has to have a strong political and ideological intention.

Of course, there are other necessary elements. A competitive chicken soup and, of course, an overpopulated table. If people aren’t awkwardly perched off the corner precariously reaching out for their food, and if guests don’t have table legs digging uncomfortably into their thighs, it isn’t Pesach.

When my children, who are triplets, were in pre-primary school, I decided that I wanted them to engage with the Pesach service in a meaningful manner. I wanted the haggadah to question more. I decided to pretend that the death of the firstborn wasn’t in the book, because, aargh!, and because my children were so small.

To that end, I adapted and wrote a tongue-in-cheek “family haggadah”. The first year, it created much excitement and interaction. The second year, we were still laughing and loving it. After eleven years of this verkakte home-made haggadah, I realised that actually, my family were growing tired of repeating the same jokes every year. I knew, it was time for a new service.

Last year on Pesach, I promised my husband that this year, the seder would be meaningful. We would have a modern, personal, and above all, real haggadah. I made the promise, and then got distracted.

To be fair, the distractions were both dramatic and unavoidable. I launched a new book, took my kids out of school and bummed around Europe with them for three months. And also, made a very sudden decision to pack ourselves up and move, five months ago, to New York.

This was not a year of being distracted by an arbitrary Instagram feed, these were legitimate reasons not to focus on finding the right haggadah.

So, I did with Pesach what I do with all urgent crises, I stored it at the very back of my brain where no one will ever spot it.

That was, of course, until about a week ago, when my mother-in-law confirmed her travel arrangements. My mother-in-law, stepfather-in-law, as well as two of my husband’s brothers and their families, are all schlepping across America to sit at our table. Plus, of course, the locals, the friends, the kids, and their friends.

Everyone confirmed their Pesach plans to sit at my table, which actually is all we ever want. Needless to say, in my excitement, I took the panic and stored it in that place at the bottom of my brain where no one, most especially me, can possibly access it.

To be fair, it’s not like I forgot or anything. I just didn’t do anything about it.

That was until my husband, who fortunately knows me better than even he realises, casually mentioned last week that he saw on Facebook that there is such a thing as a Marvelous Mrs Maisel haggadah.

That got me inspired. I knew the Marvelous Mrs Maisel haggadah would be the spine of my seder. Like the television show, it would be stylish, curious, liberal, and, above all, funny. Also, it would be pink, so perhaps that could be the colour of the flowers.

After checking at my local book store and running to Barnes & Noble, it occurred to me where I would find it. My search for a Marvelous Mrs Maisel haggadah took me, of course, to Amazon (because the series is made by Amazon Prime). But there is a catch that I have not yet explained to my husband. The Marvelous Mrs Maisel haggadah comes as a free gift with a purchase of Maxwell House coffee capsules.

The capsules, I am told in the advert, are kosher for Pesach. They are traditional New York Pesach coffee and also, they are capsules for a Keurig coffee machine. We do not own a Keurig coffee machine, but hey, I thought, nobody’s perfect. And I made an order for a loooot of Maxwell House coffee capsules.

In the meantime, all has been well in our world. On Friday, I walked along the aqueduct near our house and marvelled triumphantly that we, my family, have triumphed over our first American winter. Spring in all its ardent beauty is most forcefully upon us.

What a state of giddy delight I have been in. Which is fortunate, since I would need some giddy delight to deal with all the undrinkable coffee that arrived at my doorstop. Yesterday, the Amazon truck arrived with, oh my word, who will drink 284 cups of Maxwell House coffee?

Underneath the boxes and boxes of coffee, I found a slim pile of black and white, photocopied haggadot with a sad drawing of Mrs Maisel and her parents. In fact, this drawing must be the very only time Mrs Maisel has been captured looking unstylish and fat! As for the actual haggadah, well, the haggadot at my local supermarket are more politically woke than this one. It is a most miserable affair.

I’ve made a few decisions. I’ve decided to try making my own chicken soup. I’ve decided to bring the tables in from outside so that we don’t have to squash awkwardly into one another. I’ve decided, perhaps, to get the Jonathan Safran Foer haggadah, maybe I will even find my childhood haggadah.

Also, I’ve decided that Pesach is not just about stories, but stories and the ability to make that schlepp. The most important thing, the thing I have learnt for the first time, is that our family has managed, happily, to pick up our pekalach and move.

This is our first Pesach away from beloved friends who have celebrated at our table for years. It will be our first Pesach where we are responsible for cleaning up afterwards, and preparing beforehand. It will be the first Pesach where, fearing the cold, I do not move the entire table outside, then inside, then outside again.

But, I have realised, it will not be our first Pesach away from home since we are home. Wherever we have our books, our paintings, and one another is home. Our Pesach will be a matter of muddled through perfection, since it will be in our new home.

It might not achieve all of the lofty liberal ideals we hold so dear, but it will be achieve conversation and laughter. It will be a family gathering and, for the first time, my kids are not filled with dread. You see, chatting to my brother-in-law yesterday, I casually mentioned that since his kids are younger than mine, perhaps they would sing Ma Nishtana (Why is this night different from all other nights?). My triplets have waited fourteen years to rid themselves of that burden.

As for the coffee, I’ll find someone with a Keurig machine and if not, well, it’ll be part of our pekalach.