I
know this is borderline sacrilegious but I have a confession to make: I really,
truly, strongly dislike Passover. To the point where I always swore I would
marry a Sephardic Jew just to make those 8 days easier. There is just nothing
about that holiday that likes Ashkenazic vegetarians. As far as I’m concerned,
this holiday makes Yom Kippur look indulgent. I’m pretty sure (or at least
seriously hope) that when the Rabbis began the list of kitniot they didn’t do
so with the malicious intent of making all Jews covet thy neighbors’ refrigerators
because they were too busy trying to predict the coming of the Messiah to
predict the coming of the corn syrup Armageddon. I know there have been a
disgusting amount of documentaries warning Americans about our excessive corn
consumption and every Passover I consider joining on board because they are
right. There is corn in gosh darn everything. During Passover I spend so much
time reading nutrition labels and discovering more things I can’t eat that I
usually just end up too mentally exhausted and hungry to think of a meal other
than potatoes. I’m still so sick of potatoes from my childhood years of
thinking that was the only thing you could eat during Passover that they have
become an occasion in my life rarer than the Passover holiday. Maybe the Rabbis
just really wanted us all to spend 8 days being soviet.
I
have had a strong aversion to this holiday since childhood because I was, as my
parents like to say, “a pastatarian.” So, not only was I heartbroken that I had
to give up the only food group I recognized, flour filled carbs, but I was also
always in ski school, which is really just a front for a constant pizza party.
So, while my ski school friends chomped on all you can eat pizza and warm
cookies, I had to go scrounge for my own lunch, passing all the buffets of
tasty pizzas and pastas in favor of the part of the room that no 10 year old
would even look at: the baked potato bar. And so, for 8 straight days I lived
on 16 straight meals of potatoes with everything I actually wanted just in
reach. There was one time when I felt a little bit better about Passover because
one of my ski school buddies turned to me and said, “You have to give up bread
for 8 days? That’s not so bad, we have to give up TV for a whole month!” When
you put it that way, Passover doesn’t seem so bad. If only that’s what Lent
actually was…
Anyhoo,
so once a year this holiday rolls and once a year I try to find something that
will make the holiday bearable. I usually settle on twisting Seder into another
Thanksgiving because it starts with my mom cooking an excessive amount of food
for an excessive amount of people and ends with a big meal. Of course, I
clearly forget what comes in between. That is, until an hour or two into the
seder when I can’t figure out why we’re still talking and still not eating.
This year, I had that same realization but it was too little too late. Just
like I ODed on potatoes as a child I ODed on seders as an adult. Israelis have
one, families in the diaspora have 2, and I had 8. Oh yeah, and I cooked for 5
of them. Whoops.
As
crazy as I was for participating in 8 seders, I was even crazier for starting
my least favorite holiday a day earlier. What can I say, the Welfare Center was
having a seder Sunday even though the holiday started Monday night and my love
for partying with the elderly far surpasses any negative feelings I have toward
Passover.
Actually,
this first seder was a perfect model for what was to come. Besides the fact
that the words and procedures were obviously the same, what was interesting was
that the participant’s behaviors were too. No matter who was leading the seder,
where the seder was, or how old the participants were, each seder looked like
this: someone stood in the front babbling in a strange conglomeration of
languages while everyone else just reached for the food. The biggest difference
between the seders was in how cute the little rule-breaking mongrols were. It’s
hard to fault babushkas and little kiddies for blatantly ignoring the important
part of the gathering when they just look so cute doing it. It’s a lot less
cute when it’s teenagers doing the same thing.
Exhibit A:
Exhibit B:
Plus, when the old people were totally ignoring the
proceedings they were doing so because they were so happy to finally have great
company and great food that they couldn’t help but indulge. It was also a lot
cuter from my end because I was not the one they were ignoring. To finish it
all off they all got up to sing and dance in a way that made me feel like I was
in every Judy Dench movie that doesn’t involve royalty. One man came up to me
to request “normal music” so he could ask a younger woman to dance. And then
they gathered around the piano to sing in harmony. Seriously, the only thing
that could have been more perfect was if we knit at the end too. Or if one of
them adopted me so I could finally have a Russian babushka that I could visit
in the countryside while she made me homemade borscht and tea from the flowers in
her garden. (Don’t worry grandparents, I haven’t actually forgotten or betrayed
you.)
The
first real night of Passover was one of my few out of the community. My friend
and fellow American was kind enough to host so I helped prepare the seder plate
and lead the “service.” This seder was like all my other holiday celebrations
outside of the community, where those who actually observe the holiday are in
the vast minority. That means that the majority of people actually want to be
there. Also, since most of the information is new to them they actually look
mildly interested instead of the usual combination of bored and angry that
you’re what’s standing between them and their food. This group was particularly
special because even the goyim had made such a habit of going to seder for the
past few years that they knew what was going on and wanted to continue the
tradition with their own family. I guess there’s more appeal to the holiday
when it’s just a seder. The whole thing felt a little foreign and awkward to me
at first but I quickly realized that was just because I have never been to a
Jewish event where everyone actually listened and I have definitely never had
that many people listen to me that attentively for that long. It definitely was
not a typical seder for me but a nice one nonetheless.
For
the second night of Passover, the other real seder night, the brand new local
Moishe house hosted. Moishe house is an international program that gives post
college Jews a house and they, in turn, provide the community with Jewish
events. So it made a lot of sense that they should host seder. And I’m sure it
was a very nice seder but the Riga Jewish community takes Jew time to a whole
new level. In my family we have to tell everyone to show up an hour earlier than
we actually want them there but here I’m pretty sure you need at least a solid
two hours of padding just to get everyone there and then an extra hour to
retrieve them from their smoke breaks. You see, when everyone’s late, which
they always are, a few people mosey outside to smoke. Just when they’re about
to finish smoking the other half of the group decides that they’ve been waiting
too long and now’s a good time for them to smoke too. So the first group
returns but the second group is outside and the whole cycle starts again. And
meanwhile, only half of the people coming are there before 8:45 anyway. So the
seder started around 9 and I had just enough time to make it through the first
2 cups of wine before it was time to go to the airport to retrieve my boyfriend.
It’s probably for the best because I wasn’t even half way through my seder
marathon anyway.
The
next night marked my boyfriend’s first day in this lovely city and his first
chance for a seder. He is such a good sport that he more or less willingly
agreed to spend his first day helping me cook and his first night hosting a
seder. At least he had time to see the important part of Riga, the giant
market, before we went to work. We
prepared a lovely meal even though I think my boyfriend started to regret his
decision to help when he found out my “oven” was really a glorified toaster my
stove has a mind of it’s own. Luckily I’ve become an expert at cooking full
meals with what is basically an easy bake oven and my boyfriend is a great
sport so it all came together just in time. In terms of the actual seder part
it was all a bit of a hodgepodge. I brought together a lot of people who don’t
know each other and don’t know much about the holiday, so there was a lot of
introducing to do. I tend to get overwhelmed when I have that much ‘splaining
to do, and I get really overwhelmed trying to explain Passover because there
are so many stories, laws, and songs that I never know where to start. Plus I
wanted to keep it short and sweet because, again, I’m not used to people
actually paying attention to me. Luckily I had an excellent audience who cared
enough to ask questions and by the end I’m pretty sure they understood the
important parts: slaves, plagues, songs, and wine. I did learn a very important lesson about having non-Jews at
seder: you have to make it abundantly clear that, while it is usually nice to
bring food or gifts, this is one holiday where it’s probably nicer to bring
nothing at all. It takes years of training to understand half the holiday’s
dietary laws so just coming to eat up the matzah I didn’t want anyway is really
the best gift you could give me.
I
finally got a break at the halfway mark, which was good because the cooking had
barely begun. The community has learned two very important things about me
which they rightfully used to their advantage: they know I love to cook and
they know I don’t say no to helping them. So, when they asked me to cook 3
seders for 3 days for about 30 people each I said, “kaneshna” (of course)
before realizing what I was saying kaneshna to. All I can say is, thank
goodness for prepared food sections and leftovers. And very helpful boyfriends,
community members, and, most importantly, the welfare center’s real people size
oven.
Before
the cooking began I went on my weekly trip to the kindergarten, not thinking
about the fact that of course that meant another seder. I even got to help
prepare the food for that one too, just to make sure I was ready for the
weekend. As all things are in the kindergarten, this one was adorable and
probably the best behavior I’ve seen at a community event.
After
that lovely morning it was time to get to work. We peeled, chopped, and roasted
enough root vegetables to last through about 7 more seders and made enough
chocolate covered matzah to satisfy the small army of children. And after
preparing 3 cartons of hard-boiled eggs (there was no way I was hosting an
event without offering protein to the meatless folk), a salad, french fries,
chopped up fruit, homemade charoset, and warming up 3 animals, we were ready to
go. As if that were not enough, it was also time for me to lead the seder. For
30 russian speaking teens. Who had already been through an hour and a half of a
program. And were staring at the piping hot, tasty smelling meal that they were
not yet allowed to eat. I made them a haggadah with Russian transliteration and
pictures and tried to use as much Russian as I could summon to keep them at
least mildly entertained but, as we all know, there are only 2 things on
teenagers’ minds and food is one of them. So, if ever there was a time for
short and sweet, this was it.
We
made it through everything and what happened next was the most confusing part:
when they were finally allowed to eat they did a nice job ripping everything
apart and I am positive I saw them put food in their mouths but, when they all
had the same epiphany about a few minutes into the meal that it was time to go,
I looked around expecting the usual teenage wreckage of a lot of empty bowls,
finding instead what looked like more food than we had started with. I think I
found a new species of teenager. At least I had extra leftovers and therefore
less work for the next 2 seders.
The
next day I woke up early to cook for the kids club because I was told to be
ready for 30 kids at 11:30. Of course, it was no surprise that when I got there
the person leading the seder was no where to be found. And so, 11:30 turned
into 12:30 which somehow turned into 2:30. And at 2:30 it was time to start the
seder. Not eat, but start the seder. At least I wasn’t leading this one because
this was the hungriest and cutest group of rule breakers yet. The whole thing
was exactly like the babushka seder and just as enjoyable and cute: a game of
who could reach the food without getting caught, and I’m pretty sure they all
won. Again, they kind of ate but barely made a dent. Everything about this
community confuses me.
I
went home for a short rest because I was attending another community seder that
night, this time for the young families. This was my third seder led by the
community’s Rabbi and my fifth in Russian. At that point it didn’t matter that
I barely know the language because I knew exactly what was happening. This was
by far one of the funniest seders, however, because the adults knew they wouldn’t
be cute if they snuck food so when they were ready to they just said, “davai,”
(enough), the Rabbi shrugged (he’d been through enough of people not listening
to him to know the drill) and the eating commenced. He tried to lead the seder
again but the same shtick happened and, once again, there was food. We left before
the 3rd cup of wine because it was pretty clear the seder wasn’t
happening anyway, my boyfriend was still jet-lagged, and I was falling over from
too much cooking and too many seders. It was nice while it lasted.
The
next morning was the final seder I had to cook for but I was not actually
invited, which at this point, was probably for the best. I introduced the
teenagers to Matzah Pizza to go with the same salad, root vegetables, chocolate
covered matzah, and fruit we had all been living off of for days. I handed the
food off and headed out into the sunlight (we have that here!) and swore off
seders. At least for another year.
