Passover

Yitzahk Pearlman is now presenting a program called “A Passover Seder for the Ears” or some such, it’s an exploration of the seder meal through song and sound, and it’s on WNYC and gunning for some kind of supersaturated Jewish frenzy.

I’m sad not to be passing Passover this year, no seder to be invited to. I remember how precious the invitation to spend that night with Leigh and her family was, and is, as I’m sure the candles are burning and the bread is baking in her home even now, with savory dishes that make deference to vegans and a careful hagaddah that poses questions for gentiles, too.

Why is this night different from every other night? For me, because I’m savoring bread and jam in a Lenten way that I would never if candy were at hand. Because Lent has also taken the dull pleasures of TV and the internet away, and I am listening to the radio, feeling vulnerable about having nowhere to put my eyes.  Because I’m thinking of Leigh’s deep dimpled smile and the warmth of her home, and what it is to lose people for any kind of reason. How it’s never a clean slice and crumbs of them stay on you.

It’s how life breaks us, in a kaleidoscopic, smeary mess, away from each other and occasionally toward again, just like the years go, dragging pieces of the previous ones with them in memory and ritual.