While my siblings and I were young, mainly in the 50’s and early ’60s, every Jewish Holiday, dinner, was held in our house. We lived in a row house (now poshly marketed as a quaint townhouse), two bedrooms, and on the second floor, my room was the third room, but imagine a large walk-in closet (kind of fitting at the time perhaps, considering my need to remain in one); one bathroom (OMG, three sisters, my mother my father and me, how in the world could that ever be a thing), a living room in which once entering the house you WERE almost in the middle of the room, a dining room, small enough for six of us to almost sit around the table, but magically made larger with the addition of two table leaves, (semi-warped from decades of trying to squeeze them in place) thus extending the table to the perimeters of the allotted square footage of the room, and a kitchen where, once, more than three people stood, could have been considered a sweatshop. Back in the day EXTENDED FAMILIES, was a wonderful norm, and that extension, due to my mother’s amazing warm heart included neighbors who had little to no family members to share the joy!
Passover, according to my mother, was either too late or too early. Too early, the flavors, the aromas, the concoction of three entrees, four salads, matzah ball soup, home-baked Pesach desserts, would waft throughout the house and fog up the still in place winter windows, which sounded like they were functional, but similar to the leaves for our table, had not quite fit perfectly; or too late and the same windows minus the winterized addition, (and still not replaced with the screens, because in Pittsburgh, snow could fall all the way into May), would be open, permitting any flying creature to join us for Seder!
Passover begins, on the evening of Saturday, March 27, 2021. And as I grow melancholy, trying to still memorize the millions of tasks and chores, tastes and fragrances, kisses hugs, layers of ruby red lipstick kisses on our ‘SUCH SWEET PUNIM’S from great aunts, hardy handshakes, and odorous smell of cigars from our great uncles, and ‘HOW MUCH TALLER CAN YOU POSSIBLY GET (as a note, I am still 5’7”), the frantic rush to and from neighbors freezers and refrigerators, worries that the seven-layer Jell-O-molds once out of the fridge still had seven layers…and FINALLY the first night of Seder, MY MOTHER, smiling and insisting ALL OF THIS WAS NOTHING, JUST ANOTHER DAY… I sigh, I sob, tiny tears of satisfaction but sadness also! I am not certain if PESACH will arrive early or late this year, but I do know, how thankful I am for the MIRACLE of having experienced that part of my life, with the people who taught me to love, respect, have empathy, and compassion for the world in which I live!
