Why is this night different?
This is beginning of the question that the youngest asks on Passover. Why is this night different from all other nights.? It is the start of the traditional "Four Questions" the part of the seder that was looked upon with anticipation and sometimes dread by the children at the table. As we enter into our second Pandemic Passover, this phrase, this question is particularly meaningful and relevant. It's a year since we entered into the Pandemic Phase of our lives and with that has brought about a new way of living, a different way of living.
As many of you know if you have been following my blog, I lost both of my parents - first my dad 16 years ago, and then my mom just 3 years ago. Most of my family lives in Florida, so first off, this night is different because I will not be spending Passover with any family. Many of us who would normally travel or have a large family gathering, will once again be Zooming, HousePartying, GoogleHangingOut or whatever virtual means we chose to try to bring our loved ones into our lives. Things are getting better but still not safe enough for us all to be close. A dear friend of mine who I've known since high school came over for a small dinner, as she too has lost both of her parents and her siblings live far away.
I think this is the holiday that I miss my grandparents the most, especially my paternal grandmother -- the one whom I write of often. Passover at her house was always something I looked forward to; it was kind of like a Jewish Thanksgiving Dinner (since she never had a Thanksgiving). The long table was laid out with her finest linens, Passover Plates and flatware, the door was left open so that Elijah could come in -- or the cooking fumes could get out, and the table was filled with food. Grandpa would sit at the head and read, and read and read, while grandma would yell -- Irving, "genug, enough" and of course he'd ignore her and keep going. We'd dip, we'd sing and we'd "essen fressen" -- or eat until we were like a stuffed derma. Speaking of stuffed derma, that was one of the many amazing foods she'd have on the table. This is a Jewish style sausage, no pork of course and stuffed with savory matzo meal and paprika spiced stuffing. We'd congregate in her little kitchen because before the meal started, there would be plates of chopped liver with horseradish that she hand-grated with beets. Sweet and spicy, with the rich chicken livers cooked in schmaltz, (Jewish olive oil) I can still taste it. Organized chaos was really how the meal went, grandma with no patience, grandpa continuously reading, the kids getting stir crazy running in the halls, or getting yelled at to stay away from the windows -- "You know could fall out..." We'd be shvitzing as if we were in a Turkish steam bath because of the building's heat and the fact that grandma was too afraid