Holidays — by Robin
Holidays are bittersweet (for me). They have been ever since the passing of my beloved mom 11 years ago.
I was in a writing class earlier this week at my local adult ed, and the instructor asked us to share on paper our feelings about Passover. I got a bit teary.
My mom used to make a mean matzoh stuffing, and I loved it. The aroma filled the house, and I looked forward to it annually.
My husband, Marc, wanted to do the holiday at our home, and I’m just not up for it. It’s one more thing to do, and entertaining isn’t high on my list. It never has been, but especially now. Life is full, and it’s been achingly stressful of late.
In a perfect world, we’d be invited somewhere. Marc’s senior mom isn’t up for hosting at her apartment anymore. Marc’s brother and sister-in-law have invited us in the past, but this year, it didn’t arise. We don’t know what they’re doing. And, my sister didn’t even know the date of the first sedar and never offers to do it at her NYC apartment. Celebrating holidays isn’t important to them….except for Hanukkah. They have come to our home in the past and brought food, but it’s still a lot of work just setting the table, cleaning, etc. and I don’t get enjoyment from it. It feels like a task, and I don’t need more on my to-do list.
So, I suggested to Marc that we eat at a local diner. He was disappointed but understood where I’m at. We invited his mother, my father, my sister and her family, and they’re all coming. We presumed his brother has plans, which is likely the case. We also invited friends, but they were busy.
When I read my Passover story to my writing class, I could tell some were a bit stunned that we’d be going to a diner. Most talked about the cooking they were doing and who they invited to their homes.
Home it’s not, I recognize. But, we’ll be together. It’s a new kind of tradition. My son will know it’s Passover and that it’s a time people get together. We’ll eat matzoh. Order matzoh ball soup. Hide the Afikomen back at home, and my son will get the reward money. He’ll be happy.
As the saying goes, “home is where the heart is”…and that works for me, at least for this year’s Passover. There’s always room in the future to establish new traditions.