Passover At Home
Hello everybody! No I haven’t died just because I haven’t posted for a while… Just took some time off.
Well, and talking about breaks, I decided at the last minute to spend the Jewish holiday of Pessah (Passover) with my parents in Brussels. You must imagine the happiness of my family when I told them about my decision; more than four years without going to see them over there. My father started to check his computer, the wireless network, the flights, the airport pick up, the house heating; my mother checked her old mother’s ladinos cooking recipes that she knows I love; Belgian Cote D’Or chocolate was right in my bed side together with my old Turkish slippers and old child pictures of mine.
My sister, her husband and kids joined us too. It was great. In more than twenty-five years, my sister and I never spent the Passover holiday with our parents all together, it was quite an event.
Passover is the 8-day observance commemorating the freedom and exodus of the Israelites (Jewish slaves) from Egypt during the reign of the Pharaoh Ramses II. A time of family gatherings and lavish meals called Seders, the story of Passover is retold through the reading of the Haggadah. With its special foods, songs, and customs, the Seder is the focal point of the Passover celebration.
We celebrate the exodus of our ancestors and wish our and all-future generations to be headed to Jerusalem in the land of Israel of the Jewish people.
We all got dressed up, and solemnly the women of the family lit the Yom Tov (good day) candles and did the recitation of the “Sheheyanu” blessings before the actual prayers.
My father’s nickname from hid grandchildren is attributed to “Certinho” or the “meticulous one”. He carefully distributed the Haggaddots on each seat in different languages according to how we have been used to read the Hebrew translation of the prayers during the last years. Mine was in Portuguese from a Haggadah that he had bought in Brazil, my mother’s in French, my sister’s and nephews’ in English, especially made in school in New York for this year’s event, my brother in law in Spanish as he is Argentinean, and his obviously is in Hebrew from one old silver vintage cover that belonged to his father in Beirut. If by accident we would exchange seats, food display Haggadots, or even certain times for the ritual, he would get upset and we would all laugh.
Every minute of the prayer was almost sang with the precision of a chronometer, and questions asked by the family (it is said that the Seder is celebrated especially for the children. It is important for Jewish children to be and feel involved in the celebration of Passover. Much of the ceremony is based on the commandment in the Bible that says, “And thou shalt tell thy son were answered with the exact words he heard from his father, grandfather and great-grandfather. The children and I were impatiently hungry; my mother once-a-year Mina (a type of ground meat lasagna topped as a sandwich with Matzo bread instead of pasta and pine nuts —delicious!) was emanating an irresistible aroma from the oven, and she was very anxious that if my father prayed for too long it would get too “soft”, as she would say. My father was praying and arguing with my mother at chapter intervals about how she should have calculated better the time and temperature of the cooking in the oven; my nephew and I were hiding and discretely registering these unforgettable moments with our digital Nikons taking advantage of my father desperate rush (already one hour praying) with for the sake of not wanting to carry the Jewish husband guilt of my mother’s Mina to be too soft for her daughters who, after all, come to savor it “every 25 years”. The prayer was over; the grandmother Sarah’s Mina was amazing; my mother’s meal was a feast.
We all rejoiced, throw away our pleas, confident of redemption mainly from our minds’ emotional imprisonments and, as free Jews and humans, we were ready to go to the living room for tea.
As said before at the Seder, “ This year in Brussels, next year in Yerushalaim.”
My father was upset with us taking pictures, but now that everything went well Baruh Hashem (Thank God) he wishes to see them.
And that is my thanking surprise for him, proud to be his beloved daughter.
