A Very (Un)Kosher Pesach

This evening concludes the week-long Jewish holiday of Passover, or Pesach. For those who don't know, Passover is the festival celebrating when the Israelites in Egypt were freed from  slavery under the Pharoah.

Bama with his Afikoman.

Being half-Jewish, I've celebrated the week in a manner befitting my plague-ridden ancestors. First, I made a few tasteless jokes about wandering the desert for 40 years. Next, I slaughtered a lamb and smeared its blood on my neighbors' doors. Then I unleashed a horde of frogs on the people, and when that didn't work I called forth a swarm of locusts so thick that it was as if night had descended in the middle of the day; and then I brought night. Then I offered up my first-born to the Pharoah, or as I called him when I was too short to see over the Seder table without sitting on the phone book, the Sparrow. 

Actually, the only thing I did was make tasteless jokes. And I dropped the f-bomb several dozen times during the Sounders game. Then I watched the Passover episode of The Nanny in which Pesach is referred to as "the holiday where you hide crackers from small children and then stuff yourself."

Tonight my family is having our first Seder dinner in years. We're a bit neglectful, the four of us. We've made a sport of forgetting to light the Menorah at least two nights every year during Hanukkah. That being said, we have decided it's high time to not screw up a Jewish holiday. This year's Seder is going to be the definition of ritual: The brisket is in the oven (which I'm assuming the fleeing Israelites did not have); my mom just finished making deviled eggs using the eggs we had every intention of dying for Easter but then didn't because they all cracked in the pot; when Garrison Keillor made a joke on A Prairie Home Companion about Donald Trump running for president, I experienced the apocalyptic despair with which every good Jew is bestowed upon birth; for my vegetarian main course, I heated a tofurky dog in the microwave. Pretty sure that's not kosher.

One of our Haggadahs (the text that tells you how to conduct a Seder) is called "My Very Own Haggadah: A Seder Service for Young Children," complete with recipes, crafts, and pictures of the Pharoah and unleavened bread for you to color. The other Haggadah is from St. Dunstan's Episcopal Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Yeah, I have no idea.

Here we go.

UPDATE:

We have now had our meal. Before I regale you with the highlights, here is a little pretext:

1. During the Seder, the front door is left open and one glass of wine is set aside for Elijah the Prophet who visits all Seders to spread glad tidings for spring. As my dad says, "He's like the Easter Bunny of Passover."

2. During the Seder, the leader breaks apart a piece of Matzah and one half becomes the Afikoman, or dessert. The Afikoman is then hidden, and the other half is kept to match against the Afikoman when it is found by whoever is forced to look for it. Usually it's me.

3. The Four Questions follow this format: "On all other nights, we do ____; why on this night do we do ___ instead?" They are read by the youngest person at the Seder table.

4. The Haggadah dictates precisely what and when you are supposed to eat and drink. Eating or drinking at any other time is strictly forbidden...but practically encouraged in my family.

Bama on the Seder plate.

Okay. Now that we're all on the same page, here is the chaos that ensued this evening. Keep in mind that this all took place while my dad was trying to conduct the Seder. He was frequently interrupted.

Me: Dad, is this piece of matzoh on the floor by my foot the Afikoman? *I pick it up* It's only a quarter of a piece. And where's the other half?
Mom, Michael, Dad: ...We ate it.

"You're not supposed to drink now!"

"You're not supposed to eat now!" 

Dad: And our people were finally free from Engl- Egypt! 
Me: Our people were in England?

Dad: Moses broke the Commandments, probably literally. He had to go back and get them. Who knows if they were even the same ones. They might have been ten completely different commandments. "Thou shalt not play Tiddlywinks after 11pm." 

Dad: We're praising Hillel who invented Maror sandwiches on matzoh. My dad invented submarine-style chocolate pudding with whipped cream squirted into it and you don't see us praising him.

Dad (reading): "The wine glasses are filled a second time."
Me: Michael, what is this for you? Your seventh?

Mom: Mmm, this is good wine. What is this?
Me: Moses didn't ask what wine was served at his Seder table.
Dad: Moses wasn't at the Seder table.
Me: Exactly. 

Michael (wearing a UC Berkeley sweatshirt): Wait. I brought a sweater to put on for this glorious occasion.
Mom: Well go get it! 
Me: Moses didn't interrupt the Seder to put on a sweater.
Mom: Good point.

Dad: Why on this night do we eat in a reclining position?
Mom: Because we worked in the garden all day.
     -Michael and I feign offense-
Mom: What? Everyone else was being snarky!

Dad: Okay, Liv, here are the Four Questions. But you have to sing them. In Hebrew.
Mom: She doesn't know Hebrew.

Dad (reading): "We have asked many questions..."
Mom: Many? We've asked four.

Dad (reading) : "...our own Seder becomes more than a gay family gathering.... The lord rescued not only our forefathers, but us."
Michael: Four fathers, huh? Is that where the "gay family" comes in? 

"Mom! Stop drinking Elijah's wine!"

Dad: We're supposed to sing this next song in Hebrew, but I think we'll skip it. 


And there you have it: the world's most un-kosher Passover Seder. And by the way, happy birthday to Shakespeare. He would have been 447 years old today. Shalom, old man.