8-April-99 Exit Pesach

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Passover is over when it gets dark enough that you can see three stars. I like that. We've put away all the Pesach dishes and utensils, and the kitchen is back to normal. Arlene likes changing over the dishes for a week; she gets to see some utensils that were her mother's or grandmother's that are still in perfect condition, since they've only been used one week a year. We have two teflon frying pans over twenty years old that have all their teflon and still don't stick. “It's like going camping in your own kitchen,” she says. It'll be another year before we see the cobalt blue depression glass plate with the picture of Shirley Temple.

We had the last choir rehearsal before the Holocaust Remembrance Day concert, which will be this Sunday at 1:30 at Temple Emeth. Gennady must be getting a little stressed out about it, because he was snapping at us more than usual. “What's the matter? Do you still have a mouth full of matzo?” or “Smile a little! You look like gefilte fish!”

There's something I can't explain about the reality of holidays to people who observe them. I really learned this in February '87 when I asked a Chinese guy I was working with if he could spend an hour going over something with me. “It'll have to wait until Tuesday,” he said. “I have to go to New York this weekend to spend New Year's with my family.” He didn't say, “It's Chinese New Year's and I'm Chinese and observe that.” The reality was that it was New Year's, and I should have known that; what he felt he had to tell me was that he would be away for the weekend. It's a little like the Perseid meteor shower. There's a point on the Earth's orbit, and when the planet gets there some people notice and some don't. Oh, all right, I know it's cultural, but it sure doesn't feel that way.