Pull Up a Chair at Our "Ridiculous" Passover Seder

There's a good chance that while you read this "better late than never" newsletter, I will be ladling out matzoh balls. Tonight is our Passover Seder (a big family meal where we recount the story of Passover). Its going to be epic. I made enough matzoh balls to fill a  ball pit with last night. This year I'm hosting somewhere between 35-40 guests.

Passover is our schtick.

I can still recall the wild Passover Seders of my youth, roaming around the neighborhood at midnight in a makeshift Ancient Israelite costume crafted from my Holly Hobby nightgown, a wig and a crepe paper headband, trying to find a hidden matzoh with the help of our  elderly poodle and some very tipsy adults with flashlights. Spoiler alert: it was actually hidden in the house. You wouldn't believe where! Check out my facebook page for the reason why we were hunting for the Matzoh, and where we eventually found it! 

We have been the ones hosting our family's Passover dinner theater events for the last two decades now, and am proud to say our seders always get rave reviews. 

One year we staged our  Seder in our tented living room, seated on floor cushions, pretending to be lost in the desert. 

Another time, we gave everyone waterguns, came up with a quiz show format and reenacted the parting of the Red Sea. If you weren't up on your trivia, you drowned. 

At our seders we smack each other with green onions  (this is too hard to explain and I'm not even sure I understand why we do it, but it's funny.) Then we eat horseradish that's been doctored with enough wasabi to make grown men weep. And it wouldn't be Passover without the slivovitz shots.

Lest all that sound too much like a fraternity hazing, rest assured there are also rubber frogs, "Matzo Baller" tiaras, and we encourage siging and dancing, costumes and coloring. 

And of course there is wine. Lots of wine. 

It is all, quite frankly, ridiculous.  It's a ridiculous way to remember such great suffering. Some would say even more so, given the trying times we are living in now. 

But I wouldn't have it any other way. 

It would be so easy to turn this holiday into a solemn memorial. 

But that's not how me and my people roll. To us choosing joy, even when the world isn't feeling so joyous, especially when it isn't, is the ultimate act of hope and rebellion all rolled into one. 

We can't wait for the world to light up our lives. It's up to us to be the lights. To foster the connections, memories and ridiculous moments that make our shared world into a space we want to live. The world is  harsh. But my home is a haven. 

I do not think it a coincidence that the word delight means "of light." Delight is a catalyst. It is a magical thing. It makes the world a better brighter place. 

This is my quest. It is why I write whimsical escapist fiction, and host ridiculous seders. Because I believe the greatest gift I have to give to friends and family is the gift of delight. 

And that is actually not so ridiculous after all .