In my family (and most of my friends'), the afikomen tradition was that the kids would steal it at some point after it was broken off, and the adults would have to find where they'd hidden it. Failure of the adults to find the afikomen meant the kids could request presents in exchange for revealing the hiding place. In theory, it seemed more fun to me than the reverse situation. Except it wasn't, because kids aren't as discreet as they think they are, and my father would often find it in the early years. (My grandfather, a European Holocaust survivor, had no patience for pretending to look, and would head straight to our hiding place and retrieve it. We'd burst into tears, he'd laugh.) So it either became a pity present that we felt we hadn't earned, or, as my father got older, a present we'd get anyway because my parents were too tired to look.
And yeah, it occurred to me recently that most of the stuff I always fall back on to explain liking Pesach are not things UNIQUE to Pesach, and are in fact much better on other family holidays. Food? Much better other times. Family feasts and stories? Much better when there aren't Haggadah rituals to get through. Wine is freely available ALL year, and going on fun outings with family and/or friends is a LOT more enjoyable when there aren't thousands and thousands of East Coast Jews doing whatever you're doing at the SAME TIME.
So yeah, this article hit home. I guess Pesach has always kinda sucked, but I spent so long getting indoctrinated with the opposite belief that it felt like a betrayal to acknowledge it. I can only try VERY hard to create something enjoyable for my own children.
The first time I went to a Passover seder, I thought the horseradish was cranberry sauce like you get at Thanksgiving. Accordingly I stuck a huge spoonful into my mouth, when I saw everybody else reach for it. I didn't even realize what the Rabbi had just said in Hebrew was:
"Let us now commemorate the bitterness of slavery in Egypt."
Whenever I tell this story to Gentiles, they always begin laughing when I say the thing about the bitterness of slavery. Whenever I tell it to Jewish people, they always begin laughing when I say I thought it was cranberry sauce.
In my family (and most of my friends'), the afikomen tradition was that the kids would steal it at some point after it was broken off, and the adults would have to find where they'd hidden it. Failure of the adults to find the afikomen meant the kids could request presents in exchange for revealing the hiding place. In theory, it seemed more fun to me than the reverse situation. Except it wasn't, because kids aren't as discreet as they think they are, and my father would often find it in the early years. (My grandfather, a European Holocaust survivor, had no patience for pretending to look, and would head straight to our hiding place and retrieve it. We'd burst into tears, he'd laugh.) So it either became a pity present that we felt we hadn't earned, or, as my father got older, a present we'd get anyway because my parents were too tired to look.
And yeah, it occurred to me recently that most of the stuff I always fall back on to explain liking Pesach are not things UNIQUE to Pesach, and are in fact much better on other family holidays. Food? Much better other times. Family feasts and stories? Much better when there aren't Haggadah rituals to get through. Wine is freely available ALL year, and going on fun outings with family and/or friends is a LOT more enjoyable when there aren't thousands and thousands of East Coast Jews doing whatever you're doing at the SAME TIME.
So yeah, this article hit home. I guess Pesach has always kinda sucked, but I spent so long getting indoctrinated with the opposite belief that it felt like a betrayal to acknowledge it. I can only try VERY hard to create something enjoyable for my own children.
I needed this! It made me laugh. I have to say I’m also not super fond of Passover. Oh, and the podcast was a lot of fun to listen to!
The first time I went to a Passover seder, I thought the horseradish was cranberry sauce like you get at Thanksgiving. Accordingly I stuck a huge spoonful into my mouth, when I saw everybody else reach for it. I didn't even realize what the Rabbi had just said in Hebrew was:
"Let us now commemorate the bitterness of slavery in Egypt."
Whenever I tell this story to Gentiles, they always begin laughing when I say the thing about the bitterness of slavery. Whenever I tell it to Jewish people, they always begin laughing when I say I thought it was cranberry sauce.