Sunday, April 5, 2015

Sunday Memories: The First Supper

Passover Sedar may have been Christ's last supper, but it was my first.

We didn't go every year to Dana and George.  Maybe we only went a couple of times total.  But, however many they were, those evenings became oases.

Why was that night different than all other nights?

It surpassed any joy I saw in movies or the rare TV shows.

Grampa Ray pulling quarters out of our ears, a table with a real tablecloth, all the expensive light bulbs on, the house filled with smells as good as restaurants or what I imagined reading fairy tales with feasts in them, David dazzling me into gales of laughter and fits of love.  It was even wonderful the one year I was the youngest and had to ask the Four Questions in Hebrew, a language I didn't know, couldn't read or even speak.

I waited for Passover as eagerly as I did my birthday.  

Tradition has it that during Passover, a wandering Jew must be welcomed to any table she appears at.  In my own exodus to new lands and new apartments that turned into old homes, I visited many tables with gratitude and hope I'd once again experience that utter joy I had at Dana and George's.

But recent years got busier and busier and soon it was just another night neither the Mariner or I could leave work early or a rare weekend we could stay home and write.

Why was this year different than all other years?

No work interrupted the day.  We had a little bit more time.  A Rabbi friend said she could come with us and bring a whole bunch of Haggadahs.  And Trader Joe's had decent kosher wine.

Because Dana could not wander to all the welcomes of a Sedar table, we all brought the Sedar to her.  and lo' and behold.... old joy revisited.


Related Posts:

Sunday Memories: The Boy Next Door

A Visit to Dana

Leaving Egypt on Maundy Thursday