Mom kept asking when Passover was so I took that as gentle hint (as is her wont) that she was missing Passover so a seder we would make. Now, when I was growing up, Dad always did the seder (meaning he read the Haggadah - the Passover book, to you gentiles in the audience). Dear Joe, well, had his own style which obviously stuck as he was sitting right at that table with us.
Let me set the stage:
Our 'congregation' was Bobbi, John, Gert and me (and 5 dogs and 1 cat).
The Passover plate was filled with 1 egg, horseradish, basil (our 'bitter herb' as I didn't have any parsley), 1 chicken bone (no lamb shank either) and various other substitutions which might be too embarrassing to dwell upon.
So, we sit down to the table and I start in on reading the Haggadah...
I think I might have made it to page 6 and the paragraph that starts in on 'Rabbi Ebenezer' (or whichever that rabbi is), and, honest, I could hear Dad saying...
'And....we'll skip....'
So, off Joe would tool to, oh, maybe page 12 or so but he would never tell anyone where he was so we would all furiously thumb through the book until Steph (the little suckup) would usually whisper 'He's on page 12, 3rd paragraph). We'd all head there, only to find that dear Joe had skipped somewhere else. Ah, the good old days.
So, it wasn't without surprise that the congregation couldn't follow me. We had our own version of 'seder-lite' but a fabulous time was had by all. And, egg soup and Manischewitz wine are fabulous once a year....
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