My lovely San Diegans,
Biblically, Jewish holiday prayers, customs and traditions stay the same, but as we reach a certain age, they may accumulate a little more “character.” We change. To us, getting on, they seem to hold new significance (“this could be my last”— we mention in a Yiddish stage whisper) as we admire our progeny and theirs (the ones that actually turn up).
Today, I thought we’d have a little ironic fun and, like Christmas, look at Pesach past, present and future.
PESACH PAST
The entire mishpochah was in attendance who lived within 50 miles. A few even flew in from Boca, with Uncle Myron, as usual, wondering aloud, punctuating the words during the dipping of the wine. “What, the weather is so much better here than Boca? We needed to shlep?” But every Pesach, Tante Tillie takes pride in her role as Pesach matriarch which we all better attend or “you-know-what.” We first exchange happy family news, then, Great Tante Ruchel rolls her eyes as she’s sitting next to nephew Avram. All mention is avoided of secular Avram’s ribboned earlocks. (Hey, it was the fifties.) Cousin Myra delights in telling us she cut handiwipes into glasses to keep her eyeballs warm, thereby preventing arthritis. Young Marvin, 10, cracks up under his chair to the sounds of “shhh.” My mother solemnly suggests she doesn’t tell anybody else lest they steal her idea. At this, Marvin falls apart. The rest bite their tongue and the conversation continues. Health, good and could-not-be-good, are upfront. Ah, but all applaud after Duvid asks the four questions with gusto and passion. Uncle Giddy, who suffers from pathological cheapery, negotiates the children down from 50 cents for the afikomen to 25.
Many mazel tovs and congrats are exchanged as they leave while Uncle Joe takes the leftovers — everyone’s, and the wine. They’re all gone now — except for me and my son. Yeah, I get it. You get it. But I also remember the intimacy, the noise, and even the majesty of these rip-roaring...life-thumping... chaotic... convoluted... intimate... Jews who made up pieces of a 5,000-year-old crazy quilt and belonged to something called “my family.” Now, I can only tell anecdotes about them.
PESACH PRESENT
We view with pride our progeny and theirs (the ones that show up in person) as we tell the ancient story, with a few mishpochah joining with Zoom. It takes a while, as Uncle Haim is still learning to work it from Rosh Hashanah a year ago. Six-year-old Mala is instructing him by phone, which makes it longer. Finally, we may be telling the Biblical story to new relations like our son-in-law, a sort of Baptist from Arkansas, the one married to our brilliant daughter we sent to the best day school so she’d get into Yale. In fact, the assorted few may have married converts or those considering. They are doing fairly well, although their tsimmis could maybe use some practice.
Then there’s our granddaughter at Harvard who is still deciding between Zen Buddhism, Hindu Advaita Vedanta, Jews for Jesus, Eastern Orthodox Christianity, Hesychasm, Modern Jewish Orthodoxy, and atheism. She is teaching these to her three little brothers so they’ll have “options,” while they’re home-schooling them and debating the relevance of the bar mitzvah.
Our son-in-law is eager to show he’s open to anything: “Y’all, as my mama says, I’m just fixin’ to get me a huge side of HAIR-o-sit.” Good job, Garth, says our encouraging daughter, his wife. The few of us actually not in virtual something who aren’t terrified of catching Covid by the sharing of the tsimmis, are now two. The others are wearing masks, making the drinking of the wine a feat only David Copperfield can conjure.
During the plagues, our grand-daughter, Sofia Ashley, the Zoomer, however, has hid her Samsung Galaxy near her hip under the table, managing to eat while fast-flinging her fingers over Chawzi. When Aunt Becky catches her, she replies emotionlessly, “You are so boomer. Vibe with the times.” Oh yes, and The Haggadah has been markedly shortened to the “good parts” (plagues) before everyone has to leave or their zoom ends, disappearing into the ether.
Our new cousin Jengo, Shayna’s second husband, says this calls for a toast as all use their phones to capture these magic moments. “May your matzah always break even, your maror always bring tears, and your bitcoins always yield high returns.”
PESACH FUTURE
It is the year 2095, a cutting-edge AI named Haggdex 10,000 has been asked by The Trillionaire Jewish Circle to rewrite the Haggadah, but make it entertaining for the young people and AIs. Equipped with a digital smirk and an impeccable sense of humor, Haggadex transformed the ancient tradition into an amusing event which is data-driven.
As I’m not a psychic, especially these days never mind 20 years from now, here are a few examples from my mulching imagination:
1. The plagues will shorten as each will bombard the senses to profoundly magnify their horror.
2. To represent the bitter taste of famine, we’ll drink a specially-engineered sip of harsh liquid nutrition, a worm-based treat with undertones of gasoline and the now extinct odor of skunk spew.
3. A genetically-engineered plague shows mutated DNA wreaking havoc with both biological and machine properties. For example, a political AI that is forced to tell the truth despite what the VIP has told the universe, that the human form fails to have reproductive organs and goes through unpredictable periods of cell-death.
4. Extinctions. Holograms of extinct creatures evanescing before participants’ eyes every 30 seconds, then reappearing and streaming. These creatures include, among others, mama, papa, bubbe and Taylor Swift.
5. The final calamity. 2095 Stops: All power resources existing, being researched or developed — hydrogen, nuclear fusion, ocean thermal energy conversion, and tidal and wave energy — fail to work for a full minute.
The event closes with the AI Universal Overlord, using common language to establish a long-dismantled connection with all things, sighs and says: “It’s always something!” (Thanks, Gilda.)
