Does Anything Quimper to This Small World Passover Story?

For nearly as long as I can remember, my Aunt Claire has been collecting Quimper French pottery (pronounced CamPear). It’s mostly yellow or white, round or octagonally shaped, and often includes a man or a woman standing in profile, surrounded by a border of dainty, yet measured flourishes of blue, green, or red paint. In addition to plates, bowls, and cups and saucers, my aunt has collected, in the course of nearly 50 years, gravy boats, serving platters, wall hangings, pitchers, vases, and more. Some out-of-the ordinary pieces are painted in shades of green, but still are adorned with the distinctive French country figures. A man on one plate, a woman on another.

When she redecorated her kitchen, sometime in the 1980s, I’m guessing, she made Quimper the centerpiece of the room, choosing wallpaper, fabric for the window curtain, and plain blue everyday dishes—all to complement the yellow pottery. She and I trekked to the Pierre Deux store in New York City to find exactly the right wallpaper and fabric pattern.

Fast forward to this past Thursday evening.

As I scrolled through Facebook, admiring all the seder tables, adorned with laptops to bring friends and family into our quarantined celebrations, this photo caught my eye:

Commenting on the photo, I said, “Chag sameach! And a weird question: Do your yellow dinner plates have figures of men and women on them? Are they Quimper?”

In his reply, the poster of the photo, one-half of a couple I know through a mutual friend (and, more recently, through my synagogue) wrote: “Yes, and I don’t know!”

Me: “What does it say on the back of the plate? My aunt has been a longtime collector of antique pieces of this French pottery, which is pronounced ‘CamPear,’ and she has an incredible collection of it. It seems her collector's eye has rubbed off on me!

Adam: “I looked on the back of the plate and it does say Quimper.”

He then sent me this photo via a direct message and our conversation continued from there:

Me: As I suspected! I foresee a blog post coming from this conversation. Stay tuned....and chag sameach!

Adam: Ha ha! Ok. They belonged to Marla’s mom, Donna Newman, and after she passed away they came to Marla.

Me: Are they your Passover dishes or do you use them year-round?

Adam: We use them on special occasions year-round.

It’s now Saturday afternoon, and I’m crafting this post—not only because I love this story of an unexpected connection, but also so I can send it to my Aunt Claire in Florida. She’ll love it, too!

Never again will a Passover come or go that I don’t think of Adam and Marla and the Quimper dishes on their holiday table.

Wishing everyone a ziessen Pesach!

#BlogExodus: Praise

Because there are no rules for #BlogExodus and because I often need time to process and percolate my thoughts, I believe it’s okay to write this last entry now, on the second day of Passover. If so, I wish to offer praise:

To the people who welcomed me into their homes over the last two nights for seder, in one instance for the umpteenth time, in another for the first time. In both cases, all of us who gathered, benefitted from gracious and generous hospitality, engaging company, wonderful food, lots of laughter, and the opportunity to retell the story of the exodus from Egypt, sharing and celebrating Jewish tradition together.

For growing and ever-intersecting and connecting circles of friends.

For musicians – cantors and professional singers – whose sweet voices enriched the journey from the narrowness of Mitzrayim.

For Rabbi Jim Rudin for his reminder that this year, 15 Nisan marked the 75 ^thanniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, and also for pointing out the beautiful full moon as we headed back into the city, following the first seder.

For MetroNorth trains that run relatively on time.

For Elmo and for his knowing 13, so he could, as has become his own holiday tradition, help with Echad Mi Yodea.

For my friend, Pamela, and our new-ish holiday tradition that affirms our decisions to choose life and confirms that some of what makes Passover Passover has little to do with brisket, matzah, or Manischewitz.

For the blessing of memory that allows us to remember with love those who live in our hearts, even if they’re no longer physically with us around the table and for the power of that first bite of wet matzah spread with sweet, whipped butter to open floodgates to the past – and decades of Passover memories as sweet as the butter.

For Elijah and his enduring ability to keep hope alive – for whatever our hearts desire and for a more equitable and just world that is our responsibility to help build and create.

Chag sameach, friends!

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima , this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nisan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Friday, March 30, corresponding to the Hebrew date 15 Nisan 5778. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #ExodusGram prompts .

#BlogExodus: Rise

Does this Lego matzah get a rise out of you?

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nisan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Monday, April 10, corresponding to 15 Nisan. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #ExodusGram prompts. 

#BlogExodus: Exalt

In addition to a celebration of the Exodus from Egypt, Passover is roughly the halfway point between one High Holiday season and the next. This timing makes it a good place to check-in for a quick spiritual accounting. To paraphrase an expression from my father (who has one for every occasion!), Passover is a good time to be sure we're not "in love with the upright pronoun" and only exalt those things that truly deserve exalting.

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nisan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Monday, April 10, corresponding to 15 Nisan. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #ExodusGram prompts. 

#BlogExodus: Launch

Yikes! It's #BlogExodus again...already?! 

I suppose it's fitting that this year, 1 Nisan falls on the same day, March 28, that since 2010 has marked (and will ever more mark) for me the launch of the Pesach season. 

Here's how I described today's anniversary on Facebook:

Seven years ago today, I went out to the 'burbs to finish the cooking for "the Passover that wasn't." What happened during the seven weeks that followed fills me with memories bitter and sweet.

In response to an inquiry from Harriet, a friend whom I only met afterward, I wrote this: "My mom went into the hospital on the day of the first seder and into hospice on Shavuot." To which Harriet replied, "That must have been unbearable. Every year must be difficult. Some sorrows we never get over, we just learn to live with them."

It is true. I know I will not get over this sorrow, but I have learned to live with it...and to find the silver linings within it. 

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nisan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Monday, April 10, corresponding to 15 Nisan. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #ExodusGram prompts. 

#BlogExodus 14: In Praise of Sweet Passover Memories

In 2010, our family's Passover seder turned out to be the seder that wasn't. 

That morning in late March, instead of putting the finishing touches on all her seder preparations, my mom was admitted to the hospital for pain control of what we soon learned was metastatic breast cancer. She was moved to hospice on Shavuot, and died over Memorial Day weekend.  

Needless to say, Passover's been a bittersweet affair for us ever since.

Nonetheless, there were many, many years when it was a wonderful, much anticipated celebration full of family togetherness, delicious food, and afikomen hidings and findings, the retellings of which still can make us laugh!

Here are a few more of those sweet Passover memories:

1. In 1963, my parents took me to Aunt-Claire-and-Uncle-Jash's (it was always just one word) for  my first seder. Walter-the-Whale, ever after known as Walter-a-Whale, came home with us that night, and he's been with me ever since.
2. Many subsequent Passovers were spent there at 17 Brookshire Drive with the Maxwell House haggadah, most recently in 2011, our first without either The Mums or Uncle Jash.
3. Passover always meant a new spring outfit, often the same one as my sister. An apple-green jumper with a matching blouse patterned in pink buds and green leaves is the one I recall most vividly, probably dating back to about 1974.
4. Once we outgrew those matching outfits, there was always a bauble -- usually a necklace or a pair of earrings, but sometimes fun socks or lip gloss -- specially chosen by The Mums, and presented to each of us just before the candles were lit to usher in the holiday. Now, I wear a piece or two of her jewelry on special occasions, an extra reminder -- as though I need one -- of her constant presence.
5. Living on the west coast at the time, I didn't witness this event myself, but heard repeatedly about the time my mom went in the kitchen to tell the woman hired to help serve and clean up that it was time to ladle out the soup. "What soup?" she asked. When my mom said it was in the big pot on the stove, the woman had to explain that, thinking it was dirty dish water, she'd poured it down the drain. Yup, we still talk about the year everyone ate matzah balls as the first course

Passover's still a tough holiday for us -- and it probably always will be. But tonight, when we sit down yet again to retell the story of our Exodus from Egypt, may we all bring with us sweet memories of Passovers gone by, and may we make new ones to recall in the Passovers yet to be.

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nisan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Friday, April 22, corresponding to 15 Nisan. If you want to play along, check out this year's  #BlogExodus and #ExodusGram prompts. Once again, this series of posts also is priming my heart, mind, and spirit to participate in  Beyond Walls: Spiritual Writing at Kenyon, a six-day summer writing seminar that is an initiative of the Kenyon Institute at  Kenyon College in Gambier, OH.

#BlogExodus 1: Start

This morning during minyan, we added Hallel to our worship to mark the new month of Nisan and, according to "the Rabbis," the third of the four Jewish New Years. (Rosh HaShana, Tu B'shvat, and Elul, the beginning of the fiscal year, are the others.)

A new, fresh start?

Perhaps, but it doesn't feel that way to me.

The calendar may say spring, but the thermometer doesn't. It's 40-some degrees today in New York City, and a cold, damp rain is falling.

It is as though the winter rut goes on and on, and I am a cog in the work-a-day world. I go to work, I come home, I go to work, I come home. Every day is nearly the same as the one that came before and the one that will follow.

With few exceptions, I feel bereft of intellectual stimulation, creative banter, and the collegiality that fosters sharing, engagement, and collaboration. Concurrently and collectively, the daily annoyances of life - the stop-in-their-track texters, the dig-into-my-head headphones necessary for nearly every meeting, and, perhaps most of all, the cadre of incompetent nimrods that has mishandled nearly every one of my health insurance claims since January - are just about enough to push me over the edge.

It's a good thing today's "Brother, Give Us A Word" from the Society of Saint John the Evangelist is "blessing," about which Br. Jim Woodrum writes this: "What you're searching for, you already know. God has blessed us with this amazing life, with eyes to see, ears to hear, a mind to discern, and a heart with which to perceive the living presence of God in our midst."

That ought to be enough to start to turn my thinking around….

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nisan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Friday, April 22, corresponding to 15 Nisan. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #ExodusGram prompts. Once again, this series of posts also is priming my heart, mind, and spirit to participate in Beyond Walls: Spiritual Writing at Kenyon, a six-day summer writing seminar that is an initiative of the Kenyon Institute at Kenyon College in Gambier, OH.

ICYMI: I'm Blogging at ReformJudaism.org Today

In case you're not a regular reader of the blog on ReformJudaism.org, you may have missed my most recent post.

#BlogExodus: Bitter

I just finished reading Jennifer Weiner’s article in today's paper about seders past and present, and how she’s the one in her family now in charge of the annual event.

In 2010, at 77, my mom was still the one in charge of our seders.  She’d been having some health issues so I went out to New Jersey the day before, Sunday, March 28, to help finish the preparations.  When I arrived, the table was already set, the soup and the matzah balls were made, and the brisket was in the crockpot.  I assembled some relish trays, chopped apples for charoset, and followed a recipe she’d clipped from the newspaper for a tri-colored gefilte fish loaf.  Before long, that, too, was covered with Saran and squished in the overflowing fridge, in the kitchen that smelled – as it did every year at this season – like Pesach.

The Presence and the Loss

A friend, after reading my annual pre-Pesach letter to my mother, had this to say:

Poignant piece.  The ache never fully goes away.  Yizkor on Pesach was a wise decision of our rabbinic forebears.  We feel the presence...and the loss...of our dear ones most keenly on this festival.

Indeed, I felt the presence and the loss intensely today...

This morning, having made it uptown with time for a leisurely walk from the bus stop to the synagogue, I took this photo along the way:

The morning came full circle when, during the Yizkor portion of the service, the rabbi read "We Remember Them," the well known poem by Sylvan Kamens and Rabbi Jack Riemer:

At the rising of the sun and at its going down, we remember them.
At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, we remember them.
At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring, we remember them.
At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer, we remember them.
At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we remember them.
At the beginning of the year and when it ends, we remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as we remember them. 

When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart, we remember them.
When we have joy we crave to share, we remember them.
When we have decisions that are difficult to make, we remember them.
When we have achievements that are based on theirs, we remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live, for they are now a part of us as we remember them. 

Today, a day truly marked by the opening of the buds and the rebirth of spring, did I feel intensely the presence and the loss of so many, but none more keenly than my mom's.  Indeed, it is her presence and her loss that live in me, each and every day, from one spring to the next, from season to season for all time.

#BlogExodus: Be

We Jews are a kvetchy people.

Tonight, when we gather 'round our seder tables, before the first glass of wine is spilled and before the Four Questions are asked and before the Hillel sandwiches are eaten, let us just be.

Let us be thankful for the friends and family who surround us, whether across the table or across the globe, and for the sweet memories of those whose chairs are now filled by others, but who live always in our hearts.

Let us not worry about whether the matzah balls are sinkers or floaters, but let us be grateful for the abundance of nourishing food we have to sustain our bodies each day.

Let  us not grumble about the wooden folding chair beneath our tushies (or begrudge those who are sitting in padded chairs).  Let us glance appreciatively instead at the ceiling above our heads, recognizing its value not only on this warm spring night, but especially on each of the many frigid nights that preceded it.

Let us put aside the first-world Egypts that challenge us from day-to-day, vowing instead to be...just to be...and to revel in our families, our friends, our freedoms, and the many other blessings that are ours.

Chag Pesach sameach!


Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nissan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Monday, 14 Nissan. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #Exodusgram prompts.

#BlogExodus: Passover Haiku

Photo:  D's Soul Full Cafe

Retell the story
Pharaoh chases; Jews depart
No bagels this week

#BlogExodus: Ask

This afternoon, a letter crossed my desk in which a parent indicated that a son had been "barmitzvah'd."

As is my way, I quipped about it on Facebook, to which a non-Jewish friend responded, "Wait, is there something wrong with that?"

Her question prompted me to respond with this bar mitzvah primer:

Bar mitzvah is Hebrew for "son of the commandment." (Bat mitzvah is the Hebrew for girls -- "daughter of the commandment"). A young person becomes bar mitzvah or bat mitzvah upon reaching the age of 13, at which time he or she is considered to be an adult within the Jewish community. Although many young people mark the occasion in synagogue by reading from the Torah and Haftarah for the first time, in reality, no action is required to become a bar mitzvah or a bat mitzvah. Despite its (mis)usage in the letter received in my office today, "bar mitzvah" is not a verb.  I'm sure if any of my explanation isn't correct, my clergy friends will chime in.

Although they didn't chime in to correct anything I'd written, they did add to the conversation:

"It's not a verb," said one. 

"Many of my colleagues and I have been fighting the 'bar  mitzvah'd' battle for years.  Clearly we are losing," said another. 

A third offered this mnemonic device: "At the initial meeting of my b'nei mitzvah, I teach the word BMINAV (bar/bat mitzvah is not a verb).  They seem to remember that, at least for a little while. :)"

To which my friend had this to say:

"Ahhhhh.  I thought it was the name of the party.  See this is the problem with this town.  Not enough Jews to help me with this stuff."

Her comment sent the conversation in an entirely new direction, when I responded with this:

The party has nothing to do with anything.  Ask my dad about his bar mitzvah and he'll tell you that he and his father went to shul (synagogue), he did his thing, they ate some honey cake, and that was the end of it. (Apparently, there was a luncheon afterward, but it was during the war -- 1945 -- and so the celebration was much different than the over-the-top, tasteless extravaganzas that reign supreme today.)

Kudos to another rabbi friend who provided this terrific summary of the discussion:

"More BAR than MITZVAH." --

And kudos, too, to my friend who initially launched the conversation by asking a question, simply because she wanted to know more.  May we always have the freedom -- and the desire -- to ask questions, to explore, to learn, and to grow.


Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nissan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Monday, 14 Nissan. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #Exodusgram prompts.

#BlogExodus: Learn

Like others, I try to learn something new everyday. Today, I learned about the hydraulic rescue tool known as the "Jaws of Life."

Thanks to my colleague, Jake, I now know that the "Jaws of Life" is the brand name for a piece of rescue equipment manufactured by Hurst.  According to the company's website, "Hurst Jaws of Life® rescue systems have been instrumental in saving hundreds of thousands of lives" in the more than 40 years since the equipment first was patented.  Like Kleenex, Xerox, Band-Aid, and Dumpster, among others, the brand name "Jaws of Life" has become synonymous with the object itself.

As we prepare to retell the story of our exodus from Egypt, may we never again find ourselves so inexorably trapped--in a car, in a job, in a relationship, in a place that we just do not want to be--that it takes the "Jaws of Life" to extricate us from our personal slavery.


Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nissan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Monday, 14 Nissan. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #Exodusgram prompts.

#BlogExodus: Prepare?

Dear The Mums,

Once again, the Jewish world is preparing for Passover -- boiling up chicken soup with matzah balls, buying brisket like it's going out of style, and sweeping nearly year-old chametz crumbs from toaster ovens, countertops, cars, and couch cushions.

For the fourth time, we're doing it without you.  But, truth be told, we're not really doing it.  With Aunt Claire in Detroit, Amy, Daddy, Ian, and I (and perhaps a friend or two of Amy's) will be at Amy's for the first night.  She and Ian will be leaving for DisneyWorld the next day -- it'll be Ian's spring break -- so it's certainly not going to be a full-blown seder.  In fact, I don't think that Daddy will even bring the yellow haggadot that I compiled about eight or nine years ago.  Of course, we'll all be together for dinner, but, as I'm sure you've surmised, we haven't had a full-blown seder since the last one you and Daddy hosted at 12 Webster Road.  Passover was always "your holiday," and the preparations are so very different now.  I think it's what's called the "new normal," but no matter how many times we do it, it will never feel normal to me.  I suppose that's no surprise given that we did all the preparation in 2010, but then didn't celebrate at all.  Sometimes at this time of year, it feels to me as though I am trapped in the Egypt of that particular Pesach season.

Thankfully, as I've been doing for years (but not in 2010), I will once again celebrate the whole megillah on the second night.  From dipping parsley into salt water to washing my hands twice, and from building and eating a Hillel sandwich to dodging bugs and lice and hail and boils as they're bandied about, and finally singing corny songs after the door's been opened for Elijah, rest assured that I'll be among friends who feel like family, observing the second night of Pesach as I have been since moving to New York.

Without much need to prepare for the seder, I am, as has become my minhag, writing to update you on what else has been going on in my life...

On many weekends during the past few months, I have been occupied -- after minyan -- with researching, writing, and editing a large freelance project I was able to secure back in the fall.  The bulk of the work is finished now, although there will be some photo captions to write and some proofing to do a little later in the spring.

About a month ago, Daddy and I went to Baltimore for Mrs. Steinberg's unveiling.  As with you, it was totally surreal to once again stand in the cemetery, trying to wrap our heads around what is supposedly the "new normal."  If you ask me, it just feels empty and sad and different.  In fact, it's anything but normal.

In some happier news, two weekends ago, I was the keynote speaker at a Sisterhood Shabbaton at Congregation Beth Or in Maple Glen, PA, the theme of which was women's health and healing.  I spoke -- as I have several times in the last year or two -- about BRCA mutations and the path I've traveled since finding out that ours is an affected family.  The congregation's not too far from Terry, so we were able to make a weekend of it, which was especially nice because Matthew was home for spring break.  Hard to believe that he's nearly finished with his freshman year.  As an added bonus, Terry was able to hear me speak, and I was glad to have her there.

I've spent a good bit of this weekend getting my new computer (a MacBook Air) up and running.  It's a totally different process than it was seven years ago when I went from a desktop to a wireless laptop, but it seems that it still takes more time than anyone anticipates.   On the positive side, everything runs more smoothly on a Mac, and as I understand things, there's virtually no need for virus protection software because there are no viruses on Mac computers.

There's lots more to tell you about, but it's late and I'm tired.  Suffice it to say that no matter how much we might pretend to prepare for Passover, the holiday's just not the same anymore.  Besides the seder and all the prep, I miss your matzah farfel stuffing, the first morning of the chag at 12 Webster Road, where having finished with the major clean-up the night before, all that remained was to return the wine goblets and the gold flatware to their rightful cabinets and drawers before sitting down to a leisurely cup of coffee, creamy with milk, a tad bit of sugar (used at no other time of year) and soaking bits of matzah farfel -- the quintessential Pesach breakfast...and one of the things I miss most.

xoxo,
~ Boo!

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nissan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Monday, 14 Nissan. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #Exodusgram prompts.

#BlogExodus: Tell

Although I'd like to tell you more, the one thing I can tell you for sure is that I'm too old to stay up until 1:30 a.m. -- even if it's to watch a live-stream of 70-some rabbis having their heads shaved to raise awareness about and funding for pediatric cancer research.

Suffice it to say that for now, the next time I hear this:



I'll be waiting for the waters to part, paving the way for me to escape my Egypts, and giving me lots of opportunities to open new and different doors and windows in all facets of my life.

I look forward to telling you all about them after the fact, but for now, it's off to sleep for me.

Lailah tov, friends.

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nissan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Monday, 14 Nissan. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #Exodusgram prompts.

#BlogExodus: Believe

A walk in the concrete jungle today at lunchtime made me believe that spring actually may be just around the corner.
















May my mind and heart always be free enough to see the color and beauty in my midst.

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Jewish month of Nissan leading up to Passover, which begins at sundown on Monday, 14 Nissan. If you want to play along, check out this year's #BlogExodus and #Exodusgram prompts.

#BlogExodus: It is What You Make of It

If Ima on (and off) the Bima posted this image and story on her blog today, can Pesach be far behind?

I'm in!  Watch this space for my first #blogExodus post of 5774 which, with any luck, will appear next Tuesday.

But, as the Ima says, "There aren't any rules.... It is what you make of it."

Hmmm...sounds a lot like life.

#BlogExodus: Changing

It's relatively easy to change this:

Into this:

It's much harder to change attitudes, jobs and long-time ways of doing things, especially if that change takes us out of our comfort zone.

It was that way for the Israelites--and it's still that way for us.

For even as they fled slavery in Egypt and wandered in the desert for 40 years (kvetching all the while), they were becoming a people--a strong people that endures today.

It's a good lesson to keep in mind:  change is hard, and often makes us uncomfortable.  At the same time, it can make us stronger, better people.

So, even if we want to kvetch about it, this is a good season to step gently out of our comfort zone into a new attitude, a new job or a new way of doing things.

Who knows...making a change could land you (or me) smack in the middle of our own personal Promised Land!

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Hebrew month of Nisan leading up to Passover 5773.

#BlogExodus: Redeeming

Dear The Mums,

In just a few days, it'll be the season of our redemption and so it's time for my springtime note to bring you up to speed.  I know you probably already know a lot of what I'm about to tell you, but just in case you don't, I'll do my best to fill you in.  As an aside, although the calendar says it's spring, the meteorologists are saying otherwise.  In fact, it's supposed to snow on Monday, making a further mess of what will already be messy "Yid-lock" as people try to make it to their seders on time.  Do you think you can do something about that?!

But I digress....here's the update:

At the end of February, Aunt Claire moved out to an Erickson community in Novi, MI, so she can be close to Marc, Susan and the kids, who moved to Perrysburg, OH, during the fall so Marc could take a new job. Daddy and I are planning to go out there in November for Carolyn's bat mitzvah, but that still makes this the first Passover in a long, long time that doesn't include Aunt Claire at our seder table.

And, in fact, we're not actually having a seder.  You know that Passover has never been Daddy's or Amy's thing and with Ian in Florida at a spring break baseball camp with John, our "seder" on Monday night will look more like a family dinner at Amy's house.  She invited her friend Christine, and Aunt Bea and Barbara also might come--if Blossom and Ed don't go to Aunt Bea's.  Even though it's not going to be a full-blown seder, Amy asked me to bring charoset, so I'll spend part of tomorrow chopping apples and nuts, and putting it all together. I hope she'll do yellow tulips on the table, but I'll probably bring a bunch with me, just to be sure.

Tuesday night, however, I'll be at a full-blown seder, as I always am on the second night of Passover.  This year especially, I am grateful for the opportunity to perform all the rituals--dinner in the RA Haggadah doesn't happen until somewhere around page 88, I think--and for the friends and laughter that will abound that night.  

I'm not quite sure how things work where you are, but I do hope that you've run into Mrs. Steinberg and that the two of you have been busy catching up with each other and shmying around in Pier 1, HomeGoods and at flea markets.  Please keep your eye out, too, for a young woman whom I think you'll really like.  Although Elissa Froman and I never met in person, we had a few email exchanges and a number of mutual friends, which actually wasn't hard since it seems that so many people were friends with Elissa.  She was a RAC LA before going to work for the National Council of Jewish Women, where she was a deeply dedicated advocate for social and economic justice, managing a portfolio that included civil rights, religion/state separation, international issues and judicial nominations. She had plans to go to rabbinical school and had been accepted at HUC, but after years of fighting Hodgkin's lymphoma, she died yesterday at 29.  Today Facebook is overflowing with countless pictures of Elissa with her friends, as well as loving sentiments written by those same broken-hearted people.  I've included a picture of her here so you'll know her if you see her. My hunch is that you and she will hit it off. 

There's lots more to tell, but it's late and so the rest will have to wait for another letter.  In the meantime though, although Passover will never be an easy holiday for any of us, I hope you know that these notes to you help, in some small way, to redeem my heart from the grip of sadness that comes from missing you.

Chag Pesach sameach, The Mums...xoxo,

~ Boo!

Inspired by Ima on (and off) the Bima, this post is one in a series marking the days of the Hebrew month of Nisan leading up to Passover 5773.