Festive stress does not pass over our home
ANYTHING THAT requires having to make extra preparations and remember things is never good. So Pesach certainly heightens stress levels in our household, even if I don’t have to leaven bread for a week. If there’s one thing that brings me out in a cold sweat, it’s leavening stuff. I tried to leaven a pair of trousers once, but that’s another story.
Pesach is one of the most commonly observed Jewish holidays. Surveys suggest that far more Jews routinely hold or attend a Seder than belong to a synagogue. I’d give you precise figures but I’m busily doing my own calculations on the logistics of opening a matzah factory.
The primary observances of the festival are related to the Exodus from Egypt after generations of slavery. But enough about my first marriage. Pesach begins on the 15th day of the month of Nisan, and if my 10-year-old daughter is reading this, no, the name has nothing to do with daddy’s car.
It is said that without wine, the Seder is incomplete — so for my wife, then, it’s probably fair to say it is Pesach all year round.
And in the removal of all bread and bread particles from the house, it is fortunate that we have a dog who loves nothing more than to tuck into a bowl of Kingsmill. For him, crumbs are a delicacy, a special treat. He will literally sit up and beg for a morsel of Hovis. For a small loaf he will breakdance and bark the Ma Nishtanah backwards.
To guarantee that our home is a yeast-free zone, we employ a cleaning company to come in on the eve of the festival. They’re like Rentokil, only instead of getting rid of bugs, they eradicate bread. They’ve even got their own jingle: “Who you gonna call? Yeastbusters!”
This year, we’re going to my wife’s relations for second night Seder. I’ve already been read the riot act about my behaviour and general comportment. I’m a terrible slouch (also a terrible grouch, but there are no biblical tenets to control that) so I’ve been instructed not to lean —to the left or otherwise — until I’ve been given the green light. I’ve been told to take it
‘Who you gonna call? Yeastbusters!’
easy with the Passover wine, it’s deceptively lethal. In fact, the last time I got hold of a bottle of Kedem I started regaling the assembled with verses from the Koran. I’m not allowed to get all worked up about the afikoman — it’s for kids; let it go. And I can’t go mad with the matzah. Just because it’s thin and crispy doesn’t mean that polishing off three boxes won’t take a toll.
I’ve also been told what to expect from her family. I’ve been warned that there will be a lot of singing from her uncle — apparently, he sings everything on the night, starting with the guests’ arrival. “Do come in, tra la la, take your coat? Dum-dee-dee.” That sort of palaver. And nothing will stop him, up to and including the outbreak of war.
Finally, I have been given specific orders regarding what to wear. It is a Jewish custom to wear white while observing Seder. White is said to be the colour of joy and happiness and is often worn at pilgrimages and weddings.
My wife has alerted me not to take this literally. Because it had been my intention to dress head to toe in said tone for that full joyous effect, even down to the socks and shoes.
She said it would make me look like Marty Hopkirk, the ghost from that old private detective TV series, Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased). Is she kidding? I’ve always wanted to look like Marty Hopkirk! Pass me those white boxers, dear.