It is passover! I know, I know, it is Easter too. For some reason these two are inextricably linked in the minds of many, but they have nothing really to do with each other so far as I know. Every religion has a spring ritual of some kind, just as they all have a winter ritual of some kind; all going back to the pagan, pantheistic days. Of course more “modern” explanations, I don’t know 1,000 years or so, grow up around these rituals. And they continue to evolve, holding their core meanings, into what we have today. If you haven’t done it, or don’t do it. It is hard to explain why you cook for two days and then sit down to a three hour ritual. But there is pleasure in it, especially now for me as I don’t know how much longer my son will be here for it. He pretends not to like it, but he looks forward to my dad’s chopped liver, the matzoh ball soup, the hard boiled eggs. He’s too cool to admit this now. But I caught him snagging that extra matzoh ball! For me, I set the table with real love, with my grandma’s things, with silver and china and flowers. Really the only time of the year I do it all. And I feel so connected to the people who have gone before. I still miss my grandma after a bunch of years. Our family is very small but we have people we love and that makes every holiday special. We have always had a varied group of people at our holidays and my son, I hope, has learned that you build a family in many ways. You build yourself a firm network of love and support and you live in it. This year we had his best friend who is from Gudrat [sp?], in India. It was very different for him, I’m sure. My son goes to lots of their ethnic celebrations. A little cross-pollination can’t hurt in this world. I hope he can do it for himself when he has his own home. Or maybe, he’ll just keep coming home?