It is once again a Saturday morning. I am sitting on the couch in my PJs with a purring cat by my side. My boyfriend is up cleaning up the kitty’s mess. And I am not peaceful. I am counting down the mere hours at this point until Passover is over. I have a meal earmarked for the breaking of the proverbial fast, and that should make me happy. A delicious slice of tiramisu from my favorite amazing local Hungarian bakery. With that in my future I should be peaceful. But instead I am hungry. It had not ever dawned on me before how much forbidden stuff we have in the house. There was no chametz disposal because he doesn’t keep Passover and I thought I could keep my cool with it around!
But seriously I don’t know how I made it this far. All of our soups are noodle. We use frozen veggies and we were close to being out. All of our breakfast is bready, be it waffles or English muffins or toast! I had been subsisting on yogurt and macaroons for the week. We never have more than twenty minutes to make breakfast during the week so more is not option. As far as dinner goes, K is the chef in our family, I am a somewhat willing helper but cooking is not my thing. And yeah if he is not around like last night, I can’t make anything in the house – i.e. no soups, no microwaving anything, no snacks. I had some pickles, yogurt (yeah….) and kosher for passover coconut cake that was not very good. And I am sick to death of matzah. So I sit here not in peace feeling great pain for myself and how similar my experience is to my ancestors. After all they suffered in the desert too.
Thus spoken the first world problem. In all seriousness, I understand the depravation. It underlines a connection to ancestral memory, to a shared experience, to the core of my identity. And the return to the world of plenty will be ever sweeter because I chose myself to be without for eight days. Even if I can no longer bear the sight of matzah.
From the fingertips of Eugenia S