Jewish Jihad!

I originally thought that boycotting my family's Passover dinner would lead to the Channel 7 alliteration treatment:

Next on 7 News: Passover Pandemonium! Matzo Mayhem!! Hebrew Havoc!!!

Instead, Jenn ended up more ticked than anyone else in the family (note to self: do not anger the one who provides the roof over your head. Also, do not taunt Happy Fun Ball).

A quick primer:

Passover, according to Judaism - The 8 day observance commemorating the freedom and exodus of the Israelites from Egypt during the reign of the Pharaoh Ramses II. Woo hoo! Follow me to freedom!

Passover, according to Jon - The bane of humanity's existence (well, except for the Jews being free. That part strikes me as a good thing). How bad? I'd rather be stuck behind a pickup in the left lane.

Passover and I have been at odds since my early years when I was told that if I were to observe, I'd have to give up bread (as well as cookies, cakes, pastas and any other products with yeast) for 8 crazy days and nights. Why? Because on the way out of Egypt, the newly freed Jews were in such a rush to get to the airport, they didn't wait for the bread in the oven to rise. So, unrisen, or unleavened bread - made solely of water and flour - was all they had to eat. Apparently, if it was good enough for them, it should be good enough for everyone else. Whatever. In place of bread, we have matzo, which tastes like toasted cardboard that needs more salt.

Back in my formative years, I gave matzo a shot, but was never able to last more than a few days before I caved and went back to Wonder Bread. At first, I felt bad about it, but then I had two epiphanies. First, just because the Israelites didn't want to stop at a Panera on the way home doesn't mean the rest of us should suffer for their impatience. Secondly, I found a loop hole - Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement. On Yom Kippur, Jews fast for 24 hours to atone for their sins. After that period of time, they are good to go for another year. Take that, matzo! I so should have been a lawyer.

Like divine intervention, it all became so clear: 8 days of matzo or 24 hours of fasting? Even W can understand that type of fuzzy math. As for me, I was home free...and continue to be as Yom Kippur is the one Jewish holiday of the year that I do observe. Well, except for that time two years ago when I was in Vegas and forgot, but seriously, what the hell was I supposed to do? Atone for my sins...in Sin City? That would be awkward.

Every year, my family celebrates the first night of Passover with a big dinner at my Aunt and Uncle's home a few towns away. For the purposes of this blog post, let's refer to them as Auntie Em and Uncle Tom (not necessarily their real names). For the most part, this get together is one of the most miserable days of my life. Consider:

• There are anywhere from 15-25 people cramped in a kitchen that is more suited for 10 dwarfs. Once you sit down, don't expect to get up for hours.
  
• In my family, the grand total of people who are even remotely interested in our religion is? One. You guessed it...Auntie Em, who insists that everyone in attendance take part in the ritual Seder reading, especially the 4 questions. Other than Auntie Em, no one else truly enjoys this, especially as it's another 30-45 minutes that we are wedged into our chairs at the table. Did I mention that this is done before we get to eat?
• Auntie Em is a wonderful person, but she might be the world's worst cook. I'm not sure if she simply doesn't care or somehow thinks that what she makes is actually, you know, edible. Either way, it's brutal. When what you make is consistently dry, overcooked and borderline tasteless, don't you think it's time to maybe stop winging it and perhaps open a recipe? If you're Auntie Em, apparently not.
  

Add all of this up and I've had it. A couple of months ago, Jenn and I were out to dinner with my Uncle Eliot and his wife Marta (different people; real names). After a couple of cocktails, Eliot and I had enough - we weren't going to Passover dinner because life is too short to spend a night being miserable. It was time to put our foot down; lay down the law; cowboy up...that kind of thing. We talked about heading to Federal Hill in Providence for a night of excessive amounts of Italian food and wine. Marta had a commitment that night and wasn't going to Passover dinner anyway, and Jenn was going to Passover - mostly because I told my mother and grandmother that she would be there. So, the plan was made. Passover dinner was out...liberation, pasta and wine was in.

Until Eliot bailed hours beforehand.

I had a feeling he would. Both my mother and grandmother laid on the guilt when I informed them of my decision. It's either my greatest strength or greatest weakness, but once my mind is made up, it is very rarely going to be changed. As for Eliot, he folded faster than France. My 82 year old grandmother - who ranks just behind Hitler, Kim Jong Il and the Iron Sheik in generating propaganda - had him quaking in his boots.

And so, Passover dinner came and went. Everyone from the family was there, with the exception of myself, who hightailed it to a friend's house to watch a Bruins playoff game....just as Jenn was getting home (it seemed like a good idea at the time).

While Jenn eventually forgave me, I haven't heard from anyone else in the family, meaning one of two things. Either they got over it quickly and realized that it wasn't a big deal. Or they hate me and I've been disowned (Stacey, tell your mom I could be in the market for a new family).

Regardless, I wouldn't expect to attend any future Passover dinners. Like the Israelites who left Egypt, I've tasted freedom, and it most certainly did not taste like overcooked turkey. It did, however, taste an awful lot like pepperoni pizza.

Besides, I've somehow compared my grandmother to Hitler. What else needs to be said?