FAQ About How to Make This Your Best Seder Yet, So Long As No One Brings Up Israel
Q: If you had one piece of advice for making a great Seder, what would it be?
A: Dude, it’s in the title. Don’t bring up Israel.
Q: How long should the Seder be?
A: Ideally, it should consist of a 30 second summary of the Passover story before moving on to food. In actuality, it’ll be about 19 hours of story during which your father will expound at length about how medieval rabbis disagree about the various numerological implications of the number of plagues. You’ll also do dayenu nine times using nine different tunes even though no one knows any of the words after the first verse.
Q: Should I eat the kosher-for-Passover cake?
A: Would you enjoy eating a pile of sand seasoned with human tears? If so, have at it.
Q: How much charoset is too much?
A: There is no such thing as too much charoset.
Q: How would you explain Manischewitz wine to a gentile at your Seder?
A: Pixie-stick-flavored Jewish moonshine.
Q: Can I eat peanut butter during Passover?
A: No one knows. But two points here. 1) You don’t keep Passover, so hard to see why it matters. And 2) if you’re a Sephardic Jew, you get to do whatever the fuck you want.
Q: Really? Can you, like, convert to being a Sephardic Jew?
A: Probably not? The irony being that Sephardic Jews aren’t bound by any rules, so if you were Sephardic, you could convert, but then you wouldn’t need to. Interesting paradox. Hang on, I should write this down.
Q: None of this seems to be accurate. Did you not go to Hebrew school or something?
A: Actually, I attended an outrageously expensive Hebrew day school for 12 years. Took Talmud classes and everything.
Q: Christ.
A: Yeah, him I know about.
Q: Seriously though, how do I bring up Israel in a way that sparks a thoughtful conversation in which we exchange competing ideas in a respectful, productive manner?
A: That is literally impossible. Don’t bring it up.
Q: What if I feel a deep sense of moral urgency to talk about it?
A: There are many wonderful organizations you can give to. Political actions you can take. Talking to your dumbass family at a Seder is not going to be productive.
Q: What if this is the year I convince my most abrasive, intransigent relatives of the correctness of my beliefs?
A: Are you even listening to yourself right now?
Q: Can I bring up Anne Frank?
A: Why would you bring up Anne Frank?
Q: I dunno. I’m a depressed Jew, and Israel is off-limits.
A: Maybe don’t talk at all. Just grit your teeth and suffer through it.
Q: If everyone dreads family Seders, why do we keep doing them?
A: The terms of all family engagements are very clear: 1) sit in traffic for many hours; 2) eat the culinary equivalent of packing peanuts, 3) leave exhausted and emotionally bludgeoned because someone brought up Israel; 4) vow to never do it again; 5) get guilted into doing it again.
Q: How are we supposed to avoid any mention of Israel when the central refrain of the Passover story – and, really, the whole point of the exodus from Egypt – is “Next year in Jerusalem?”
A: Good point. Maybe try changing the story. After all, good writing is good rewriting.
Q: So “Next year in Hoboken?”
A: Next Year in Hoboken!
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Dave’s previous work has appeared in McSweeney’s, Tablet, The Antigonish Review, and Punchnel’s, among others. His novel was recently short-listed for The Exeter Novel Prize. He lives in Arlington, MA with his wife and two daughters, both of whom are young enough to believe him when he tells them that, in his spare time, he’s the lead singer of Counting Crows. (He is not the lead singer of Counting Crows. Yet.) website & twitter
