A LA RECHERCHE DU PESACH PERDU

For those of us who lived in towns so out of the way that we had to go to public school, chol hamoed Pesach meant all sorts of creative measures in school.  Instead of the usual brown bag, Passover meant a whole shopping bag with a handle in order to accommodate everything.

First of all, there was not much to eat in general on Passover.  Our bubby was usually with us for Passover, and she had all the old world secrets of Passover cooking.  Bubby made Passover rolls out of matzah meal.  They were hollow and hard, but they could be filled with jelly or egg or something.

So, what did we eat on Passover?  Breakfast meant matzah farfel in a bowl with milk and sugar.  Lunch at home was eggs, potatoes and onions.  The next day it would be potatoes, eggs, and onions.  The next day it was onions, eggs and potatoes.  Oh, of course, there was matzah brei and matzah latkes or potato latkes.  Mostly, though, we stank from onions and garlic for the whole week.  Then again, we stank from onions and garlic most of the rest of the time, too!

Lunch in school, however, was another matter.  First of all, one little brown bag could never hold all the food you needed to schlep to school on Passover.  For starters, you needed a small shopping bag.  Actually most of us went to school with a supermarket bag filled with containers full of Passover food.

First you took about a dozen napkins and covered your cafeteria tray.  We weren’t allowed to eat on any surface other than the tray, and the trays were not, obviously, kosher for Passover, so we had to totally paper them so that our food would not be “contaminated” by errant, non kosher for Passover detritus.

After the tray was covered, out came the little scrunched up packet of aluminum foil.  Inside was a bit of salt.  Why salt?  Simple! The salt was for the hard-boiled egg(s) we had.  To this day, I don’t know why we couldn’t salt the egg at home.  Then came the container with the piece(s) of gefilte fish.  Then came either the Passover rolls or pieces of matzah with butter and jelly.  Lots of pieces of matzah.

Talk to any Jew and s/he will tell you how much s/he hates matzah.  Talk to a Gentile at Passover and they will tell you how much they can’t wait to taste some matzah.  Apparently there is a rule in the Gentile community:  Thou shalt not buy any matzah of thine own.  Thou shalt, however, mooch as much as you can off of unsuspecting Jews who eat lunch near you.  While eating it, thou shalt moan and make other sounds of gustatory delight.

After the mistake of not bringing enough matzah to school the first day, you knew to bring a small truckload of matzah the second day.  All around you people are shrieking, “Oh matzah, matzah.  Can I have some?”  (Yes, I know the grammar is wrong here, but I am only reporting it as it was.)

I used to derive such joy.  I was a modern day Joseph feeding the starving masses!

The best part was when someone would ask what the gefilte fish was.  There is no way to explain gefilte fish. Either you know or you don’t.  Invariably, someone would say, “filter fish?”   As I said, either you know or you don’t.

A friend of mine says that were it not for plastic slipcovers, the Jews would still live in caves in the wilderness.  He is wrong, however.  The real story is that were there no plastic plates and cutlery, there would be no Passover. Even back then, we had all manner of paper plates and plastic forks and spoons to shlep with our Passover lunch.

Put it this way:  Bringing lunch on Passover was the equivalent of hoisting a fifty pound backpack and hiking the Appalachian trail.   Nope, Passover was not for the faint of heart nor the weak of shoulder.

But we loved it anyway.