Archive 04/09/09 - (3)

   

Celebrating the Authentic Ancient Tradition

                                                                  

 

This dreary, rain-smeared ninth day of April,

Passover's second night of festal reckoning,

I celebrate at a quiet restaurant, in a secluded booth,

Paying respects to the manumission of my Jewish ancestors

From the bondage of an onerous Biblical Pharaoh.

 

Single-handedly, over a few relaxed, inspired hours,

I'll raise the four requisite glasses of wine,

Prescribed in the Haggadah's list of rituals,

Meant to toast the tribulations and joys of the Exodus,

Attempt to empathize with my people's retreat from Egypt,

 

By encouraging my lips and tongue and taste buds

To savor the parsley dipped in salt water,

The bitter herbs, the sweet apple-and-nut haroseth,

The hard-boiled egg, paschal shank bone, matzo.

And I'll ask the four questions, sing "Had Gadyo,"

 

Open the imaginary door, for mystical Elijah,

Inviting him to finish off my fifth glass of Beaujolais-Villages,

Proclaim himself the auspicious occasion's messiah,

Disappear as mysteriously as he arrived.

And then, I'll begin my official observance, in earnest,

 

By withdrawing into my imagination,

Where I'll paint, in the blood of firstborn Egyptian males,

On every slaveholder's door, a grisly Hakenkreuz,

To show God (as though He needed a guide)

Which houses to destroy, which to leave, for Jews to occupy,

And I'll exact revenge — circumcising all uncut schlongs,

Hooking all normal schnozzes, kinking all straight coifs,

And all the rest of the retribution chazerei.

After all that, I'll order a second bottle of Louis Jadot

And get blitzed, in the authentic Jewish tradition of Passover.

 

 

                                          

 

 

 

 

 

                

04/09/09 - (3)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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