This Passover, our local reform Temple seder was a whirlwind of kids, matzah, and potentially predictable drama. An elderly woman—probably with dementia— blew a gasket over our kids’ behavior.
Fortunately, I was spared from the reprimand, probably because she felt pity for me after overhearing I was begging to escape for 45 minutes before her temper tantrum. Also, I am a father, and am thus immune to any parental criticism from strangers.
Admittedly, our three young kids were being little agents of chaos. They were also being wonderful, telling the story of Passover, answering questions, and singing too.
They bounced off the walls, explored vacant classrooms, and the middle one allegedly tried to lick some unattended plates. I watched as the ancient woman at the next table stared daggers at us with every loud peal of laughter, and rocked back and forth like ‘The Joker’ trying to control herself.
I warned my wife, who told me I was using it as an excuse to try and leave (partly true). After all, “seen but not heard” is an old-fashioned notion, am I right? I resigned myself to defeat as I watched Cruella de Ville turn all sorts of vivid colors as the seder wore on.
We almost made it to dessert, when sadly an innocent game of golden doodle stuffed animal hot potato that my kids were playing on the floor prompted our neighbor to melt down like the Fukushima reactor being hit by a tsunami.
As I listened to the old lady screech like the Green Goblin from Spiderman, my first instinct probably should have been to defend my family.
But… I couldn’t help shake the feeling that the grinchy granny might have a point.
A lot went through my head during this moment…
First, parenting is hard and people in general seem less tolerant of kids than ever before.
Even though we are blessed to have an amazing rabbi who kept the seder short, funny, and engaging, these types of events are impossible for kids. No amount of coloring books and crafts (of which there were plenty), can stop children from becoming feral at Temple seder past their bed time.
I feel like 10 or 20 years ago, the old people at the next table might have picked up some rambunctious kids and helped entertain them instead of scolding them, or at the very least ignored them.
I tried to snap back to reality as I watched the old lady’s head almost spin completely around like in The Exorcist. After her outburst, she burst into a dozen bats and flew back to whatever nest of misery she crawled out of for the evening.
My next thought?
Sweet relief. Maybe my wife will finally want to leave now! I know that sounds terrible, but I try my best to be honest here.
And indeed, we made our exit shortly after.
When we got home, I retreated to our room to decompress while my wife put the kids to bed, because like my children, I am a giant man child.
In the aftermath of the seder chaos, I keep questioning why we do this multiple times a year.
Is it the importance of tradition?
It does seem like we have an innate need to build and maintain community as a subconscious survival mechanism that helps protect future generations of Jews. Even as I struggle with my own faith, I’m still happy to send my kids to religious school and think it’s important to do so. But, I can’t deny that I often feel a hollow sense of religious obligation that ultimately seems to breed resentment.
Those feelings of resentment only lead to more guilt, which leads to hate… and to suffering. Okay, that last part was a bad Master Yoda joke, for the Star Wars fans out there, but you get the idea.
It’s not lost on me, that especially on this Passover, with so many families unjustly separated due to the October 7th war in Israel, how petty it is to complain about having to sit through a few hour dinner.
I realize I’m very fortunate, but I still feel trapped by the cycle of stress and boredom that these holidays bring. And yet I cannot bring myself to stop participating in them.
I can’t shake the feeling that I am the asshole.
And yet I know as much as I complain that I don’t want to go to the next holiday, I’ll probably end up going. I’ll go because I don’t want to feel like a shitty father or husband. Or maybe because our strange Jewish experience has convinced me that the rituals are supposed to be hard.
I’ll keep showing up to these holidays, because maybe the torment’s the point—proof we’re still here (that’s a miracle!), plate-lickers and meltdowns included.
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