Daughter of the Commandment

I had the honor this weekend of attending my baby sister's baby daughter's bas mitzvah.

After a smooth, on-time departure from the house, and a quick, trouble-free drive, I felt good. This would be borne out soon enough. My son Nik, my wife Shellie, and I entered the synagogue, and began a day of moist handshakes and awkward hugs.

Each one was followed by the exclamation, "You look good," or, "You look great," and even one, "Stephen, you look beautiful," from my brother-in-law, Mitch. And the thing of it was I did look beautiful. I was dressed in a freshly pressed and dry-cleaned suit, designer tie, and brand new Hush Puppies. But in my mind, I had to question whether they meant I looked good compared to everyone else, or considering I was in a wheelchair and just had cancer.

My wife whispered in my ear, "You do look great."

I said, "I feel great. Of course, not being constipated helps."

We made our way into the sanctuary where my immediate family was already gathered. The cantor was explaining the "choreography" of the service to those who had a participatory role. We settled in up front and I felt the happiness wrap around me like a woolen prayer shawl. Bright sunshine turned the wall of stained glass behind the altar into a dazzling array of shapes and colors.

I was perusing the printed program, and pointed out to my wife one item on the itinerary which read, "Undressing the Torah." I whispered to my wife, "This is followed by blowing the shofar," but that's a crude, inside Jewish joke.

As the cantor finished his bantering with my family, and the time for services to start drew near, I glanced around, and said to my wife, "There's not much of a turnout."

My wife replied, "I think they're holding everyone in the lobby until the family is done with rehearsal." She had no sooner spoke when the doors opened and a flood of people rushed in. Paige's friends and classmates filled a large section in the back of the auditorium, and I noticed a man with a distinct air of authority standing along the back wall in that area. I assumed he was a chaperon for the kids.

Paige entered with the rabbi after receiving his final instructions to her in the privacy of his study before the start of the ceremony. The reform service was lively, interpersonal, and by Jewish standards, appreciably short.

My brother Bunce, and I were just joking about picking up a prayer book that starts on page one and goes through page 679. You know not only do they go page by page, in Hebrew AND English, but many of the drawn-out songs and phrases are repeated over and over.

The cantor's deep voice was accompanied by guitar and piano. Paige chanted from the Torah. For those who don't know, the Torah is written in Hebrew without vowels or musical notes. Try this in English, or better yet, in French or Russian.

I noticed the "chaperon" station himself in different positions around the perimeter of the temple throughout the service. Like a blast from God's nostrils, I understood this man was indeed a chaperon, but of us adults as well as the children. This was an armed security agent, as the telltale bulge over his left breast confirmed. I guess it should come as no surprise in today's world that that would be common and prudent practice for a bas mitzvah.

Paige offered her interpretation of the Bible passage and how it relates to the present. My sister, Dee, and brother-in-law, Jeff, shared their joy on Paige's accomplishment, and the rabbi charged the bas mitzvah girl with her new duties as a young Jewish woman.

The rabbi pointed out with unbounded glee he had been present for all three of my nieces' baby namings, and now all three of their confirmations. He spoke of the deep bonds between my sister's family and the temple, and the rich Jewish life my nieces grew up in.

After many tears, but many more smiles, the blessing over the wine by my brother-in-law's sister, Julie, and the breaking of the challah by the next girl from the congregation in line for her bas mitzvah were performed, and the lovely service concluded.

We slowly made our way into the reception hall and took a table in back. We were soon joined by my son Ben, daughter-in-law Ashly, her mom Lori, and my four grandchildren. They were seated several rows behind us, and I did not see them during the service. My seven-month-old grandson was deposited on my lap, and I gave him small sips of orange juice off the tip of a spoon. He took a little bit in his mouth, scrunched up his face, rubbed his nose with his fist, and then opened up for more.

The professional photographer hired for the event was standing nearby and asked if he could get a picture. I couldn't see my grandson's face, but just as the photographer snapped the picture, everyone around us started laughing. Apparently at that exact moment, my grandson's face lit up in a big wide-opened smile straight at the camera. The photographer said, "Thank you. You just made my day."

While I sat with the grandkiddies, the adults went to get in the food line. After some amount of time, they brought pack plates full of bagels and cream cheese, heaps of tuna salad, relishes, fresh fruit, and mountains of lox.

My dad's first cousin Sheila, came by the table, and remarked how good I looked. I introduced her to my wife, sons, in-laws and grandchildren, and then we just stared at each other with big smiles.

After a few moments, I broke the silence. I nodded and said, "Yes, can you believe it? After my wayward youth, can you believe I'm sitting here with a wife, children, and grandchildren!"

She continued beaming at us all. "No, I can't," she said, "but God does amazing things."

I looked around the table at all the faces I love so profoundly, and said, "Yes, He does."

I explained to Nik between big bites of food, "Many of these people are my parents' closest friends and relatives. They dated, got married, and had children at the same time, during the mid 1950s to 1960s. I grew up with these people. Our moms were in and out of each other's kitchens, all us kids played and went to school together, and our dads did business, served on the same committees, and belonged to the same community organizations.

I turned to my wife and said, "My God, there are people here who've known me longer than I have!"

My wife had applied a touch of pastel make-up, and wore the butterfly earring and necklace set I gave her for her birthday last week. The Swarovski crystals sparkled with her every movement. Having my family here with my family brought me overwhelming gratitude.

Next up was the inevitable montage of Paige's life in still photos shown on a large screen. I usually find sitting through these endless reminiscences to be an exercise in tedium, but I had to continually remind myself that I wasn't looking at pictures of my baby sister Dee.

As the montage ended, I reluctantly felt it was time to go. I had been up since six that morning, and it was now after one-thirty in the afternoon. My body was sending me signals. The one thing I hadn't done yet, and had to do, was congratulate Paige herself. As if on cue, Paige and one of her friends were walking by our table. "Hi Paige!" I called out, but she went right on past.

"Oh no!" I exclaimed. “I've become the old uncle the nieces walk right past without seeing.”

We gathered up our things, made arrangements with Ben to join them for Easter dinner, and headed out. The problem was we were at a table in the far corner of the reception hall, so I steeled myself for the gauntlet of good-byes.

Shellie was a little ahead, and kept checking back on my progress. Nik was threading my wheelchair through the obstacle course of people standing in clusters, and chairs pulled out helter-skelter from the densely packed tables.

I stopped to talk to my sister-in-law Dana. We had been friends in high school, and close friends in college. I was in unrequited love with her before she married my brother.

"Hi Dana," I said.

"Hi Steve. Are you leaving already?"

"Ya, I've been in the wheelchair for eight hours and we still have an hour and a half ride home. I'm starting to crash."

"Well, we all get tired and want to take a nap," she said.

The thought struck me, oh, she thinks I mean "crash" like in, "I'm gonna crash for the night."

"No, no," I said. "I don't mean tired. My body starts to crash. I get horrible back pain, blinding abdominal spasms, nausea, increased sensitivity to the pain in my lower half, and once I cross a certain line, the symptoms increase exponentially."

"Okay, I won't keep you then." Her face brightened up, "But you look great."

We continued toward the exit, pausing briefly to say hello and good-bye to casual friends and relations. Suddenly I caught the eye of one of my mom's closest friends.

"Nik, take me over to that table," I said and pointed. I could hear him thinking behind me, "Not another one."

"Hi Renee," I said as we came up to the table. "Believe it or not, I was just thinking about you. Your daughter Barbara and I just became friends on Facebook, so we've been catching up a little."

"Well, it's nice we get to see each other at all the Dunn family functions," said Renee.

I said, "You know, this was the last of the bar and bas mitzvahs. Next come the weddings."

"I guess we'll see you there," said Renee.

We all laughed, and Renee's husband pointed at me and said, "It's a date!" I could feel Nik groaning behind me.

We made our way to where my parents and sister's families were seated. Behind them a large crowd had formed.

My beloved sister Debbie Dunn Weiss is a master confectioner. Part of Aunt Debs' gift to the nieces and nephews is a magnificent sweet table. Long buffets were laden with lemon squares, sponge cakes, cupcakes, chocolate dipped Oreo cookies, chocolate covered pretzels, caramel apples, and a colorful display of jars of penny candies.

While I chatted with my mom and dad, Nik and Shellie filled a bag with treats to take home. I thought we were good to go, but my sister jumped up and said, "You can't leave. We need to take a family photo!"

This time Nik's groan was audible, and I couldn't blame him. A photo of my immediate family entails a military style round up and positioning of no less than twenty-six people including the center of attention.

I sat in front of the backdrop as one by one, four generations of my family gathered around me. I know how important and miraculous the record of such an opportunity is.

What made this extra special was that I was unable to attend my niece, Lexi's, bas mitzvah a few years earlier. I'd have to look at a calendar to figure out what medical condition I was sick with, but I remember waiting until the last possible moment to make the decision whether I could go or not.

I felt so bad not being there for Lexi, but more for myself. And I can only imagine what my father felt when he was forced to miss Maddie's (Dee's firstborn) bas mitzvah, a few years prior to that. He was in the hospital, and there was talk of transporting him by ambulance to the synagogue, keeping him strapped to a gurney for the service, and transporting him back immediately after. It was just not possible.

After the last few, Hi Steve. Remember me's, and You look great's in the foyer, we made it into the car. "Not bad," I said glancing at the dashboard clock. "We started heading out at one-thirty, I was shooting for two, and it's now a quarter to three."

"Jewish time," remarked my wife.

The ride was uneventful and we were all glad to be home. We greeted the cats and got me settled into bed. I opened my email, and there was a message from my local Pastor. I had sent her the link to my Passover/Easter blog, and she wanted my permission to use it in church. I told her I'd be honored.

I commented to my wife, "Today I was at my niece's bas mitzvah; I'm editing an inspirational story for a friend from my writers group; Tuesday I have an in-home visit with the Pastor who is using my thoughts in her Easter message to the congregation; Wednesday I have a Bible study group that I was invited to join, in spite of, or because of, my outspoken opinions; there's a Maundy Thursday service the next evening; Friday is the first night of Passover and the Seder at my sister's house; and Sunday is Easter that we'll be spending in church and with the grandkids."

And this does not even include our annual viewings of The Ten Commandments, Ben-Hur (what would Easter and Passover be without Charlton Heston?), The Greatest Story Ever Told, King of Kings, Godspell, and Jesus Christ Superstar.

I said, "I've got a richer spiritual life than the Pope."

I then said, "Would it be too egotistical to say that God's purpose for me is to bring His Word to humanity through my writing, that He chose the world's biggest Doubting Thomas to do so, and that in order to achieve His goal He crippled me? Which is doubly ironic because Jesus healed the lame."

"Yes," she said.

"Okay, maybe," I said, "but you've got to admit one thing - I look great."

Rebirth - The Story of Passover and Easter

I believe in miracles. Life is a miracle. The existence of the universe is a miracle. The indomitable spirit of the human soul is a miracle. And the fact that science can provide empirical explanations for these miracles, in no way lessens their impact or significance.

To me, Easter and Passover have always been inextricably linked. The heart of the Christian religion is the Resurrection of Christ, and the heart of the Jewish religion is the Exodus from Egypt. It is no coincidence that both holidays are celebrated in the springtime because both stories speak of rebirth - the rebirth of the spirit, the mind, and the body. The two holidays embody the cornerstones of Western Civilization - faith and freedom.

These stories of redemption were born out of horrendous brutality. The Judea that Jesus knew was a land subjugated by the will of Rome. Torture and executions were commonplace and corrupt officials used networks of informers and betrayers to ruthlessly crush rebellion, which fomented continually. Poverty and disease were rampant, and the people looked for a Deliverer.

A thousand years before the tyranny of Rome, the Hebrew people toiled for generations as slaves under the whips of taskmasters in a place where human life was worth less than the mud of the brick pits. Amidst the starvation and crippling labor, the people looked for the God of Abraham to lead them out of bondage.

Surely in this day and age, it is common knowledge that Jesus went up to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover, and that the Last Supper was in fact the Passover Seder. Even the symbolism of the two holidays is intertwined. The very name of the Easter holiday in many foreign countries is derived from the word Passover. The word Passover in Hebrew is Pesach. In France, Easter is called Pacques, in Italy Pasqua, in Spain Pascua, in Denmark Paaske, and in Wales Pasg.

The Eucharist received at Mass is taken from the unleavened bread that Jesus bade the Disciples to eat, and which we know today as Matzah. The roasted lamb shank which appears on the Seder plate recalls the roasted lamb which God instructed the Hebrews to eat on the eve of their departure from Egypt. Jesus, often referred to as the Lamb of God, sacrificed Himself for us, and lamb remains a traditional centerpiece for Easter dinner. The Seder plate also contains a roasted egg which symbolizes the animal sacrifice that was brought to the Temple in Jerusalem before each Passover. The egg, a symbol of life in all cultures, is the primary Easter icon.

Even the custom of hunting for Easter eggs finds its basis in the rituals of Passover. The most important preparation for Passover is cleansing the home of chometz. Chometz is any food not kosher for Passover, particularly any food made with flour such as bread, cookies, noodles, crackers, etc. Even after all these food products are removed from the home, the ritual involves a final symbolic cleansing. On Passover eve, pieces of chometz are hidden around the house. Some of my fondest memories from childhood are of searching the house by candlelight with my brother and sisters, looking for these hidden slices of bread, cookies, and crackers. My mother knew exactly how many pieces of chometz she had hidden, and would tell us if there were still more to find. Often to her amazement, we would find more than she had hidden, but with five young children in the house, perhaps this was not to be wondered at.

Then my father would put all the accumulated chometz into a brown paper bag and we would all go out onto the driveway. My father would then light the bag on fire and burn the chometz. The neighbors would come out to watch, and kids from all over the block would gather to participate. My father would recite the blessing in Hebrew and we knew that Passover had arrived. This is the blessing translated:

"Blessed art Thou, Eternal our God, Ruler of the universe, Who made us holy with His commandments, and commanded us to remove the leaven. Any leaven that may still be in the house, which I have not seen or have not removed, shall be as if it does not exist, and as the dust of the earth."

One of the mitzvahs (sacred blessings) of Passover is to include "gentile" guests at the Seder. Especially during my college years, I always had friends at the Seder table. The amount of fun, laughter, (and wine) which we had cannot be calculated, but the companionship that we shared, lasts to this day. This mitzvah extends to non-Jewish guests and to those, Jewish or non-Jewish, who are in need. Charity goes to the heart of devotion. How can we indulge ourselves in the love and abundance of the holidays without our thoughts turning to those who have less, or nothing at all, spiritually or materially?

Besides giving financially to the synagogue and the church, I can't remember a Passover or Easter when my parents and my wife's parents did not have at the table, people of other faiths, or people with less means, to share in the celebration. Far be it from me to preach, in this day and age of downsizing, layoffs, unemployment and living from paycheck to paycheck. Charity begins at home, and we must always think of our own first. All I am saying is do what you feel you can. Contribute of yourself, whether that be of time, money, foodstuffs, or talents. The efforts will not be in vain.

I have the blessing of living in a blended family. As is obvious by now, I am Jewish and my wife is Catholic. While each of us cherishes our heritage and upbringing, and firmly believes in a Supreme Being, neither of us blindly adhere to the dogma of our religions. We feel that our children receive the benefit of being raised in an atmosphere of love and morality and tolerance and acceptance of others, and that they receive the opportunity to experience the traditions of both faiths. Attending church on Easter morning has always been a deeply profound and thought-provoking experience for me, and basking in the joy and warmth of the Seder has always been a very reaffirming time for my wife. What lessons and memories our boys bring with them into their adult lives, only time will tell.

Easter finds its roots in the ancient pagan festival honoring Eastre, the goddess of spring and the dawn. Easter has come to symbolize the triumph of life over death and the affirmation that the soul is immortal. Easter is a holiday of pastel colors in purples and pinks and blues. It is a time to throw open the windows and air out the house after a long winter. Friends and relatives display the latest spring fashions. Children take delight in biting off the ears and tails of chocolate bunnies. Eggs become brightly colored treasures to hunt and roll in the first light of morning.

One of my wife's most cherished Easter memories from her youth was the annual blessing of the family's holiday food basket. On Holy Saturday, her entire family would go to their local Polish church and stand in a line that stretched around the block to have their Easter meal blessed by the Priest and sprinkled with Holy Water. The basket always contained black bread, eggs colored brown by wrapping and boiling in onionskins, ham, fresh smoked Polish sausage, parsley, horseradish root, vinegar, course salt, and lamb butter. For dessert, her mother would make a luscious frosted pound cake in an antique lamb mold that was only brought out once a year. She would sprinkle the iced cake with shredded coconut to create a "wool" effect and use a Redhot cinnamon heart for the nose and raisins for the eyes. Fortunately I was able to enjoy many Easter dinners with my wife's family before her folks moved to Florida.

I have to admit that we don't decorate for Easter and Passover anywhere near as much as many of the other holidays. Easter and Passover are deeply spiritual times, times for introspection and not gaudy display. Although we attend the Seder at my sister's home with the family (all 30 of us!) and enjoy Passover foods and recipes during the week of Passover, we do not keep Passover ourselves. Decorations for Passover center around the table: Seder plates, Matzah covers, linens, wine goblets, serving ware and Haggadahs (the Seder prayer books) which come in many beautifully illustrated editions.

Traditional Easter decorations include baskets, flowers, ceramic rabbits and chicks, and of course, eggs. If you have young children, there is no greater joy than watching their delight in coloring eggs. The fun that can be had with food dye is limitless, as are the color possibilities. With some simple supervision (so that everything doesn't come out muddy brown) the kids can create different shades to their hearts content. If your children are a little older and consider themselves much too mature to decorate eggs, try arranging a basket with a combination of white and brown eggs that you can buy at the store. This makes a very elegant and natural arrangement with no trouble at all. Also, baskets in and of themselves make lovely decorations placed around the home. Grocers and candy shops have aisles of brightly wrapped confections for Easter. Fill a basket or depression glass bowl with these whimsical chocolate morsels or jelly beans.

As with all the holidays, we maintain that if you do no other decorating, a holiday theme can be achieved by decorating the holiday table. Place a lamb butter on a ceramic leaf plate and decorate with sprigs of fresh mint. Use colorful pastel table linens and dishes, and serve foods in napkin-lined baskets. Place an arrangement of fresh tulips on the table. Or perhaps try this easy craft project. Go to your local craft store and buy a five-inch diameter basket, enough modeling clay to fill it, a small package of sphagnum moss, 8 silk pussy willow wands and a package of ornament hooks. Choose a variety of miniature baskets and other tiny decorations. Secure willow wands in clay in basket, surround with moss, and hang decorations from the buds with hooks.

Another fun project which is appropriate for Passover, Easter, and any other holiday gathering is the making of place cards. If you are computer literate, use any design program with decorative fonts and clipart to produce individualized place cards. If you prefer doing craft projects by hand, art supply stores offer a vast array of materials and advice. Be sure to include the holiday and date, as well as name of guest, on your place card. These will be cherished additions to photo albums and scrapbooks for years to come (so try not to get gravy on them!).

These projects also make wonderful hostess gifts. If you are going to the home of a friend or relative for the holidays, ask them for a list of the names of all the people who will be there. A set of place cards will be a practical and greatly appreciated gift. A good bottle of kosher wine (which now go well beyond the days of Mogen David concord grape) or a bouquet of white lilies would also be welcome offerings. And of course, hand made napkins or placemats would be a gift of immeasurable thoughtfulness. There is an abundance of Passover and Easter patterns readily available at fabric stores and online. A gift given in love is love given as a gift!

In producing this website, one of the things that I most enjoy is talking about the movies associated with the various holidays. It gives me a chance to remember good times shared with family, a bowl of steaming, buttery popcorn on the coffee table. But when one thinks about holidays and movies, certainly Christmas with its plethora of Yuletide favorites, or Halloween with its endless array of horror films, spring to mind well before Easter and Passover. Yet the 40 days of Lent is barely enough time to watch all the worthwhile pictures appropriate to the season. Consider the following suggestions.

First we start with Cecil B. DeMille's 1956 classic The Ten Commandments. Nominated for 5 Academy Awards and winner for Best Special Effects, Charlton Heston stars as Moses in this lavish telling of the Exodus from Egypt. This was DeMille's last film and was shot on location in Egypt and the Sinai. For 3 hours and 20 minutes you will be transported back to the days of the Egyptian civilization at its zenith. At this time I am going to debunk an urban legend. Edward G. Robinson, in the role of Dathan the Hebrew Overseer, never says "Where's your Moses now?" Sorry folks! Co-starring Yul Brynner, Anne Baxter, Edward G. Robinson, and Vincent Price. Purists may want to look for the English version with hieroglyphic subtitles. Just kidding. There is also a silent 1923 production of The Ten Commandments, directed by DeMille, with all the pageantry and grandeur of the Technicolor remake. The original is still available online.

Heston also stars in 1959's biblical epic Ben-Hur. Directed by William Wyler and based on the novel by Governor Lew Wallace this winner of 11 Academy Awards including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor, Best Cinematography, Best Editing, Best Costumes, Best Set Design, Best Sound, Best Score and Best Special Effects also features an army of extras, 50,000 strong. Clocking in at 3 hours and 42 minutes, Ben-Hur tells the story of one man's search for vengeance set against the backdrop of Roman occupation and the mission of Christ in Judea. Again, this movie is a remake. The original 1925 silent with an early Technicolor chariot race sequence is also available online.

1961's King of Kings, directed by Nicholas Ray, and starring Jeffrey Hunter, tells the story of Christ's mission through the contrast between the teachings of Christ and the political agitation of Barrabas. This handsomely filmed, reverential treatment is too a remake. The black and white 1927 silent is available with the original Photophone score and features a rare Technicolor Resurrection sequence. A very cool, early special effects scene depicts Jesus driving the personifications of the seven deadly sins from the body of Mary Magdalene. This version was directed by our old friend, Cecil B. DeMille.

1965 brought us Max Von Sydow as Jesus in The Greatest Story Ever Told, directed by George Stevens. Perhaps the most artistic telling of the story, this film earned five Academy Award nominations for Cinematography, Score, Art Direction, Costumes, and Special Visual Effects. The restrained tale focuses on Jesus' parables and quiet teachings of love and brotherhood. Co-starring Jose Ferrer, Van Heflin, Charlton Heston, Angela Lansbury, Roddy McDowall, Sal Mineo, Donald Pleasance, Claude Rains, Sidney Poitier, Telly Savalas, and John Wayne in a cameo as a Roman Centurion.

For silent film buffs (of which I am one) check out the 1928 version of Jesus of Nazareth shown with title cards.

For fans of miniseries, there is 1976's Jesus of Nazareth directed by Franco Zeffirelli. Starring Robert Powell and an all-star cast, this is the most complete telling of the story of Christ, from the wedding of Mary and Joseph through the Resurrection and Ascension. A little known fact is that British actor Robert Powell does not blink in any of his scenes. Although you may not consciously notice this while watching the film, Zeffirelli felt that this would have a subliminal effect on viewers.

For those of us who grew up in the 70's, there are Godspell and Jesus Christ Superstar. Both movies, based on hit Broadway plays, were released on film in 1973 and offered very contemporary interpretations of the life of Christ. Although controversial at the time, we can now enjoy them for their nostalgia and award winning scores.

Godspell, starring Victor Garber, enacts Christ's parables through elaborate production numbers and such songs as Day by Day and Light of the World. A decidedly flower-child interpretation can be enjoyed today for its gentle theme of peace and love.

The rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar, starring Ted Neely and Yvonne Elliman, and directed by Norman Jewison, is told through the eyes of Mary Magdalene and portrays Jesus as a political pawn caught up in a celebrity he did not want. The words and music of Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber propel the story to its inevitable climax.

For the young, and young at heart, there is the animated feature Prince of Egypt, 1998, Dreamworks - Spielberg and company's big budget musical telling of the story of Moses. With the voice talents of Val Kilmer, Patrick Stewart, Sandra Bullock, and Michelle Pfieffer.

My most controversial recommendation is Mel Gibson's controversial 2004 movie The Passion of the Christ. This extremely graphic telling of the final twelve hours in the life of Jesus hammers home (no pun intended) the barbarity that was Judea under Imperial Rome. The dialogue is spoken in the ancient Aramaic language, along with Latin and Hebrew. My wife refuses to watch it, but I have often tried to point out the physical horrors that such an ordeal would have embodied. I view it every year while my wife is at work. We do not discuss it.

And lastly, for a complete change of pace, there is 1948's Easter Parade starring Fred Astaire and Judy Garland. Winner of the Academy Award for Best Score, this movie is an Irving Berlin songfest. So get out your Easter bonnet, eat a chocolate bunny, color a hard-boiled egg, and enjoy the celebration of springtime.

I have many axioms that I use in the kitchen, especially when teaching my boys how to cook. One of the first things I told them is that if you can cook eggs, you'll never starve. There is no food product more essential or more versatile than eggs. With this in mind, I feel that it is quite apropos at Easter and Passover time to offer three different recipes that use eggs as a main ingredient.

Egg Salad

The key to making a good egg salad is simplicity. The day after Easter, peel a dozen of your colored hard-boiled eggs. Use your egg slicer for perfectly chopped eggs. Slice each egg in one direction and then rotate the egg 90 degrees and slice a second time. Add just enough mayonnaise (do not use sandwich spreads such as Miracle Whip) to moisten. Start with about a third of a cup. Another one of my sayings, which the boys know by heart, is you can always add more mayo, but you can't take it out. Add a jar of capers, drained. Season with a pinch of salt and a pinch of white pepper. Stir thoroughly. Sprinkle with sweet Hungarian paprika. Serve on toast.

Matzah Brei (Scrambled Eggs & Matzah)

This hearty breakfast dish has counterparts in most ethnic cuisines. You'll find this dish in Mexican cooking made with tortillas, for example. The basic recipe is one egg per matzah, and one to two matzahs per person, depending on appetites. I can make a box of twelve matzahs and a dozen eggs for my family of four and it is just enough to satisfy our teenage boys.

Take matzahs and break them up into a bowl. I find that a variety of different size pieces (from postage stamps to Post-It notes) works best. After all the matzahs are broken up, fill the bowl with cool water to soak pieces. Soak for a few seconds then drain off all the water. Some people put the matzahs in a sieve and press out all the water, but I do not find this to be necessary as long as you drain thoroughly.

Melt a couple of tablespoons to half a stick of butter, depending on how much you are making in large non-stick frying pan. Fry the matzahs in butter, turning now and then with large spatula. Meanwhile, break eggs into bowl and beat. When edges of matzah pieces start to brown and matzah is sizzling, pour in eggs and stir. Stir as you would for scrambled eggs. Add salt and pepper at the table to taste. Serve with orange juice and coffee.

Why is this night different from all other nights? The Seder, the traditional retelling of the story of the Exodus from Egypt is centered around the table. Many blessings are said: over the fruit of the vine, over the bread of the earth, over the thankfulness of the season, even over the washing of the hands. Bitter herbs are eaten; parsley or potatoes are dipped in salt water to symbolize the tears shed in slavery as well as for the Egyptian foes who perished in the Red Sea.

One of the most beautiful traditions of the Seder is dipping out one drop of wine from a full cup for each of the Ten Plagues visited upon the Egyptian people. A full cup of wine symbolized a full heart, and this gesture serves to remind us of the suffering even of our enemies.

Songs are sung. Questions are asked. Answers are given. (Such as, what cheese do you eat at Passover? Answer: matzah-rella.) And it is here, with song and food and laughter, that the blessings of freedom are bestowed from one generation to the next.

Then the meal is served. There is tender brisket, matzah stuffing, and vegetable dishes such as tsimmes, a casserole made of carrots, sweet potatoes, dates, honey, cinnamon, and orange zest. But to start it all off, deep bowls of matzah ball soup.

Chicken Soup with Matzah Balls and Pupiks

This recipe will serve eight guests with 2 large matzah balls each.

Prepare stock the day ahead. Place 2 cut up fryers or one large capon with neck(s) into large stockpot. For an extra rich stock, you can add 1 lb. of chicken feet (any good butcher should be able to supply these). Add 3 tablespoons fresh chopped parsley and 2 tablespoons each of fresh chopped sage and thyme. Add 4 medium yellow onions chopped in quarters, 4 stalks of celery with leaves, cut into 2 inch sections, 1 lb. parsnips, peeled and cut into 2 inch chunks, and 1 lb of carrots, peeled and cut into 2 inch chunks. Add 4 cloves coarsely chopped garlic. Add 2 tablespoons kosher salt and 1 teaspoon cracked pepper. Fill stockpot with cold water, leaving enough room so that it will not boil over onto your stove. Bring just to a boil, cover, reduce heat and simmer for 2 and a half hours. When water first comes to a boil, skim off brown foam with spoon and discard. Check every few minutes and do this until brown foam stops forming.

Meanwhile, place giblets from chickens, except livers, plus 1 lb. of pupiks (chicken gizzards) in separate pot. Livers will disintegrate in soup and muddy the flavor. (Fry livers separately in a little butter and enjoy as a treat for the cook.) Add 1 teaspoon of salt and a half-teaspoon of cracked pepper. Cover with water and simmer for one and a half hours. Let cool and refrigerate in covered bowl. You will be adding these to the finished soup to be served with the matzah balls.

When stock is ready, remove meat and vegetables (except onions which get slimy) with slotted spoon and set aside. Strain stock, let cool, and refrigerate overnight. Discard onions and chicken feet. By doing this the day ahead, fat will rise to the top and solidify overnight so that it can be easily skimmed and used for the schmaltz (rendered fat) for your matzah balls. This will also leave you with a very rich fat free stock. We always make an evening meal of the cooked chicken and vegetables. Just serve with some crusty bread (the last you'll have for 8 days if you're keeping Passover). Since you'll be feasting the next night at the Seder, this should be enough. Any left over bread can be used in the search for chumutz (see above).

Late in the afternoon of the next day (the day of the Seder) remove stock from the refrigerator and skim schmaltz. You will need ¾ of a cup. If there is not quite enough, add vegetable oil to make up the difference. You will also need about ¾ cup of stock. If stock is jellied, warm ¾ cup in saucepan and let cool. In medium sized mixing bowl, beat twelve eggs with schmaltz. In large mixing bowl blend 3 cups (1 box) matzah meal and 1 to 2 teaspoons of table salt. Pour egg mixture into matzah meal and stir thoroughly with fork. Add just enough stock to make a smooth consistency - you do not want mixture to be wet! Cover and refrigerate for 1 hour. While batter is resting, bring stock in large kettle up to boil. Add 1 lb. of peeled and thinly sliced carrots and 2 bunches of chopped green onions. Return cooked giblets and pupiks from day before to soup.

Now form the matzah balls. Wet your hands with cool water before forming each matzah ball. The matzah balls can be any size from golf ball size (if you're having Tiger Woods at your Seder) to baseball size (the size preferred by serious noshers), but make them all the same size so that they cook evenly. Drop into gently boiling soup. Soup must be boiling! After all the matzah balls are in, cover pot. You should try to plan this so that the matzah balls go into the soup just as the Seder is about to start. This way they can cook throughout the Seder and will be ready to serve at mealtime. The larger the matzah balls, the longer they need to cook. Figure on at least 45 minutes to an hour.

This recipe is a lot of work, but during the year this would be a complete meal in itself. At the Passover feast, this is the first of many wonderful courses. If you have trouble on your first attempt, do not despair. All good Jewish mothers and cooks pride themselves on their matzah ball soup and spend years perfecting their techniques.

And trust me. Your guests will enjoy the matzah balls so much, that they'll ask what other parts of the matzah are edible!

[Note: In conjunction with bed rest, aspirin, fluids, and a kiss on the forehead, this recipe will cure the common cold.]

Corny

A man goes to see a psychiatrist, and the psychiatrist asks the man, "What brings you to see me today?"

The man says, "I'm deathly afraid of chickens. If I even see a chicken I am frightened out of my mind."

"Why are you so afraid of chickens?" the psychiatrist asks.

"Chickens think I'm an ear of corn," the man replies.

The psychiatrist responds, "But you're not an ear of corn, you're a big, strong man. My job will be to make you understand that you are not an ear of corn."

"No, doctor, I already understand that," says the man. "Your job is to go to the chickens and make them understand I am not an ear of corn."

 - Mauritanian folktale

A Story Inspired by the Coming of Passover

BANG BANG BANG

I awoke in an instant. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand - six a.m. Rosenbloom on his morning rounds. Right on time.

“You guys up in there?” called Rosenbloom.

“Ya, ya, we're up. Go knock on somebody else's door,” I said.

“What about you, Eli, you up in there too?” said Rosenbloom through the metal door.

“Bite me, Rosey,” said Eli with his usual morning cheer.

I looked out the window, through the metal mesh, at the small fenced in yard which marked the boundaries of our freedom. I stood up, rubbed my butt, stretched backwards, and yawned widely. It had been a late night. We had partied while the sun slept, and dawn rose far too soon. I put the empty bottle of Southern Comfort into my footlocker. Playboy magazines, pilfered from my father's sock drawer, were scattered on the green, metal desk by the window.

Eli went to take a shower in the communal bathroom. Just as I clicked the padlock on my footlocker, I heard someone fumble with the doorknob to our room. As head counselor, Rosenbloom was charged to make sure everyone got ready for the mandatory hour and a half morning services. He had a passkey to all the rooms. “Yom tov,” he said without feeling as he stood in the open doorway. He looked all around the room, gave a slight nod, and closed the door after himself.

Eli came back in drying his hair with a towel. He looked right at me. “Today!” he said.

I felt a kick in my stomach. “Today!” I replied.

In about ten minutes services would begin. The building would be left empty except for the goyish secretaries in the administration offices. We grabbed our velvet tefillin bags and prayer books, and headed for the synagogue. We entered the house of worship to the dull din of bearded old men who bobbed back and forth, and babbled in Hebrew. We walked over to Rabbi Weine, and he checked our names off the attendance sheet. I stood at my place and began to rock, but my mind was not on Talmud. I forced myself not to look at Eli across the sanctuary (they knew better than to let us sit together), and continued to stare at my siddur.

Last night, as the rabbis slept, Eli and I had stripped the ends of some lengths of wire. We attached the exposed copper to the leads of a portable Panasonic tape recorder and a light-timer.

The cantor lifted up his voice in the sacred and immemorial cry of the Jewish nation:

"Sh'ma Yisroel Adonai Elohaynu, Adonai Echod"

“Hear O Israel, The Lord Is Our God, The Lord Is One”

His voice subsided, and in the moment of silent devotion following this holiest of blessings, trumpets blared from the PA system. Everyone froze, as if turned into the very pillar of salt that curiosity had wrought upon Lot's wife.

“Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ,

who are you? what have you sacrificed?

Jesus Christ Superstar,

do you think you're what they say you are?”

As the unimaginable music played, Rosenbloom and Rabbi Weine dashed towards the dorms. The other rabbis tried in vain to get services under control. The Rosh Ha'Yeshiva yelled, “This is a blasphemy. It is a sin against God. He shall tremble who has the audacity to desecrate the Lord's house, and he shall be banished from the Covenant!”

I shot a glance at Eli and smiled inside.

Everyone did their best to finish out the services, but even the most pious students couldn't concentrate. When the services ended, Eli and I ran through the underground tunnel that connected the main building with the synagogue. No one but us and the Polish janitors knew about the access tunnel that had exposed water and sewage pipes and electrical conduits. There were rats down there, but we'd often go down to drink with the janitors who were under strict orders not to associate with the students. But that day we raced along the passageway. We ran up the service stairwell to the second floor and cautiously peeked out. Rosenbloom and Rabbi Weine stood near the PA system in the offices. They pointed at two loose wires that dangled from the mass of components and were connected to the tape recorder and timer.

We snuck down the service stairs and joined our fellow talmidim in the mess hall. We got our food and sat down at a long, Formica table. Rosenbloom and Rabbi Weine walked over to us and Rabbi Weine said, “Shmuael, Eliyahu, would you know anything about this morning's incident?”

“No, Rebbi,” I said.

“No, Rabbi Weine,” said Eli.

Rosenbloom glared. It was his natural state.

After breakfast, Eli and I went upstairs and got ready for class. About halfway through Torah study, an office messenger came into the room and handed a note to the Moreh. He read it, raised his eyes, and said, “Eliyahu, the Rosh Ha'Yeshiva would like to see you in his office.”

My breath caught in my throat, but I did not look up. Twenty minutes later, Eli re-entered the classroom, along with the messenger. He held another note. The teacher said, “Shmuael, the Rosh Ha'Yeshiva wants to see you now.” This was not good. The whole class looked up and watched me go. The office boy and I were not on friendly terms, and he seemed pleased to escort me to the office. I was shown into the Rosh Ha'Yeshiva's private study and he motioned me to sit.

The Head of the Yeshiva High School and Hebrew Theological Seminary was ancient. He was a revered scholar as well as a lawyer. He wore black pants, black shoes, and a long, black coat. I couldn't look into his eyes, so I focused on the black tie against his white, linen shirt.

“Shmuael, do you have any knowledge regarding the sacrilege that occurred this morning?”

“No,” I said.

“Oh!” he said pointedly. “I just had a nice long chat with Eliyahu.”

I said nothing.

“We only want to help you,” he continued.

He had tried this trick before. It seemed like Eli and I were always in trouble for some minor mischief in the dorms and cutting classes. We never confessed, but there was something in his tone. Had Eli told him? I didn't think so, but if he did and I lied, it would go worse for me. Also, I knew if it didn't work on me, he'd try it on Eli, until one of us broke. After all we were only kids.

I hung my head and said, “I don't know anything about this.”

“You may have to take a lie detector test,” said the Rosh Ha'Yeshiva. “There will be an investigation into this matter. Alright, you may go back to class.”

As the class was about to end, the office boy came in and said that Eli and I were both wanted in the office. We walked down the hall in silence, and our worst fears were realized when we entered the Rosh Ha'Yeshiva's study. There on the desk sat my footlocker, the padlock cut off, the contents set out on display. There were the bottle of Southern Comfort, the magazines - and a wire cutter.

The Rosh Ha'Yeshiva told us to be seated as Rosenbloom and Rabbi Weine looked on. He pushed the play button on the Panasonic tape recorder and several verses of “Jesus Christ Superstar” resounded through the close chamber with accusal. He pointedly depressed the stop button with his index finger, and sat looking at us for several slow moments. I noticed a snicker playing at the corners of Rosenbloom's lips, and sadness in Rabbi Weine's eyes.

The Rosh Ha'Yeshiva said, “It is apparent that you boys do not belong here. I think we should talk to your parents about leaving the Yeshiva.”

He was right. We didn't belong there. Eli went to live with his sister in Atlanta. I graduated from a Chicago public school. I never saw Eli again, but I will always remember my time at the Yeshiva, and I'm sure, so will God.

Gift

The sun felt so warm and welcoming this morning, we took down the heavy winter drapes in our front room, and hung our spring curtains. Shellie then treated me and Nik to a sausage link, eggs over easy, and silver dollar pancake breakfast. I had a cup of orange juice and a glass of milk along side. I sprinkled salt and pepper on the eggs, and put butter and maple syrup on the pancakes.

I thought, living a life with dignity; being able to enjoy some of the simple fruits of the earth that God has blessed us with; and bearing the hope of happiness in their heart, should be a vouchsafe for every person on Earth.

Subjective Reality

I was recently asked to join a Bible study group by a member of my writers club. The question was posed - does the universe have a beginning and an end?

Without hesitation I said, "Yes. The universe began on September 10th, 1958, and it will end the day I die."

Lolypop

I was talking to my dear friend Laura the other day, and she asked what I've been up to. Laura lives in beautiful San Clemente, California, and although it's been many years, I have a strong bond with southern Cal, having spent all my summers there while growing up. My mom's whole family lived out there - uncles, aunts, great uncles, great aunts, cousins, and family friends. We took the Santa Fe Super Chief as soon as school let out, boarding at the grand old Joliet train station, and traveled cross country before disembarking at the Pasadena depot where we were met by my grandparents.

Our time in La La Land was interspersed with all the fun-filled tourist attractions a kid could want (always saving Disneyland for last), along with excursions to San Francisco and rugged Big Sur in the north to San Diego and Tijuana, Mexico in the south. But a lot of time in-between was spent just living there, hanging out with the local kids, grocery shopping at Ralph's, running errands with my uncle, which always included stamp shops (my uncle was an expert philatelist), and swimming in my grandparents' apartment building pool.

Laura is the admin for my Transverse Myelitis support group, and that is where we met. She works tirelessly advocating for research, and bringing the latest information and resources to the members of the TM community. She is into everything from surfing to holistic medicine. She is a proponent of medical marijuana, and in her spare time makes mosaic gift items, including crosses (one of which my wife and I presented to our local pastor for Christmas), and a Victorian heart (that I gave to my wife for Valentine's Day, and is now proudly displayed on her desk at work).

All through the fall and winter holidays last year, in addition to the chronic pain and paraplegia from TM, I was undergoing chemo and radiation therapy for lymphoma. Following Laura's posts, I noticed that her close friends and family called her Loly, which was short for Lolypop, the nickname given her as a child by her father. I did not feel it was my prerogative to refer to her by that sobriquet, until one day while texting back and forth, she invited me to call her Loly. I was moved to tears by her simple gesture of love and friendship.

Anyway, I was telling Laura that I was involved with a writers group at my local library, editing a book for a friend from the group, researching articles for my blog, working on my memoir, writing humor pieces on Facebook, reading several books a week, and corresponding with dozens of friends on a daily basis.

Laura messaged back saying she was bestowing me with an Indian name, and I would henceforth be known as "Man of Words."

I thought, How cool is that!?

(Of course, she didn't say, "man of few words.")

Thanks Loly.