Brisket, Funny Wine and an Ancient Story

The Great Boris Matzbronya sent her representative Sarah Matzanya/Nicolazzo to the Plotniks for last night's seder. Then, when The Great Plotnik was beginning the service, he noticed a prayer for children in the front of the book. For boys, it blesses Ephraim and Manasseh (nobody's really too sure who they are), and for girls it blesses Sarah, Rachel, Rebeccah and Leah. So, of the nine men and women present, only Sarah had her name mentioned in print.

But somehow, though there were only nine people gathered around the table, last night the Plotniks officially ran out of room. They're not sure why. Every dirty pot and pan was covered up by another dirty pot and pan. They used every plate, every glass. All counter surfaces were filled, all four stove spots, and the oven, and only this morning did The Great Ducknik finally discover the spinach, which had been cleaned at some point yesterday, then placed in a plastic bag which disappeared until ten minutes ago.



Elliot and Lisa were there, which adds up to one and a half Jews, since Lisa is expecting in July. Add one more for Bill, who was forced to wear a backwards Giants cap since there were only three yarmulkes for four heads, and another half for Pippa whose Dad was Jewish. The Great Plotnik, who has converted to Unorthodox Plotnikkism, of course, still counts for one more, so the total comes to 4 Chosen, 5 Not.



Of course, this 'chosen' business, which is what the seder is all about, also leads to an outrageous amount of strife in our world, where every nation, every culture, every religion, every city, every neighborhood, every gang and every cricket team thinks it is the planet's annointed favorite. At best, it's tribal. At worst, it's homicidal.

But to The Great Plotnik, the real message is far simpler: All peoples, if they have managed to stay around long enough, have their own story, their own legends. Each story has a historical context, which gets added to year after century after millenium. It's all good. It makes no less sense to believe that gelatin-laded gefilte fishes parted the waters of the Red Sea so the Israelites could escape to Canaan, than it does to believe God created all the creatures of the earth in six days, including quasars and quarks. Mohammed, Moses, Jesus, Zoroaster, Buddha, they're all good. They all make sense and they all make no sense, but the legends help make people proud of who we are. It's really important that we see this.

The point is, the Jews ARE the chosen people. They have been chosen by other Jews. And, to make sure nobody forgets, we eat Mummy P's brisket with stewed tomatoes, carrots steamed in orange juice, new potatoes dug from the garden and roasted with lemon, matzanya (vegetarian lasagna made with matzos instead of noodles) and cucumber/tomato/parsley salad, plus ceremonial (and delicious) matzoball soup, haroset, horseradish sauce and homemade macaroons with strawberries. We drink the Wine that Isn't Wine.

We tell the story. We laugh. We open the door for Elijah, but it's the back door.

It works for us. It's our history, our legend, and many have given their lives for the right to tell this story.

Next year in Jerusalem? -- or not. But next year back in the Plotnik's teeming and steaming kitchen? Hope so. Hope we can all be together.

"Bless all assembled at these tables.
Strengthen all who strive for justice and peace."