Holiday Rituals

A part of me dreads Passover. There’s so much work, preparation and cooking to hold a Seder. But each year, after it is done, we feel so much gratitude in sharing this ritual-filled celebration with friends and family.

If you haven’t been to a Seder, here’s the Cliff’s Notes. It’s a Passover tradition to retell and celebrate the Israelites’ escape from slavery in Egypt in the time of the Pharoahs. The main activity of a Seder (besides eating) is to retell the biblical story of Moses, the Ten Plagues, the life of slavery and the escape across the Red Sea to freedom. There are many special foods like matzah, horseradish and an apple/nut/cinnamon compote called Charoset that each have a meaning in the story.

There are also many guidebooks for how to conduct the Seder service. These books are called Haggadahs. There are traditional ones, vegetarian, egalitarian and children’s versions. Lately, I’m partial to the kid version as we sit around the living room on a Passover night and revisit the more than 2000 year old story of our people. Each year, the service is a little different as the grandkids get older and get more into the act, including reading and singing parts of the story themselves. They also get to interrogate the adults with questions which is always fun and memorable.

Sharing our history, sharing time together, breaking matzoh together, talking about freedom and what it means to each of us are all part of the rich experience of Passover. We love when friends of other religions join as they often have great stories of liberation in their histories as well.

Passover and Easter are each also celebrations of Spring and renewal. Eggs and spring greens are prominent symbols and edibles. Every family has a tradition of how they celebrate, from favorite foods to special activities. It’s a way to pass on our heritage to the next generation and the next.

In the end, I realize how much I love Passover. It is worth the preparations. And when our week of eating dry matzoh crackers and abstaining from bread and pasta is over, we really appreciate a slice of pizza and all the yummy, yeasty foods we enjoy the rest of the year.

Call the Midwife

I was reluctant to watch this series when it was on PBS. Who wants to watch a bunch of braying babies being born in postwar London. Not I.

But when we worked our way through other English series (e.g. Doc Martin, Grantchester et al) during our days of Covid lockdown, we got a taste for the extremely well-written period dramas the British have created.

So, one bored night I decided to watch an episode and see what all the fuss was about. I watched it alone because surely my spouse wouldn’t want to watch a bunch of babies being born either. But after 2 episodes I realized this is about way more than people popping out progeny. And the hubby was hooked as well!

We have learned so much about life in post-war East London and about the promise and perils of maternity and ever more modern medicine. We have become deeply attached to the fictional nuns and midwives and midwife-nuns at Nonnatus House. Each episode is a story of bravery, hardship, cultural mores, medical errors (like thalidomide) and historical events like the first trip to the moon.

And best of all, there are 15 seasons with 10 episodes per season. Each season reveals a different year with new patients and often new members of Nonnatus House. We are deeply into season 8 right now and are so glad that we will be watching for many moons to come.

Oh, and did I mention that at least one baby is born every episode? Despite my initial doubts, it never gets old watching a scrunchy, wet newborn being miraculously withdrawn by a midwife from between the legs of panting/screaming mothers. In almost every case, the mother becomes beatifically silent the moment her little precious is handed over in a blanket. Yes, I remember that feeling exactly!

Call the Midwife can be seen in its entirety on Netflix or for free on PBS.

Ducklings On The Move

Sticking with the babies and traditions theme, I close with this one. On Thursday, my friend Sheila and I saw the most joyful moment on our weekly beach walk. A mama duck and her three adorable ducklings were toddling in and out of the waves at Pacific Beach. We were stopped in our tracks and took oodles of pix of this glorious maternal moment. The mother duck was clearly teaching her littles how to manage the waves– passing on her own ritual to the next generation.