Loading...About 20 years ago my parents moved to Albuquerque. I guess they wanted to see where Bugs Bunny had taken a wrong turn so many times, or maybe it was easier to find a synagogue there than in Outer Mongolia. And indeed, they found Congregation Albert, which is better than any temple I’ve ever been to in America let alone Ulaanbaatar. Sure, Temple Beth Ghengis Kahn is nice and all but they sing everything like this-
which works for Adon Olam but that’s about it.
Every year since my parents moved to Albuquerque I’ve been coming out for the Seder, but since my travel plans are often dictated by my work schedule, we haven’t always done the Seder on the same night of Passover. Some years it’s the third, some the fifth, some the weekend before. About 5 years ago we actually managed to have the Seder in the 
first night and Elijah was so shocked he didn’t come. He was already in Albuquerque but thought there was no way we’d have the Seder the first night so he did the Breaking Bad Tour instead. Look, Albuquerque, I’m all for making a buck off the tourists but all the Breaking Bad stuff is a bit much. Between the locations, souvenirs, and kiosk at the airport you should change your motto from “Land of Enchantment” to “We take the ‘Meh’ out of Meth!”.
At any rate, in mid February (or One Month BCE – Before Covid Era) I was in Albuquerque and I thought “wow. It’s gonna be practically impossible to get out here for Passover. We’ve got shows at all three theatres, there’s a first preview at the Douglas on the 8th for a show opening on the 10th. I guess I could fly out early on Saturday the 11th, have the Seder that night and fly back early Monday in time to be at the office for a meeting at 10. Oh well, Passover comes whether I’m ready or not, so we’ll find a way to have the Seder.”
Flash forward to the end of March, or the Year 5000 CE (or Two Weeks, whatever), and I’m standing at the Ralph’s in Venice practically weeping with joy because unlike our neighborhood supermarket, they have eggs, sanitizing wipes, and even toilet paper. And not some sandpaper, off-brand, one ply nonsense – but honest to God legit Charmin! Fortunately, the moment was captured on video:
All the shows have been cancelled, the office is closed, and getting to Albuquerque is even more impossible than I could have possibly imagined.
And yet, on the first night (the first, mind you! No one was more shocked than me, except maybe Elijah) of Passover, I found myself looking out at tableau of my family. We were in different homes, across 3 time zones, My aunt was actually floating in outer space but I think that’s just cause she trusted her son to get her set up on Zoom and we have a proud, long standing tradition of smart-alecky behavior in my family. Case in point this photo of my grandmother from my wedding:
We were not sitting around a physical table but rather arrayed in those oh so familiar Brady Bunch squares which form the matrix of our lives these days. I screen-shared a custom Hagaddah which I created for the occasion filled with all sorts of lefty, progressive, inclusive readings (thanks Haggadot.com), seduced my family with promises the Seder would only last an hour, and we shared a Reform, accessible, interfaith friendly touchy-feeley Seder (touching the heart- not the face!) in virtual space.
And it was wonderful
My wife pointed out afterwards that, as she looked out at all the people participating, she could not remember a time when all these various segments of our family and close friends had ever been in the same place together. She reminded me of an observation I shared when we did a FaceTime happy hour with her brother and his girlfriend in Denver. That we could have always been connecting in this fashion with friends and family in other places, but until now it never would have occurred to us.
I’m not denying that things really suck right now. We live in unprecedented and unpresidented times. To call this country a dumpster fire is an insult to hard working dumpster fires all over the world. But if there is one drop of wine in the otherwise empty glass, it’s that we have learned, quickly and of necessity, how to untether community from geography and come together like never before. Perhaps in future years there will be a screen on the table to welcome those to our Seder who are far away or not able to leave their homes. The screen will also serve as a reminder of this time, when we chose as free people to remain confined in our narrow spaces because a plague came that affected us all. A plague that didn’t bother to check your doorposts for blood. In that sense, we are all Egyptians this Passover. May our hearts never grow hard, like Pharoh’s.
The question with the most obvious answer right now is “How is this night different from all other nights?” except 
for maybe “who should I vote for in November?” or “Dude, are you watching Tiger King?” The question I’d rather ask, though, is “how is this Seder the same as all others?” After all, the story of Passover is still the same (spoiler alert- we’re free!), my family is still delightfully unruly despite my best efforts (how did I end up being the Clark Griswold of the Sims Family Virtual Passover Vacation?), my sisters still each play their appointed roles of the Wicked Child and Simple Child (family is like the old Hollywood Studio System- once you’re typecast, you’re typecast for life), I still giggle when I hear “House of Bondage”, the matza is dry, Dayenu is too long, the jelly in gefilte fish is one of life’s great mysteries, and a young goat can still be purchased for the low, low price of two Zuzim. If my grandfather were there, I like to think he’d still make the “month of Datsun” joke when the “month of Nisan” is mentioned in the Seder. I know he would have dug into his wallet like a man extracting his own kidney to reward the afikoman finder with the big prize of ONE DOLLAR. “Big spender” my grandmother would have said derisively, and maybe, somewhere this year, outside the range of even Zoom, she did.
As the Seder ended, we drank our third and fourth cup of wine (or fifth or sixth or cup number DON’T JUDGE ME), opened the door for Elijah to make a contactless delivery of messianic redemption, and returned to the reality of our
separate homes. For some participants, it had already been dark outside for a while, others were just sitting down to dinner as the sun was beginning to dip in the sky. For 90 minutes though, we had been connected in a space outside our distant homes, telling the ancient story together. And, yeah, yeah, I know I told everyone that Seder would only take an hour and it went way longer – that’s just another way this Seder was like all others. SUCKERS!!!
I’ll close this post the way we began the Seder. By saying Shechiyanu. By thanking God, whoever or whatever that may be (is the Flying Spaghetti Monster still a thing or did atheists have to dump him after too many people started actually believing in it? Cause the same thing happened to Joseph Smith), for bringing us to this place- safe, healthy, in a home with food and soap and hot water, and for the miracle of technology that provides a gossamer thread of human connectivity when we desperately need it most.
Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha-olam,
she’hecheyanu v’ki’manu v’higi-anu laz’man hazeh.
Praised are you, Adonai, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe,
who has sustained us, maintained us and enabled us to reach this moment in life
Have a happy Passover, a happy Easter, joyous Flying Spaghetti Dinner, or just the best week you can muster at home with a minimum of uncontrollable sobbing (PRO TIP: you don’t need to wait for the Seder to have four glasses of wine. DON’T JUDGE ME.) Wishing you all strength and love.
Hashanah be Zoom, l’shana ha ba’ah be Albuquerque. This year on Zoom, next year in Albuquerque- and may Elijah be “the one who knocks”
