Why is this Passover different from all others?

An article by Elahn    1 Comment

Saturday night was Passover and I went with Cocka, her mother and son Erez to Haifa, about an hour and a half to the north. Erez drove like a devil averaging about 130kph. I tried not to panic as he rode the tails of cars in front and swerved in and out of traffic.

At a petrol station where they also have beer on bowser. Stout, Lager, and Light.

The family we went to were a nice enough bunch, mum, dad, the two girls, and a couple of relatives. Conversation ranged from something in hebrew, to something else in hebrew with the ocassional offering of a translation from Cocka. I did my best to converse in English, engaging the family and doing my best to appear as an interested guest. But alas, hebrew ruled the night and I smiled and nodded where I thought appropriate.

The Passover plate with an egg, bitter herbs, sweet stuff, hot stuff and some meaty stuff.

The lighting of the candles.

The breaking of the unleavened bread. Gives most people constipation.

The assembled masses. See larger.

Cocka reads from a Haggadah taken from the local newspaper, complete with advertising throughout. The Israelites left Egypt and walked through the desert for 40 years, but they had a lovey corner couch made from plush leather.

Cockas Haminado’s (slowcooked eggs) where a special treat.

My Haminado sits alongside the wine representation of the ten plagues. Symbolic!

My Lost in Translation look. Knowing hebrew might have helped.

Passover here was a little different to how I know it from growing up in Australia. Firstly they speak hebrew as a first language here so can read through it a little quicker. No problem there as it means getting to the food sooner. Some songs are sung but not as many as we do at home. Kippot were not worn yet I asked for one. It seemed like a hurried affair and the spiritual and cultural aspects mellowed. I was a little disappointed in this regard.

The food was great though and I told mum that the chicken liver we ate was terrible so not to upset her. In fact it was very good.

Gefiltefish, served cold. Very tasty.

The second best chicken liver I’ve ever had.

Lots of leftovers.

I thought I’d feel safer on the drive home as Erez had had a few drinks and handed over the keys to his mother. How wrong I was. Cocka is a hoon, getting up to 140 kph on the freeway back to Tel Aviv. I couldn’t help but glue my eyes to the road in the hope that some mental power could be harnessed to prevent any possible accident of hitting the guard rail, clipping a motorcyclist or not stopping quickly enough for the car no more than 2 metres in front of us.

At one point during the trip back I cracked and asked Cocka to slow down as I was a little freaked by the speed. This was about 30 seconds before we hit heavy traffic and slowed to a healthy average speed of 50 kph. Ah…

I cleaned my underpants that night.