New York Conquers All

Montreal is only worth Passing Over

Passover. The holiday where a divine force saved the Jews in Egypt. Perhaps this year my salvation will come in the form of Rhysy (if he stays in New York, that is).

Rhys and I have celebrated four Passovers together (Three years, four seders. Do the math.)

Passover was our first family holiday together. We had only been formally dating for 2 or so months, yet he eagerly accepted an invitation to spend the Passover with my family—in Brooklyn, nonetheless!

See? An intimidating affair. But Rhys took it in stride.

Four Passovers ago, Rhysy was misguided and vegan. I was worried whether this seder would accommodate his ascetic lifestyle.

Rhys would never have eaten a matzoh ball four seders ago…nor would he now.

I warned him that my father’s side of the family was more carnivorous than a Venus flytrap. Rhys took my concern to heart.  During the ceremonial Haggada reading, there is a part where you are supposed to eat a small sandwich consisting of Matzoh, horseradish and charoset (fruit and nut mixture).  Bobesy, in a sweet attempt to curb his appetite, took a huge piece of circular matzoh and heavily slathered it with horeradish and charoset.

Things have changed from four years ago (although my aunt won’t let Rhysy live his matzoh episode down). Now Bobesy prides himself on being primal. He’s eaten more meats (types and quantity) than I have over my 21 years of life.

My family’s seder affords him the opportunity to continue his diet in a comfortable and neanderthal manner of life he’s accustomed to.

Plus, his luck is changing! This year, even before the Afikoman hunt began, Rhysy spotted the Afikoman under the table in the main entrance to the house (same place as last year! Uncle Louis, either you’re becoming extraordinarily crafty or rather amnesic). Rhys informed me of this year’s holy of holies and we patiently awaited for the Afikoman hunt to begin…but we waited in vain! Perhaps because the youngest person at the table was 18, there was no one to tug at Uncle Louis’ shirt tails and insist that the search begin. When some of the guests had left, Rhysy convinced me to claim victory for finding the Afikoman. I felt guilty taking Rhys’ claim to fame away from him (especially after the matzoh disaster four years prior), but I really wanted my $20. I ran to Uncle Louis. Astounded,  he asked me where I had found it. “Same place as last year, Louey, same place.” He hit himself on the forehead, “D’oh.” He pulled out his wallet and furnished every man and woman under 30 with a fresh, crisp $20. Montreal may have cheap rent, but it certainly does not have free $20 bills.

Rhys snapped this shot of me. He later told me that Aunt Eva was shocked that he would let me out of the house like that. Rhysy nodded in agreement. But in actuality, Rhys encouraged me to wear this backless ensemble. Anyway, this is a family affair—what does Rhys have to worry about? Unless Aunt Eva knows something we don’t!

I’ll leave you with a little something I picked up off of Wall Street. You would never find something like this on the eve of Passover on the streets of Montreal:

Remember last night, Rhys? Albert and Sharon certainly do!