So I couldn't find the sedar plate.
For those not of The Tribe, tonight is the first night of Passover, and there's a special meal we have called a sedar (or maybe "seder"), and for this special meal there are special foods, and for these special foods we have, say it with me, a special plate. But I couldn't find the damn plate.
Last year, I knew exactly where it was: in the middle drawer of the breakfront we got from my grandmother. Tucked on top of it were the beautiful matzoh covers (matzoh, for the uninitiated, is unleavened bread. The "bread of affliction," according to the hype. Damn straight. Horrid stuff) that I purchased from a synagogue two years ago, back when I had visions of kreplech dancing in front of my eyes and thought that would be the year we finally joined a synagogue and had a go at the ritual of religion thing. (Yeah, that turned out well. Note the sarcasm. Next.) Point is, last year, I knew where the sedar plate was.
This year? Gone. Like magic.
Now granted, we moved a year ago from Upstate New York to Mid-Upstate New York (read: 40 minutes south of the previous residence), and we haven't exactly unpacked everything. That being said, I was sure we'd put away all the fine china. (And matzoh covers.) I, obviously, thought wrong.
So this year, we did something a little different. Loving Husband and I set aside the ritual of Passover and made room for the spirit of Passover. After the kids were home from school, Loving Husband helped them make their own sedar plates, a la Chinet and Crayola while I whipped up the items for the plates and put together the holiday meal. Beautiful plates, too, as you can see.
Here are the three plates, along with Tax Deduction the Elder, Tax Deduction the Younger, and Elmo (shortened, as we understand it, from Elmowitz). The center plate is what Loving Husband created. There's a picture of an egg (for the egg); an apple, a walnut and wine for the charoset; a sheep for the shank bone (on the plate, we wrapped a baby carrot in aluminum foil and used our imaginations); a piece of matzoh; a horse and a radish for the bitter herbs, and a sprig of parsley.
So the Precious Little Tax Deductions, with some guidance from Loving Husband, saved Passover in the Kessler house this year. Good thing, too, because the kosher-for-Passover stuffing? Yuck. And as Tax Deduction the Elder proudly exclaimed to my mom, Passover is when for eight days, all you drink is grape juice and wine.