Matzoh and mayhem: the plight of an unleavened Passover pastry.

I am back from the shortest seder I have ever attended. This is the way seders should always have been. I might not have abandoned religion had Passover dinners always been this brief. Growing up, dragged to family members' houses for yearly torture at the dinner table, I used to count the pages in the haggadah, over and over and over again. 'We've gone through 4 pages, there are 77 left,'...'On page 5 now. Only 76, godawful, painstakingly slow pages left to get through.' And so on and so forth. Tonight, the story of the Jews' exodus from Egypt read more like a tabloid than a religous service. I heard 'Moses.' I heard 'Matzoh.' I heard 'wine.' And that was enough for me.

To all of you Jews more religious than myself--well, you're probably still reading about locusts. I'm sorry.

To those of my beloved Goys out there, may you find a chocolate bunny in your easter egg this weekend and may you celebrate the resurrection of Christ in the most fabulous bonnet you can find.

Kisses and unleavened hugs,
Jessie B. R.