A couple of days ago, frustrated with all the Passover preparations, I published a post here that was intended to be a joke. Admittedly, the only people who seemed to get it were my husband, Yosef, who laughed out loud when he opened it, and my sisters, who know me too well to think it was anything otherwise. After I had posted it, Yosef half-joked, “Now you have to write a more serious post about Passover,” and I laughed and said, “I’ve literally got nothing to say about it this year.” I was fed up — with the Passover preparations which seemed to be endless and more exhausting with each passing day, and with my attitude to the festival, in general, this year. Which, it appeared, was basically non-existent.

Reasons I love Passover

Every year, no matter how mentally prepared I am, Passover comes upon me too quickly. In my head, I’ve got a plan, and on paper I have lists. Many lists. But all too soon, the boxes are being dragged up from the garage, the cleaning borderlines on obsessive and the kitchen gets turned into a spaceship. And just as quickly, too, that familiar sense of dread sets in.