(The following is a piece I wrote last year on the first night of Passover; I sent it to all the relatives I was able to email and they loved it. Many of them encouraged me to submit it to the local Jewish newspaper, which I did. Apparently, the Jewish Journal does not think I am as brilliant as my relatives do. So I'm posting it here and now everyone who reads my blog (all four of you) can enjoy it. Happy Pesach!)

Why is this night different from all other nights?

April 8, 2009. I decided this year to only attend a second night seder along with an off-timed seder on the 4th night, when my cousins came down from Northern California to have a seder with their son and new daughter-in-law. So, I figured I'd just kind of do something for myself this first night of Passover. I worked my regular shift and miraculously got out of work on time tonight. I went home, changed into a pair of jeans, a pullover hoodie and sneakers, and set out to walk to the library and get some Pinkberry for dinner. I’m sure my mother is already appalled at this whole plan.

I was only a block or two away from my apartment when I stopped to make a call. An elderly man approached me and asked “boyfriend?” I said no, I was only texting a friend. He asked me my name and when I told him, he instantly recognized it as Jewish and asked what my Pesach plans were. I told him that I was going to a seder tomorrow night but that tonight I was just taking a walk. I asked him where he was going and he pointed down the street and said “temple.” At least, that’s what I figured out that he said later. At the time, I couldn’t understand him and just thought he was headed to the retirement home on the next block. He said to me, then, that his name was “Chaim” and wished me a “Chag Sameach” and kissed me on both cheeks. For some reason, I believed the guy spoke Hebrew.

In any case, I finished my text and continued walking. I went to the library and instantly found the book I was looking for, which meant I spent another 20 or so minutes futzing around, acting like it was a giant bookstore all for me. When I found a second book (how can you check out only one?), I forced myself to leave and then headed to Pinkberry. Not exactly a traditional Pesach meal, but it’s unleavened and, by this time, I was really, really hungry.

I walked toward home, eating my Pinkberry and thinking thoughts about the seder I was not at. I reviewed some of the traditional parts of the seder in my head and began to look forward to attending Melinda’s big seder tomorrow night (these thoughts included, of course, what I would wear). As I passed by the temple, people were leaving after the service. At the corner, I ran into Chaim again.

Chaim was glad to see me and, in very broken English, invited me to come back to his home with him. I don’t know what made me think it was okay, but something made me feel good about this and after I protested that I was improperly dressed, Chaim insisted and I followed him home. It turned out that he only lived about three blocks away from my apartment.

We arrived at his building and walked up three flights of stairs. Chaim kissed every mezuzah on the floor on the way to his own door. I didn’t know what to expect, but by this time, I was realizing that Chaim was not Israelli at all and didn’t even understand the little bit of Hebrew I was speaking to him. Chaim is Persian. And so was his wife, who was not only surprised by my arrival with her husband, but a bit peeved as well (and really, who could blame her? If my husband came home with a strange woman and insisted that she spend dinnertime with us, I’d be pissed off too).

Chaim instructed me to take off my jacket and take a seat. Neshmat, his wife, had already set up a very simple seder table. Kedem grape juice and a kiddush cup, and a plate with the ritual foods. There was both the usual square matzah as well as the Israeli-made round matzot. The charoset was so chopped it looked like chocolate ice cream. And, as Persians do, scallions on the seder plate.

Chaim read the whole service in Hebrew, including the Four Questions. At one point, he asked me to read a portion in the Haggadah and when I couldn’t figure out which passage he wanted me to read, he and his wife had a big argument. Finally, I read what I thought he wanted me to read. We dipped celery into vinegar, hit each other with the scallions during “Dayenu” and he made us Hillel sandwiches with the delicious charoset. Neshmat stared at me throughout, with understandable suspicion, but when I caught her looking at me, we just smiled at each other.

Chaim would interrupt the telling of the Exodus with his attempt at explaining the story in English. This is where it’s lucky to know the story before the performance. Neshmat served dinner of chicken in soup and traditional crispy rice. There were radishes and parsley to add to the mix, which Chaim proudly declared were just bought at the Persian market. Chaim grabbed some paper towels for me as napkins, and we finished eating in silence. By this time, Neshmat warmed up to me (and I was less suspicious of the whole thing myself) and she became generous and sweet. Chaim showed me photos of his family and told me that they were coming tomorrow night for a family seder. They have three daughters and a son, plus a grandson and granddaughter.

We finished the meal and somehow I knew the evening was over (though it helped that Neshmat pulled out the carpet cleaner). I had nothing to share with this lovely couple, having come from a walk and only having money on me, which I knew would be an inappropriate gift. So I decided to show them photos of my own family which they seemed delighted to see.

I kissed Neshmat and Chaim on both cheeks, and Chaim led me out to the elevator. Before I left, Chaim gestured upwards to G-d, indicating that the invitation was not only from Chaim but from Hashem as well. And what is truly amazing is that I could not communicate with them in their language nor could they in mine. But it turned out to be a wonderful (albeit awkward) and very enriching experience.

By the way, Chaim got through the whole seder, including the dinner, in one hour and fifteen minutes. Seriously.