Passover fell early this year, catching us
still in the Tucson condo we rentedÂ
to escape Chicago’s winter.
It is a unit with no dining room, not even
much of an eat-at table, a kitchen
rather poorly equipped.
So this is the first spring in many years
that I will not be hosting a seder.
But we have been invited
by a newly-met daughter and son-in-law
of good friends who are coming
from home in Sante Fe.
I offer to bring yummy matzoh ball soup.
Hannah accepts; that’s one thing
she won’t have to make.
She tells me there will be six of us, laterÂ
calls to add three more, finally
the count totals eleven.
I’m trying to figure out how to make enough
soup and 22 matzoh balls using
the condo’s one large pot
plus transport it there, slosh free, in the car.
As I walk my dog one morning,
days before the seder,
a woman I’ve never seen before is charging
her electric car. I pause to chat.
She has just moved
into a nearby condo and I cannot believe—
and tell her I can’t believe this—
I am suddenly askingÂ
if she has a large soup pot I might borrow
for a few days. And she does.
And dayenu.
