passover reading
I’m going to be doing a reading tonight at a bar. A bar on Passover. I said yes, because it’s a great chance to read with other Slice writers, and to further the mission of this really great, ambitious publication. It’s funny; the question of whether or not to read on Passover never would have entered my mind ten years ago when we were living in Wicker Park (okay, technically, East Village) and driving the Gusmobile to Cub Foods through the often-still snowy March streets.
I remember when, one day, Josh said to me: Hey, it’s Passover tomorrow! So what? I said and then we stood there looking at each other waiting for something else to be said.
We'd never cared if it were Passover before (that was the day my parents, back in New York, went to the Bridge Club with my cousins). But the next day, I found myself going to Waterstone’s after work and buying two Haggadah’s. We thumbed through them as we ate the pad thai we ordered. We made a half-hearted attempt to conjure up a seder plate: a carrot for the haroset, a bean sprout for the pascal lamb, a piece of parsley for the bitter herbs. We did all this reluctantly, with a kind of shyness, as if someone were watching. Every year since then, we’ve found a way to have some form of a Passover seder.
Not this year. I’ll be reading at Pacific Standard, a bar on 4th Ave. I’m excited and nervous. I’ve never read this story aloud and reading aloud is always a different experience. The work enters the world in a new way. I hope I do it justice.
Reading on Passover has made the think of the story of exodus in a new way; the risks of leaving bondage; and how the decision to leave one life can give a renewed strength but also many years of living in the wilderness before one can find a new home.
I remember when, one day, Josh said to me: Hey, it’s Passover tomorrow! So what? I said and then we stood there looking at each other waiting for something else to be said.
We'd never cared if it were Passover before (that was the day my parents, back in New York, went to the Bridge Club with my cousins). But the next day, I found myself going to Waterstone’s after work and buying two Haggadah’s. We thumbed through them as we ate the pad thai we ordered. We made a half-hearted attempt to conjure up a seder plate: a carrot for the haroset, a bean sprout for the pascal lamb, a piece of parsley for the bitter herbs. We did all this reluctantly, with a kind of shyness, as if someone were watching. Every year since then, we’ve found a way to have some form of a Passover seder.
Not this year. I’ll be reading at Pacific Standard, a bar on 4th Ave. I’m excited and nervous. I’ve never read this story aloud and reading aloud is always a different experience. The work enters the world in a new way. I hope I do it justice.
Reading on Passover has made the think of the story of exodus in a new way; the risks of leaving bondage; and how the decision to leave one life can give a renewed strength but also many years of living in the wilderness before one can find a new home.
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