Emancipate. Emancipate. Dance to the Music

And so this is Passover...and what shall we do?  The point of the holiday, as I have learned, is the seder, which is Hebrew for "order." The scholars teach that it is such an essential holiday to my Tribe, we must follow the order of remembrance, to properly celebrate our freedom from slavery.

Well, I wasn't raised in any religious way, but I do remember family seders. We'd have a family dinner with matzah, and soup, and brisket.  One favorite bit of family lore is the first year my Catholic raised brother in law Dennis was invited. He went to a bakery and somehow found a stray challah -- bringing it proudly to the seder. My parents laughed and explained to him that the holiday was one of no bread -- Dennis, befuddled, had been told challah was "Jewish bread" - what was the problem?

When I got to college, Eric's family took me in, and had me to their family seders. They were joyous -- Eric's Dad Marvin happily leading the service, and mixing in tales of why the Dolphins were better than the Jets, and in any event the Miami Hurricanes were closest to God.  The Dachshunds, always a fixture in their house, were also given starring roles.

Wifey's parents took over Passover duties after we were together. I think 1985 was my first seder with them -- the year before, Wifey and I were just dating. My mother in law was a great Eastern European cook -- and she made fresh gefilte fish -- which my mother savored. Each year there would be a care package of many more portions. When my sister and her family moved to Florida, they were invited, too, and they always hated having to transport the leftover fish home to Palm Beach County -- fearing it would spill and turn their car into one their cats would love. I don't think their fears were ever realized.

Later, we would have seder duty --- we would bring in the food from local places, but my mother in law would always make her fish. The other night, Wifey and I were reminiscing about how much my mother enjoyed it. Before the holiday, my mother in law would send Richard, my father in law, to Deleware Farms -- the purveyor in Broward. She would lovingly make the fish for Sunny.

The Ds would make the books we'd use -- the haganahs -- and the services would be short. We'd get in the message, but not really go through the entire seder.  Still, they were warm memories.

This year, the second in a row, we'll be attending with D1's in laws. Jackie and Ricardo are so loving and welcoming. And this year, we have much to jointly celebrate. Joey's brother Bob is going to be a Dad -- Vera is pregnant. And D1 and Joey are watching their first house being built -- it's supposed to be finished this summer.

Joey's parents have learned that high rises aren't for them -- they just bought a house in NE Miami, very close to their boys and daughters in law. Wifey is pressuring me to do the same.  We'll see -- if we get blessed with grandkids, well, the move will probably happen, but for now we'll be making the drive up the Palmetto for the holiday.

Second seder, tomorrow night, we'll be with our adopted extended family -- Paul's son's Alex's in laws. They live in a spectacular house in Miami Beach -- we went there last year, too, and they follow our style -- short on service, long on food and laughter.

Paul is always called upon to lead the seder, and it becomes a race against his fellow father in law Bob, who likes to speed things up. After laughter and eye rolling, the meal takes place -- but the message to the kids indeed gets through .

Last week, Rabbi Yossi stopped by our office, with the special matzah used only for Passover. He found Stuart, Vince, and me in the office, and we talked about the holiday. Vince is Irish Catholic, but raised by Jesuits, and pretty knowledgeable about Old Testament stuff. He grew up in LA, and so has Jewish humor in his veins. He loved Yossi's Bortsht Belt joke.

But Yossi also told a meaningful tale -- about a young rabbi whose life goal was to see Elijah, the prophet who, according to tradition, visits each seder. His senior rabbi told him to see him, to bring a box of food and clothing to a poor family, and attend their seder.

The young rabbi did -- but no -- no sightings. He was told the next year to visit again -- and he did - and the poor family's son pointed at him and said to his parents "Look -- Elijah is here again!"

The moral is, of course, that if you want to see an angel, you must become one.

It's a message I like this year, as I continue my quest for true mental freedom...