Some Passover Reflections

As yesterday was the last day of passover, I thought I’d share some thoughts with you about how passover felt this year for me. I thought this post was going to be a dvar torah kind of thing but I have a feeling it will just be me ranting. I guess I can count this as Rabbi practice. 

Here’s why this was the weirdest Passover ever: for the first time in recorded history I didn’t want passover to end. I took that first bite of pizza last night and it didn’t taste like the best thing I’d eaten in my life as it usually does all other years. In fact, I woke up this morning wanting it to still be Passover. After all, we had enough matzah to last us at least another week. 

So why did I want passover to go on forever this year?  One word: normalcy

My Seder was beautiful, with family near and far gathered on zoom to interrupt each other and talk over one another just like real life. It was amazing to share a Seder with grandparents in Los Angeles and even a cousin in Hong Kong. My grandparents said it was the best seder we’ve ever had. And while the family did provide some good laughs, what felt so incredible to me about the Seder was the orderliness, the knowledge of what was coming next. One of the hardest things for me about this pandemic is the uncertainty. Will I be able to work my job this summer? Will I be able to study abroad next year? Will students be allowed back to campus in the Fall? When will I see my friends again? It will be awhile before I know the answers to these questions. But sitting at that Seder, knowing that we were on קרפס, knowing that יחץ came next, gave me a sense of comfort I have not felt in a long time. I didn’t know what would happen the next day, or the day after, or the day after, but I did know that after we ate the bitter herbs, it was time for the Hillel sandwich. I thought about all the years that I have done the exact same Seder order, on the exact same day (of the Hebrew calendar), and it gave me comfort to know that no matter what crazy thing is happening in the world, no matter what happens, we will always open the door for Elijah, we will always sing a terrible rendition of Dayeinu, and we will always say בשנה הבאה בירושלים 

I know that objectively Matzah does not taste good. And every other year  I have believed that. But let me tell you what my Matzah tasted like this year. It didn’t taste like slavery, or oppression, or wandering through the desert. My dad’s Matzoh Brei tasted like my grandparents’ kitchen the day after the seder. Matzah and peanut butter sandwiches tasted like waiting in line for the Indiana jones ride with my best friends every year when we went to Disneyland over spring break. Matzah farfel with milk and sugar tasted like midnight snacks after watching prince of Egypt for the hundredth time. I guess you could say, Matzah tasted like freedom. And I didn’t want to stop tasting it. It’s hard to remember a time when we could hug, dance, share food, walk into stores, or go to a friend’s house. But maybe, just maybe, you can find something that tastes like normal. 

The World from Behind a Cash Register

It’s been awhile since I’ve visited this here blog. So much has happened since, in my life and in the world. I am grateful to be establishing a bit of a routine and to be in a place where I am accepting this as the new normal. 

In the time since I last wrote here, Tiger King has replaced Love is Blind as the most discussed TV show on the internet, but more importantly, I have started a job working as a cashier at Andy’s Local Market. It’s a great place and I am so happy to be working for such a worthy cause. If you’re in the San Rafael area, come by and say hi and pick up a roll of toilet paper or two. But just two. We have a two rolls of toilet paper limit per customer. The other day I informed a nice older woman that she could only buy two of the ten rolls of toilet paper she had places to my register. She promptly asked me why she could only buy two. I seriously thought she was kidding. She actually did not know about the toilet paper shortage. I would really like to know what rock she is living under. And if I could get a spot under there. If she doesn’t know about the toilet paper shortage there must be so many other things she is blissfully avoiding! Maybe I should have told her about this thing called Corona virus. Oh well it’s too late. And maybe her life is better without that knowledge. 

I’ve been meeting some pretty funny characters throughout this experience. I most always end up talking to customers about the virus. I try to calm them down with phrases such as “we’re all hanging in there” or “as long as everyone stays home this too shall pass” or “this is all just temporary.” One slightly older than middle aged man responded to my this is all temporary aim at good spirits with a “not for me. There’s no way I will live through this. It’s okay. I’ve had a good life.” Oof. That is not what I signed up for. “Have a great day sir.”

For those of you who are concerned about me working at a grocery store, thank you very much for your concern. Don’t worry, we are taking all the precautions to keep employees and customers safe. I wear gloves and a mask whenever I am in the store. I really hate wearing a mask. And I haven’t been able to share this frustration because I know that I have to for the good of society so I’m going to take this opportunity to rant about how much I hate wearing a mask. You can all judge me for this but really you should be thanking me for courageously leaving my house everyday in order to help you get food on your plates. Anyways, the mask. I would like to formally apologize to everyone I have been within 6 feet of in the past twenty years. No, not because of corona virus silly, that’s only been around for a few months. Because wow my breath smells horrible. Having both my mouth and my nose contained in such a small space causes the smell of my breath to go directly to my nose. It is truly revolting. And nobody else in the store seems to have this problem so it appears it’s just me and my breath. Again, sorry everyone. As many of you know but definitely does not come off as such in this blog, I’m very soft spoken. I know. Shocker. And now with that plus the mask I am trying extra hard to speak loudly. I feel like I’m yelling at everyone “DO YOU NEED YOUR RECEIPT” but then I feel like I’m spitting on everyone, oh but it’s okay I’m wearing a mask, but oh no now I’m smelling my spit. Gross. It’s just a mess. Something fun I’ve had to learn to do is ask people for their IDs when they are purchasing alcohol. I still don’t totally understand how it can be legal for me (a twenty year old) to be selling alcohol. If you know please let me know so my anxieties can be calmed. I’m usually really bad at guessing people’s ages/if I need to card them. You know what makes it even easier to tell how old somebody is? If they are wearing a mask that is covering 75% of their face. I’ve decided to err on the side of over carding and I guess that could make some carded old people happy. So all in all I guess it’s a win but also those masks just make everything harder. They especially make Apple Pay face recognition very challenging. Can someone put in a request for Apple to make eye recognition technology? Thanks. Okay now I’m done shit-talking masks. I know that they are very important and that they are saving many lives and that we should all wear them when we leave the house blah blah blah. 

We are also wearing gloves to keep ourselves and customers healthy. That makes it really hard to get coins out of my drawer. Everyone in the store must think I’m really bad at math because it takes me so long to get them their change. But truthfully, I am very bad at math. At least mental math. If you were one of my elementary school teachers, please stop reading now. Just go ahead and skip to the next paragraph. I never stopped counting on my fingers. Even when we had mental math tests and I wasn’t allowed to, I  would just count on them without moving them so nobody could see. I was such a rebel! Anyways, karma is really biting me in the butt because these are numbers I can’t count on my fingers. 25 + 25 + 10 + 10 + 5 + 3 = … At least I have the gloves as an excuse for my slow counting. 

Speaking of money, I have never been more shocked by the wealth of Marin county. You would not believe how many people will pay $69.99 for a pack of toilet paper. You read that right: $69.99. You’re probably thinking, well I guess if somebody is really desperate it makes sense. But need I remind you that you can buy two rolls of toilet paper at a time for only $2.50. Anybody who has an immediate need for 32 industrial size rolls of toilet paper, probably has some other issues that need to be addressed. If you are one of those people that paid that much money for toilet paper, I have no regrets. You need to seriously rethink your decision making skills. 

One woman called me on the phone and asked me to put aside paper towels for her. We are also selling those individually, but there is no limit. I asked her how many rolls she would like me to reserve. She said, “however many you can get me without seeming greedy.” I seriously did not know what to do with that amount. Please comment how many you would have reserved for this nice woman on the phone. 2? 10? 30? 100? I went with however many I could fit in one paper bag, which was seven. I’m happy with that decision. I’m really doing god’s work over here deciding how many paper towel rolls is too many paper towel rolls. 

Overall, working at Andy’s has been such a great experience. I have great coworkers and I love meeting and talking to people in my neighborhood that I otherwise never would have interacted with (at a safe distance of course). But you know what I really don’t like. Holding entire dead chickens in my hands. They are very gross and slimy and strangely cold. Well I guess it would be worse if they were hot. But they are too cold. At least the gloves help a little. Maybe I’ll be wearing gloves while I do this even when this whole corona virus thing is over. As many barriers between me and the dead chicken as possible would be great. Can you tell I’m vegetarian? And had pet chickens? Every time somebody hands me a whole chicken to scan I can’t help put imagine Archie, Betty and Veronica, the chickens that used to reside in our backyard but now have a nice, beautiful home on a farm upstate. So if you’re coming in to visit me and buy two rolls (and two rolls only) of toilet paper, please consider not purchasing a whole, slimy, cold chicken. Thank you.