I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of Jewish slaves. I picture someone asking the Pharaoh, “Excuse me, but you want me to do what? Build a pyramid? With my back? Good luck with that.” Then if the Pharoah insisted, the Jewish person would say, “Fine, I’ll try. There, I tried to move that large piece of stone, but it wouldn’t budge. Let’s think about a beach house.”
While it perpetuates Jewish stereotypes, I’ve always been partial to gelt, those foil-wrapped chocolate coins which arrive in little gold mesh bags. It’s like money only better.
In a traditional seder, there’s always a place setting and a glass of wine prepared for the prophet Elijah. To this day I have never understood who Elijah was, and Wikipedia only made me more confused. So I’ve decided that Elijah was Moses’ boyfriend, who was cute but always late.
Maybe, just to perk up this year’s seder, we need some new plagues:
Ungrateful children.
Those last five pounds.
Gluten.
Seasonal allergies.
People who hold the door for their friends on the subway, making everyone else wait.
Jewish men who use three names, as in Adam Max Weiner or Joshua Jason Feinblatt. Why not just cut to the chase and call yourself Bruce Princeton Harvard Law or David UPenn Goldman Sachs.
