We Jews love our food memories. We have our stand-by recipes that remind us of holidays, family, good times, and bad. And horseradish—maror in Hebrew—is one of those foods. I can’t even look at the root vegetable without the familiar smell taking me to Passover.
My 5-year-old son, all dressed up in his finest Purim costume, looked up at me and said, “Abba, I love Purim! Let’s go do some more shalach manos!” He was referring to the special candies and treats that are given out amongst friends throughout the community on Purim day.
I’m terrible at feeding myself. Not literally – when it comes to getting a forkful of food to my mouth, I’m actually over 98 percent accurate. What I mean is, in this life that could be considered adult, when I am tasked to eat a meal by myself, I constantly feel as if I’m failing quite spectacularly at it.
Growing up as a child I didn’t fully understand the concept of piggy banks. As far as I could tell — based on the information amassed from countless viewings of Toy Story and the occasional Nickelodeon advertisement — piggy banks were strange, possibly animate creatures into which you put your unusually large coins.
How do you make omelets and French toast even better than they already are? Matzoh, that’s how. I know that “matzoh” isn’t typically the answer to that kind of question because it’s dry and flavorless, but just go with me on this. Much like the fried tortillas in chilaquiles, matzoh has this way of turning regular old breakfast into something special, textured, and absolutely delicious.
I’m in love, and have been for a long time. It’s a relationship filled with laughter, tears, intrigue, and surprise. It was love at first sight, back when I was a little girl—with an extra-terrestrial that longed to go home.
A Rabbi once said that a person dies two deaths: The first is when you die; the second is when people stop remembering you.