Growing up, Passover was my favorite holiday. I loved the Passover story about the Jews
being saved from the evil Pharaoh in Egypt. I loved the miracle of the parting of the sea and survival
crossing the desert (as a kid raised in the Arizona desert, I felt a special kinship with those early
Israelites). I loved the Seder — especially the part where we dipped our fingers in the wine as we
enumerated each plague. And I of course loved the food, particularly my mother’s matzo balls (sinkers, not
floaters) and the red horseradish that always made me sniffle and sneeze — and which, invariably, somebody
spilled on the tablecloth to leave a permanent beet juice stain.
