It wasn’t until I drove 40 minutes in Atlanta traffic to the synagogue last night that I realized I remembered the 1,036 other things I had to bring and forgot the one, most important thing . . . matza!
We had four cases of matza in our home along with boxes and baskets of supplies for the congregational Seder on the second night of Passover. I loaded my Suburban so full of stuff, there was room for little else.
Some people have no idea the details involved in the life of a small-time rabbi!
So I arrive at the synagogue and bring in all the supplies, by which time volunteers are showing up to help set up. We’re all laughing and having fun working together, when someone says: “Isn’t it time we made the matza toshes.”
The blood drained from my face and an electric “oh no” feeling charged up my spine. In fact, it was like in some movie I remember, with “ooooohhhhh nnnooooo” in slow motion playing in my mind, “Iiiii fffooorrrggggotttt the mmmmaaatttzzzaahhh.”
We decided there was nothing else to do but break the Yom Tov by running to the local Kroger and buying matza (should a rabbi admit to such a thing on a public forum?).
It was only the beginning of a night filled with hilarity.
There was the troublemaker table who told me before the event, “Say the word matza as much as you can during the Seder.” I agreed and later I saw them taking a drink of wine each time I said the word. Matza was the drinking word for these scoundrels. I could tell that for at least one of them I had said the word matza a dozen too many times!
Then there were the kids. As we sang Dayeinu, they made throat-cutting motions each time we said the “day-” part (pronounced “die”). Such hooligans!
Anyway, it was a great evening. And who knew the rabbi would forget the single most important element for a Passover. Aren’t I supposed to be like an expert or something?