Passover- Pesach, springtime festival of cheer.

 Passover- Pesach, springtime festival of cheer.

Normally tonight would have marked the perennial Jewish festival of cheer, cheery anecdotes about ancient Egypt, Biblical exoduses and pilgrimages, a night of reflection, thought, exchanges of smiles and laughs, questions and more questions from inquiring children and not leaning to one side. Pesach(aka) Passover is upon us again and once again it is without its formality and ceremony, its traditional consumption of matzas but there may not be quite as many crumbs on the wine stained Haggadahs or the expansive tables groaning with food. Pesach will be put on temporary hold because Covid 19 has stopped it in its tracks. But it will be there in spirit and we'll still celebrate.

For those of us who have always loved Pesach for as long as they can remember there will be no emotional investment tonight nor tomorrow for the second night. Once again this does not represent the end of the world nor is it a major tragedy because we can still do Pesach or Passover next year and we can still drink wine, eat bitter herbs, eggs, karpas and then the substantial feast that normally follows. But once again there will be estrangement from our loved ones and family so we'd better just accept the fact and we will since there can be no alternative. 

Your thoughts turn back to the mid 1970s when your grandparents, parents, brother would regularly gather together in familial intimacy in a large dining room in Gants Hill, Essex for the yearly homage to matzas, wine and springtime rebirth. We would patiently sit around the table every late March or the beginning of April in what would prove the ultimate recognition of a festival that kept giving. As a young child and then teenager at the time it all seemed slightly bewildering at times but eventually you managed to get the gist of what was going on. 

There would sit my smiling, grey-haired grandpa, a learned Hebrew scholar, tiny wisps of a silvery beard on his face which was more of a five o' clock shadow than  proper whiskers. But the face was wise, dependable, patriarchal, immensely knowledgeable and every so often the pursed mouth would break into a watery smile. He was never judgmental or critical but he was a Holocaust survivor so the pain would linger on his cheeks, understandably resentful for what had happened 30 years before to his family but glad to be among the family he felt such a deep and enduring love for. 

Then the seder service and would finish in what seemed a couple of minutes, not nearly long enough to absorb or digest what he'd seemingly muttered and mumbled both incoherently and almost presumptuously. You would sit as a very young whippersnapper, staring vacantly at your grandfather and wondering what on earth he'd been talking about. But, quite confessionally, he would tilt his head with a knowing air about him that was always trustworthy and would then re-assure me that all was well and he knew exactly what he was talking about. 

And now my dearly sweet and lovely grandma would place Elijah's cup in the middle of the table and half way through the prayers there was a deliberate pause as Elijah's cup would wait to be summoned in for a quick sup. At this point you would convince yourself that nothing or nobody had touched a single drop of the said Palwin wine and this had all been made up on the hoof, just some urban religious myth that nobody could prove or for that matter could claim any semblance of historical proof of. 

On both nights my parents and grandparents would take it in turns to hold the Pesach seder service and over the years there would be that fond adherence to yearly tradition. There were the hilarious moments such as the evening my grandparents came around to my parents home and my grandpa's trousers would shamelessly part company from his waist and drop to the ankles. In one year quite foolishly and innocently you swallowed several prune stones without any heed of the consequences. Soon you were quickly ferried to the local hospital and were patched up without any real idea of what you had just done. And you were only 33 at the time. Seriously you were a very young child.

But Pesach(aka) Passover has again been postponed for much of the global Jewish population although in countries such as New Zealand they'll probably go about their business as if Covid 19 had not happened. The Jewish community in New Zealand will have the whole of their extended family around to snap and crunch your matzas, probably very pleased with themselves and wondering why the rest of the world is still nervous, shuffling along at a snail's pace and waiting for the right moment to see their families. But this is not the case because we're just as good and efficient as they are if not better than they are. 

The fact remains is that my wonderful brother in law and sister in law and their family will not be holding  the yearly seder service. How frustrating, exasperating and beyond explanation this is although most of us know why by now or should do. Tonight my wife and our daughter will simply munch our way through a mountain of Rakusen's matzas and have a bite to eat but obviously it'll all feel like a damp squib again. The coronavirus is still parking itself outside your home and won't shift for perhaps another a month or two. 

Outside in our communal garden, the back wall has been half painted in a peculiar shade of black and the glitzy, glamorous apartments which now form part of the dramatic regeneration of Manor House have shot up like towering ziggurats. The area does look very brand new, 21st century, impressive looking but still a work in progress now in the Seven Sisters Road. A whole family of cement mixers have now been given their marching orders and told to re-locate around the corner from us. 

Tonight though is Pesach and an almost bunker mentality still exists around here. We are clearly not at war but a virus is proving a very stubbornly medical problem that refuses to go away. Still, we'll see this one through, taking a deep breath and counting to ten. We'll keep leaning and wondering why this has to be the case. At some point within perhaps the next fortnight movements will be afoot and it'll be time to celebrate part of the gradual re-opening of all the places we thought would never disappear for rather longer than we thought they would. Keep munching your matzos, world. We knew these days would be ours again. Happy Pesach and Passover. Chag Semach to you all.