By the time this issue hits the stands, both Easter and Passover will have come and gone, but not without a bit of family drama—at least where I come from. 

With the passage of time, things have changed. Mom is gone; the kissin’ cousins have all (sorta) matured, and the seats at the family table have dwindled. But years ago I wrote a little play to exemplify what life was like back in the day. Although I hadn’t thought about it in years, I thought it was timely to share it here. You’re welcome! 

The cast: The mom, her second husband, aunt, uncle, boy cousin, girl cousin, a dog, a cat, assorted minor characters and an alligator. Oh, and the son (I mean me).

The time: Passover, circa 1982.

Curtain up. 

ACT ONE

The performance takes place at the Boynton Beach Playhouse (I mean my aunt’s and uncle’s condo) located in the southern region of the warm and charming (I mean humid and sweltering) southern tier of Florida.

Even though the mom is 75 years old, still works for a living and has a loving-but-not-always-with-it husband, the aunt had no qualms about asking the mom to prepare nine traditional holiday dishes. 

Director’s note:  the mom has a bad back, a bad arm, a bum leg and difficulty breathing (I mean “smoking”). 

Although the mom barely has the time to apply her usual parrot-green eyeshadow, the aunt—who has a state-of-the-art kitchen, grown-but-not-mature children of her own and the uncle to assist—still asks the mom to cook. Maybe it has something to do with this particular holiday (I mean “Passover”). If you require someone to act like an ancient Egyptian slave, enlightenment will follow.

So the mom does what is asked of her, saving the discussion of (I mean “complaining about”) the same for the son (I mean “me”)—the ne’er-do-well son who “had to be begged to get on a plane and haul his tuchas to Florida to see his mother on this all-important holiday, even though it could be her last, God forbid.”

The son loads a dolly with enough food to supply a third-world nation and helps the mom load her car in “only three trips from the eighth floor” of her condo, stopping between trips to catch her breath (I mean “smoke”). She straps the husband in (after explaining for the fifth time that they are going to aunt’s and uncle’s place) and silently prays that he doesn’t pee before reaching their destination.

ACT TWO

Mom, son and husband arrive at the “planned community” that aunt and uncle call home and ring the bell. Dog barks. The husband asks if they are at the bank. The dog, delirious to see people who aren’t screaming at each other (I mean “yet”), knocks the bundt cake out of husband’s hands, sending him and Grandma’s (now shattered) antique platter to the floor. 

As the mom huffs and puffs her way to the kitchen, laden with dishes, the boy and girl cousins ignore her plea for help and continue bickering over which of their newborn babies is bigger/cuter/smarter.

Meanwhile, the aunt is spied near the lanai, inspecting her nails and checking out her reflection in a butter knife. As they gather and sit down to begin the solemn Seder service, one of the babies begins to shriek. An alligator has smelled children (I mean “brisket”) and has made its way from the canal to the lanai in order to check out the scene, wreaking havoc. This proves to be too much for the girl cousin, who immediately begins to sob, and she races out of the house to “collect herself” (I mean “snort coke”).

By the time she returns (sans appetite) the uncle is already on his third “traditional glass of wine” (I mean “vodka”) and the aunt is hollering at him to get rid of the alligator, who isn’t taking no for an answer. 

The boy cousin has a (possibly lesbian) wife who refuses to eat a thing, reminding everyone that she is a vegetarian, while the mom points out (tearfully) that she “slaved over a hot stove” and that it’s “sacrilegious for Jews to be vegetarians.”

The uncle takes a break from drinking his sixth glass of wine (I mean “vodka”) to step out to the lanai and smoke. The boy cousin (who smokes in secret) demands that the uncle (his father) stop immediately, to “protect the children” and the aunt takes the boy cousin’s side. This upsets the girl cousin, (secret smoker’s sister) who once again breaks down in tears, running out of the house to “locate her baby’s pacifier” (I mean “snort coke”).\

After dessert, it’s time to “search for the afikoman” (a piece of matzo wrapped in a napkin that in this case smells slightly of cat pee).

 Although the youngsters in the house are the “chosen ones” to tear the house apart looking for the urine-soaked cracker, the girl cousin doesn’t feel that enough attention is on her, so she begins ugly-crying and flees to the bathroom to fix her makeup (I mean “snort coke”). 

Getting a whiff of the afikoman, mom’s husband decides this would be an excellent time to pee, forgetting altogether that he is sitting on the divan (I mean “couch”).

ACT THREE

The mom digs her inhaler out of her “pockabook” so that she can breathe (I mean “smoke”) and declares that this is “absolutely, positively the last time she works like a dog” (who is still licking Bundt cake off the floor) and huffs and puffs her way around the kitchen, muttering angrily under her (labored) breath. 

She collects the husband (while unobtrusively flipping the couch cushion), declares that not only can they call a caterer next year, they can also “kiss her tuchas” and marches (I mean “hobbles”) out the door, calling for the son (I mean “me”) who is schlepping the dolly behind her while she is swearing under her breath, gasping for air.

The uncle drunkenly smiles, weaves and waves, while casually flinging a piece of brisket to the alligator. The girl cousin violently blows her nose, oblivious to the fact that blood is coursing down her cheek while the (possibly lesbian) wife checks her pantsuit to make sure there is no meat on it, and the aunt checks her reflection in a teaspoon.

Door slams. Curtain falls. The End.

Note: Although my Pulitzer Prize-worthy play has never been produced in an actual theatre, maybe it’s time. I have a whole year to work on that, and who wouldn’t want to see this “mostly-true” story brought to life on stage? After all, it’s a holiday classic. In my humble opinion.

Ask the Google: What is the meaning of the Passover “afikoman”?

Answer: “The afikoman is a piece of matzo (unleavened bread) that is broken in half during the Passover Seder ritual. The larger piece is then wrapped in a napkin and hidden, to be found later (often by children) and eaten at the end of the meal, symbolizing redemption.” Cat pee not included.