Amy invited me to her church's Seder Supper, a kind invitation that you and I know she'd only ever extend to me. An invite to watch Catholics mangle the beautiful traditions of the "Chosen people", for whom many still blame for the slaughter of our messiah and most of the world' problems, dine on foul tasting mystery foods, and relish in the absurdity of it all, is something that can only be offered to a few people.
Thank heaven I am one of them.
I arrived early and scoped out the grounds waiting for Amy. My curiosity was piqued by the gathering convention of AARP, the Gray Panthers, or some sort of secret society dedicated to the toothless and incontinent. I was initially struck with fear, crippled my by unrelenting inability to relate to the elderly, but I was soon consoled by fact that I was on hallowed property and God surely would not have one of his humble servants harmed by Satan's retired army while waiting in St. Jerome's parking lot.
Amy arrived and we ventured to the church auditorium, or church hall for those of you who haven't been to a Catholic church in a generation. The first observation was somehow the Neptune Society was going to holding a cremation-sales meeting in the same room as the seder, or perhaps no one under the age of 95 had been invited. (Amy clearly sneaking an invitation because of her high-ranking, nearly Papal position as church lector.) Now, it's not that I hate old people, it's that I don't understand them at all. Most people think I am weird, and usually I am left alone in my elder-phobia. However, one kindred soul shares this disgust of all things old: Miss Amy. As Depeche Mode once said in their prophetic anthem "Blasphemous Rumors": I think that God has a sick sense of humor / And when I die / I expect to find / Him Laughing.We found an empty table near the back (easier getaway) and quickly grabbed two seats for us and two for her friends that said they'd come (as we quickly clung to any chance that we would have someone to talk with who couldn't tell us where they were when James Garfield was assassinated).
Fear not, with our Catholic manipulated, Hebrewless haggadah in hand (see above picture), we were ready to roll -- especially since our table was properly outfitted with a full bottle of Manishevitz Concord Grape Wine. They wouldn't make us share, would they? I mean, we were only being pretend Jews today; no reason to be cheap, right?We would have to share. With whom? With the dreaded pack of shuffling feat coming towards our table. Unfriendly scowls and purses (mine and Amy's) hanging on empty chairs did not deter the faithful. Four individuals -- ranging in age from about 60 to 172 -- came to our table. Three women and one man. One miserable looking man. As if he was it perpetual agony.
Niceties followed and were quickly forgotten by me. However, I did feel compelled to grab a pen and jot down some notes.
When someone noticed the candle holder (small porcelain crosses... at a Passover seder... celebrating our Jewish friends?), one of the women was quick to remark, "The price was right. Free." Dang, these ladies must have been practicing for Passover.
In reply to a little senior wit, one of the women responded with, "You can be so sarcastic in your old age." All I could think is, she should be lucky she can be anything at her age!
The festivities would end when Amy messed up her seder plate, switched it out with the one next to her, and we could begin.
I was asked to read a portion. I was actually asked, "Do you have a nice, loud voice?" Amy was quick to answer for me, "Fuck yeah!" The man seemed to be looking for powerful voices, but I think he came to me because he figured I'd be easier to understand. You know, because I had teeth and all. I read the Hebrew I was given perfectly, mostly because there was no Hebrew read at all. They did "bus" in some nice Jewish folk to help with leading us in song. They might as well have bussed in some nice Korean folk, it would have had the same effect.
Amy read, too (practice for her big lector debut the following day), but that wasn't her only contribution to the evening. She also cheated. When our fearless leader hid the afikomen, Amy was quick to point it out to the only child in attendance. "Hmmm. I wonder who will find it. Dear Leader promised a prize, and quickly went on with the seder. I've been there before and quickly recognized this as a ruse to get out of paying the poor kid that had to suffer through this meal. (Maybe that's it. Maybe the Catholic seder is MORE authentic because we are suffering just as much as the Jews did in Egypt.) We checked in and made sure he got his cash. I think Amy tried to skim off a 10% "finder's" fee, but she wasn't successful. (Thank goodness she had the wisdom to ask for the change when making her donation to cover our "supper.")As the traditional seder came to a close, we prepared for the real dinner. Maybe some Matzoh ball soup. Some kugel or lahtkes. Nope. Terriyaki chicken, pasta with meat balls and MUSHROOMS!, some beefy dish, a salad and salmon. We clearly were remember the Jews of great diaspora who found their way to the Far East and Italy.
"Next year in Shanghai!"
Several years ago, a Jewish friend expressed disbelief that Catholic churches typically host a seder during the Passover season. I grew up with this rediculous tradition and assured her it was so. She still didn't believe me so I invited her and her husband to a Gay Catholic seder being organized at my church by the gay ministry. she said she loved it -- despite its Jesusiness. We are very ecumenical.
This piece of absurdity was actually quite wonderful. I love sharing these times with friends like Amy, who appreciate what I find funny...
... or at least sometimes appreciates it.
Happy Passover and Glorious Easter, everyone!
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