Why Was This Night Different? 

My widowed mother-in-law lived a few short blocks away, and until now we’d always joined her Seder night, with my husband Abby or one of his brothers leading the Seder. This year, however, things would be different. My father had passed away the previous year, and my mother and sisters would be joining us in our home.

We’re a “mixed marriage.” Abby’s parents were Hungarian on his mother’s side and (sort of) American on his father’s side, while my parents were both survivors from Poland.

In line with our Chassidic roots, my parents’ family traditions dictated that we not eat gebrochts. This rule was enforced so strictly that no matzah crumbs were even allowed on the tablecloth. Period. Each person had their own individual matzah pouch at their place setting. Please don’t ask what happened if a crumb touched a plate.

When Abby grew up, though, matzah meal — verboten at my house — was a mainstay, and if there were no knaidlach at the Seder it just wasn’t Pesach! His mother’s recipe for rokutpaskeh, a Hungarian delicacy of matzah soaked in wine layered with finely chopped nuts that had been folded into stiffly beaten egg whites (along with some secret ingredients), was three pages long. Her chremslech were legendary.