The Heart of the Holiday

Holidays are when families gather, some enthusiastically, some reluctantly, and in each beats the heart of the holiday. And by heart I don’t mean the sweet, Valentine heart, but the core. Holidays, and in particular family gatherings are much more than the ritual gathering of people who know each other too well. We literally and figuratively bring so much to the table I sometimes feel we should be holding these events in sports arenas.

I have heard legends about families who gather harmoniously year after year, but I think they must all be medicated. Even with the best of intentions (and who really has those?) there is so much going on tensions can run high. This year I was happy to be hosting Passover at my house. There would only be eight of us (a cinch cooking-wise) and the menu was simple. I had this! Then life happened, and I began my own personal holiday fail.

I got sick. On my birthday! And I get sick like a six year old;  I run a fever, I whine, I need my  mommy, and all I want is Progresso Chickarina soup. Unfortunately I am not six, my mommy, even if she were still around would not rush to Philadelphia to wait on me hand and foot, and Progresso has changed their recipe, and the soup I crave no longer exists. WAHHHH! I must cope with my illness like and adult, which makes me even crankier. (I bet you wish you were invited.)

My brother arrived Wednesday when I was at my worst, and I was sorry for him to have to endure this. Getting sick, in addition to making me fussy and tired, put a major crimp in my schedule for the week. I dragged my sorry ass out of bed Thursday, got my daughter to school, got the soup and matzo balls made, then slept, a lot. My cheerful brother kept cheerfully telling me how much better I was doing, and I somehow managed not to smack him.

Unfortunately I had been postponing all housecleaning chores for weeks until the last possible minute so everything would be as clean as possible, and my family wouldn’t see what I slob I am. Cleaning takes a good deal of energy when I am feeling my best, so in my current state it was clear I wasn’t going to manage to get the house even close to an acceptable state. I did some vacuuming, tossed stuff into bags, closets and boxes, did some very perfunctory bathroom work, and took another nap. I hoped they wouldn’t judge me too harshly.

By Friday morning I was fever-free, and feeling nearly human. All the food got made, the table set, and everyone arrived, eager to help, and suitably sympathetic. My problem was I was so tired I was anything but gracious, and accepting of the help being offered. I was testy, and prickly and if you weren’t already, you should now feel very grateful you weren’t here.

Part of the joy of holidays is to welcome people and their help and kindness; to acknowledge their generosity in traveling from a distance, and in bringing wine, and cake, doing the work of running the Seder, and helping you with the cleaning and shopping. The heart of the holiday does not mean snapping at people for making coffee too early, or for using the wrong container of cream (does it really matter?). The heart of the holiday is remembering you are all together only twice a year, that these are the people you’ve known most of your life, and theirs. That they will be there for you if and when you need them. I forgot all of that, but they’ll give me another chance, I’m almost certain!