On Passover, as we taste the maror and chazeret to remember the bitter tears of slavery I also remember the people who are no longer with us at our Seder.

My parents and Ed’s parents. My grandma, at whose house I spent all the Seders of my childhood, my cousin Leslie and I scampering under the table to tickle peoples’ feet as Uncle Irving led the reading.

It’s always at the good times that you remember the people who are no longer around to share it, right?

I also remember that my brother Mickey has moved far away to Buenos Aires and my brother Jeff celebrates Passover with his own kids, grandkids and my sister-in-law’s family. And Ed’s sister Barbara celebrates with her kids, grandkids and in-law family. And so too with Leslie. She has her own extended family. 

None of us shares Passover anymore. I miss everyone.

Passover is such a happy time and so you want to be with all the people you love and care about and it’s a good thing that families are grow and have active lives and celebrations. Still, the bitter tears of remembrance of what used to be gets to me every Passover. 

Is everyone like this or am I just a sentimental old fool?