One more Pessach Blog Post before Pessach, aka: Why you should love Matzot

Soon it is time for Jews worldwide to dive in head first into a world full of wine, matzot and potatoes. I have seen so many videos already about the horror of being Ashkenazi during this time, so many good recipe ideas and so many funny videos about differences of Sefardi and Ashkenazi households. Now many people seriously seem to hate this time, since we have a limited variation of food (especially as an Ashki), but I gotta say: I love Pessach and I love being Ashki during this time. Before you think I really lost it this time, hear me out: I love rice and kitniyot just as much as any other sane person does, but not being able to eat everything for 7-8 days (depending if you live in the diaspora like me, then it's 8, or if you live in Israel then it's 7 days), makes you view food, and other things, in a different perspective.

When I was a kid, of course Passover was hard. I hated being different in class (already had so many other issues fitting in, eating Matzot in an Austrian school was not helping), I disliked the weird super-dry-yet-weirdly-mushy-kosher-for-passover-cornflakes and I missed my usual snacks. But: I loved the little kosher store my dad and I went to, to get the kosher food, I enjoyed looking thtough this mini store, unimaginable tiny and full of food and goodies. I loved the Seder with my family, and seeing everyone get funny and drunk over the night, my Grandpa singing in Aramaic and my Mom and my Grandma smoking the 100 cigaret of the evening, while my grand-aunties fight over something. Now, as a grown up, the store I used to go is no more, we now have a huge kosher store though, that lacks the charm, but has everything. My family has shrunk down so much, and many of the melodies are lost, but my dad, my sister and I try our best to keep the tradition.

Pessach should make you remember your roots, what your ancestors went through and be grateful for what you have. This is why I love Matza. When I eat the first bite of this dry carton-like thing I have to remember how my Grandpa held me at my legs , head dangling down until I got dizzy from laughing to hard. I remember my Grandma making the best Matzaballs that I will never eat again. I remember my Mom singing along to songs in a language she never learnd, but learned to love for my dad. But I also remember the family member I did not get to meet. The ones who died in the holocaust. The ones who fled so I could live. The ones who left everything behind, so I can sit here, surrounded by food and safety. So instead of hating Matza, remember what it means for you and the way you came from. No matter if you were born into a jewish family or born to be the first jew of your family: The way you and your ancestors came is all in this piece of Matza.