Why is this night different than all other nights? Oh the Passover stories I could tell, tales of liberation, of rebirth, of exodus which we recount, as our ancestors have done time and time again across the globe for thousands of years… but I will simply say this for now: on no other night do I leave our family Seder beaming ear to ear and catch the bus uptown in satin heels and a formal dress with a box of glutenfree matzah under my arm and parve macaroons in hand, my belt too tight from multilayer Hillel sandwiches of charoset and horseradish, sufficiently slouched because of the mandatory glasses of wine, humming nuggunim to myself and still tapping my foot to Dayenu, thinking of the rich conversation among the thirty five of us, plus three glorious soon-to-be-question-asking additions, as we shared from what we are freeing ourselves and for what we will use that freedom. Chag sameach.
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