Pesach is coming, and I’d like you to invite me to your Seder. I won’t cost you very much — I don’t eat knaydlech! And you can spare the bitter herbs — I was born with them.
Please don’t ask me to count the “plagues” – I forgave the Egyptians long ago. It’s sort of “useless blessing” anyway. Nobody ever got sick from a printed plague!
And spare me the recital of “Pour Out Thy Wrath.” I’m still young; don’t poison my mind with vengeance. I hope for better times and won’t even curse the idol-worshippers.
I don’t even want to say “Next year in Jerusalem,” because saying is a long way from doing.
Meanwhile, let me wish you a year in which you won’t have to think about the “Four Questions” and the answers…
And, when we open the door and call out “Let all who are hungry come and eat,” may nobody come in; let’s hope that no one will have to.
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