It hit me.
My children will be celebrating Pesach with their Abba. God (and Delta Airlines) willing, they're flying to Israel to visit Saba and Savta, their aunt and uncle and cousins, and friends. They'll likely be the youngest at the seder table and therefore it will fall to then to recite the Four Questions.
I will be thousands of miles away and won't hear them. We won't go through the house with a candle, spoon, and feather searching for chametz the night before (yep, kicking it old school when trying to find those last leavened particles). I bought them beautiful new yontif outfits, but I won't see A wear her new dress, or J his fancy button-down white shirt and golden-beige pants. We won't go through the Haggadah together and my uncle won't reward them for finding the Afikomen.
I'll see them via FaceTime. Maybe I'll even watch them sing the Four Questions live. That's the beauty of technology, right? Hopefully their Abba takes some pictures of them in their holiday finery. And they're not going forever, just two weeks.
So why does it feel like it?
I ought to be grateful that I see them often during what's technically "his" time. I should thank the technological innovations that mean I can see their sweet (well, most of the time) faces every day while they're in Israel. I should be comforted knowing how many other holidays we do celebrate together.
Why can't I? My children, are, thank God...well, I won't even write it because I'm too superstitious.
This will be the first time I don't see them during a holiday. At least with Rosh Hashanah I got half, and Yom Kippur I got to take them to shul. We had Sukkot parties, and a joint Thanksgiving, and Chanukah parties, and New Year's Eve he invited me. Even for Purim I got to watch my daughter read Megillah.
Kashering my house for just little old me just feels so empty and so laborious.
I guess this is life. Maybe a fruit jelly slice (if you know you know) would sweeten it?
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