Wandering in the Desert

Spring has beyond sprung here in Arizona. I suppose we have a leg up on everyone else since it's been in the 70s/80s since early March, but it's hard to complain when this is what your garden looks like with minimal upkeep:

Our herbs are also out of control, and we're picking strawberries out of a big container almost every day. Tomatoes are starting, but lettuces have had their day now that we're hitting consistent highs in the 90s. The growing season should last another month or so, then Desert Winter begins, when the intense heat beats all attempts at water and shade, gardens go brown, and we finally give in to central air conditioning. We'll be burrowing inside for a few weeks, but I'd rather hide from the heat and sun than from freezing temperatures and feet of snow.

Eighteen months in the desert and I've turned into a thin-blooded, cold-averse wuss. Yes, I know. You should hear me when it hits 50 degrees out here. Brrrrrrrrr!!!

There are other delights in the desert these days. The week began with 15 friends at The Hacienda to celebrate Passover seder -- or, to be precise, Shiksa Seder.

Twelve years ago, I started to miss celebrating Passover seder with my family, not to mention the annual scramble to find somewhere -- anywhere -- to attend a seder. So I started my own, with true Chosen People -- my NYC friends. What started as a small gathering grew over the years into Shiksa Seder (so called because, most years, I was the only Jewish person in attendance!) and the necessity of drawing guest names out of a hat because my Brooklyn apartment could only squeeze in 12 guests. Even that involved people literally climbing over furniture to get to their seats, but it somehow always worked out.

This year, we held the 11th Annual Shiksa Seder, this time for our new family in Phoenix. Fifteen guests shared our table and our tradition:

I love my seder plate. I made it at Sunday School in first grade. Since it was a gift for my parents, my teacher yelled at me for writing my last name on it. I still think my rationale holds: "But what if it gets lost at the factory? This way, they'll know where to send it!" The whole overplanning for any potential outcome? Clearly, I come by it naturally:

Without knowing it, our youngest guest carried on a subtradition of creative Four Questions asking. In past years, we've had the Four Questions delivered in Swedish, Gaelic, Spanish, puppet show and other languages. This year, Chris had "real live Jews!" record the full chanted version on his iPhone and played it for us when his big moment arrived. A big hit and a delight for my ears, which hadn't heard the chant in decades.

After much more questioning (and eating!), my favorite part of Shiksa Seder took place: the Afikoman Hunt. Usually, it's the kids who search the house for a piece of matzah, returning it for a ransom to the seder leader. In our house, it's a pack of tipsy adults tearing apart our front rooms looking for "a damn cracker." Our visiting guest from Boston, my Cherylina, found it hidden in a dictionary -- under the definition for "matzah," of course.

I adore seder and how traditions can live on, no matter where they take place. I love that our friends declare Cultural Exchange Week and invite us into their family days later for Easter dinner. Phoenix now feels like a home, thanks to matzah crumbs, a wine stain on the ceiling (I'm not asking), and good people who see no shame in wearing purple beanies, plague masks, and bunny ears. Just as it should be.

Originally published on April 27, 2011.

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