By MICHAEL SCHENKLER
It’s Sunday night, and we’re in Florida.
Allison, Lil and I came down here for Allison’s spring break
— she’s eleven and in middle school, just in case you haven’t been paying
attention — to visit mom and take her to a Seder at Lil’s mom’s house.
My mom left Queens with dad in the early seventies and has lived in
Boca ever since. Lil’s mom still maintains her place in Queens and spends 5 months a
year up north — that’s where you are and I’ll be when you read this —
and the rest of the year she spends where it’s sunny and you can get by without a
jacket.
I’ve always wondered why the universe seems to revolve around New
York when the lifestyle down here just seems a whole lot better. Why did those early
settlers make it for New York or Boston harbor when Fort Lauderdale or Miami have equally
inviting harbors and a lot more inviting climate.
But the answer seems pretty clear — air conditioning.
An aside — I turned to Lil and asked: "Who invented air
conditioning?"
Allison — she’s the eleven year-old, sixth grader — shot
back: "Carrier, 1902!"
"Allison, are you sure?"
"Absolutely," she said with her father’s resolve.
I knew that tone, she was sure. I’m not quite sure where she
picked up that valuable useless piece of information, but it’s scary. She, like me,
seems to be a repository for stuff about which only Regis and columnists ask.
So, we’re all New Yorkers because Mr. Carrier did not invent AC
early enough to convince the early Americans that Florida was bearable.
We are indeed New Yorkers; we love the place. Our family wouldn’t
have it any other way. But . . .
We ate dinner tonight, at a restaurant, outside. We swam in the pool,
sat in the sun and went shopping in Mizner Park in shorts, no jackets and sandals. Every
time we’re down here three to four times a year — I wonder why we’re living
up there? — especially when it’s winter.
But, we’re New Yorkers. We’re absolutely crazy!
If you haven’t figured it out, I have absolutely no topic this
week. I’m sitting in the Marriott, drinking a vente Starbucks while Lil and Allison
begin their nighttime snooze. I left my clippings at home and except for a few electronic
files (pictures and odds and ends) on the laptop, I’ve done no preparation for this
week’s column.
For those of you who don’t write a weekly opinion piece,
there’s a lot more to it than the two plus hours you spend pounding the keys.
There’s the thinking, the phone calls, the reading, the web-surfing, the preparation.
Good writing is produced by good writers who work hard. I apologize, the weekend’s
hard work was getting here and overeating at a Seder.
For those of you unfamiliar with the Seder, it is a Jewish family feast
preceded by a little praying, a little singing and then you spend hours stuffing yourself
on heavy Jewish food: gefilte fish with horseradish, matzoh ball soup, brisket, potatoes,
veggies, chicken, other meat and more.
Some families may spend more than a little time praying but all Seders
are centered around the children. The youngest at the gathering, asks "the four
questions" seeking to understand the meaning of the Seder. The rest of the pre-eating
activity is spent in song and reading, answering the questions.
During the pre-food part, we break the middle matzoh — the
unleavened bread that the Hebrews baked on their backs while fleeing Egypt — and hide
it for the children to find. Custom has the youngster who finds it selling it back to the
eldest to break and share at Seder’s end.
We also eat bitter herbs (the suffering), parsley (spring) dipped in
salt water (tears) and many other symbolic appetizers.
Then comes the food — ridiculous, fattening and traditional —
and lots of it.
For those not up on their bible, Jesus’ Last Supper, was a Seder.
No wonder Easter and Passover are always overlapping. Hmmm!
It’s a fun holiday. In my family, the most fun of any holiday.
However, I think I see why our children don’t have the same appreciation of money as
we did.
I remember well, going home from grandpa’s house with the $5 each
of us got when one of the kids found the afficomen (hidden middle matzoh).
Well, Allison counted up her take at the end of the night and she had
$60. And I watched her try and refuse to take money from several of the senior citizens at
the Seder. Granted these are family and close friends who get to see her infrequently and
she was the only child present, but, when offered $5 a week for bringing in the garbage
cans, she just shakes her head, smiles and says, "not worth it."
I don’t know whether she learned to negotiate from me, or I should
learn from her. But, kids don’t value money the way we do because we don’t value
it the way our parents did.
Phyllis, Lil’s mom, did an incredible job preparing endless dishes
and Jewish delicacies for the ten of us assembled. It was a long night and hard work. We
appreciated it and are making reservations for next year. Today, the day after the Seder,
we called Phyllis to invite her out to dinner and ask how she was feeling after the
arduous task of such elaborate entertaining.
"I’ll be all right," was her reply.
There seems to be a Jackie Mason segue here. The comments from Florida
senior citizens deserve volumes.
Overheard at the pool. "Mom, he dresses like every other 13
year-old boy. And no, the colors she wears are not too bright, they’re in
style."
Or at every Early Bird Special one can hear a grandparent trying not to
interfere with their children’s child-rearing while still having the need to comment
on the hair color, hair styling, body piercing or clothing of the grandchildren. It’s
Florida lifestyle and it wouldn’t be the same without it.
It doesn’t phase any of us. It doesn’t cause any strife in
the least.
So mom, you can stop it already!
We love you anyway.
Just kidding.
Happy Passover.
Happy Easter.
