The Jewish holiday of Passover begins tomorrow at sunset and my wife and I will be blessed once again with a full-house.
Not only are my daughters making it "home," we get to see them all too rarely, Uncle Slappy and Aunt Sylvie arrived last night schlepping the Tumi luggage they got from cousin Howard for half price (he's in the business) as well as a cinnamon babka.
For over two-thousand years Jews have been wandering--since they were scattered to the winds by Roman legions. And for most of that wandering, I think, they have been carrying Tumi luggage and a cinnamon babka. I don't know if there were any Jews with Columbus or the Pilgrims on their various expeditions, but if there were, I'd imagine they were toting a cinnamon babka--god forbid they arrive without the requisite dried fruit or schtickle.
There's an old joke Uncle Slappy told me last night that I'll relate in this space.
Kitty Bernstein has just moved to a new apartment on the Upper East Side and her friend, Mindy Weintraub is getting directions to the new place.
Kitty says, "You get on the number six local at the middle of the train, because that's where the exit is at 77th Street. "
"You get out at 77th Street, pushing through the turnstile with your elbow. Then you take the northeast steps and head toward third avenue. You'll see my building right on the corner of 78th and third. Push open the glass door with your elbow."
"Then you'll walk through the lobby. Push the up elevator button with your elbow and when the elevator comes, push the button for the 12th floor with your elbow."
"With my elbow."
"Yes, then take a left out of the elevator and knock with your elbow on 12 J, that's me."
"One question....Why do I do all this with my elbow?"
"Well, I assume you're not coming empty-handed."