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Home
and Family
Did Homon Win?
by A. Reader
Adar is here, I rack my brain. Dressing up time here again.
Some buy the clothes, and others make. Sewing? it's a piece
of cake! In the end they all feel good. Kids love Purim (so
they should), But mothers aren't all filled with bliss. A
pity it should be like this. What shall I send? How much? To
whom? The very thought fills me with gloom. Friends and
relatives, neighbors too, I don't want junk food, do you? In
fact I don't want food at all, Shlach Monos should be
kept quite small! In Israel it gets harder still, one has to
use a bit of skill. Shearis fruit? Or maybe not, they
might think it's Badatz they got. A plate of veg.
should be quite safe. Cherry tomatoes can't be 'treif'. Women
bake nice cakes to send. It's not worth it in the end. Not
everyone eats what I bake — "That's not the
hechsher which I take." So they send this poor cake
on, till its nice looks are almost gone. Every year this
waste of food, puts me in a dreadful mood, Other women say
the same, what a pity, what a shame. All this chometz
at a time, when we try to clear the grime. With abandon the
kids stuff, I don't even say 'enough'. Let them eat, it's
got to go. It's nearly Pesach, don't you know? Wafers,
pretzels, custard creams, come to haunt me in my dreams.
Purim comes but once a year, so let's enjoy it while it's
here.
Countdown to Pesach
Pesach, Pesach now's the countdown, let me give you all the
low-down You don't eat off the walls you know, (unless, like
mine, they're smeared with dough) As for ceilings which you
scrub, they don't even need a rub. Drawers of photos must be
done, now spring cleaning has begun. Old reports and letters
too, it takes days to read them through. Pesach's very nearly
here, it gets harder every year. Neighbors seem to be so
calm, whilst I am filled with mild alarm. She's done her
kitchen, all her pans: my work is still in lists of plans Her
husband helps her, that's the clue. ( I don't really think
that's true). Some work this way some the other, I do things
just like my mother. Her secret method I maintain, helps to
keep me fairly sane. Don't ask where the others are, just
keep your thoughts on halacha, Plod along day after
day, Pesach's coming anyway My own miracle every time, no
more chometz, no more grime It IS a miracle each year,
how we manage is unclear In every house there comes THE DAY,
when all the chometz is away Yes, indeed, it really
is, in all Jewish premises. Enjoy your Yomtov, readers,
friends — all too soon it always ends.
Chasi G.
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