The grocery store in the goyish neighborhood is overflowing with matzah. Every shelf is full of matzah. There is matzah spilling out of the front door. You ask to buy the matzah. The cashier does not know what matzah is. You gesture towards the shelves, but they stare on, unseeing, and ask you to please finish your transaction.
Your child takes the candle, the feather, and the spoon from your hand. You have not yet lit the candle, but it is glowing anyway. They locate the crumbs with uncanny speed, but they are not where you placed them. Nothing is where you placed it. You just finished cleaning, but the entire house has rearranged itself.
The youngest child begins to sing the Four Questions. As she opens her mouth, the voice of your oldest child rings out. Your oldest child is an adult and hosting her own seder in Queens. No one else notices.
You begin to pour out wine for the plagues. “Dam”, you say. The smell of iron is in the air. All of your guests are staring straight ahead, unblinking, chanting “Dam” repeatedly under their breath. There are no other plagues. There is only blood.
You’re on the third verse of Dayenu. The fifth. The twelfth. The nineteenth? Does Dayenu have this many verses? Have you restarted? It keeps getting faster. You can’t understand the words anymore, but the children continue, their mouths moving at inhuman speed. You speak to tell them that this is enough, but the only word that comes out is “dayenu”. You cannot stop them.
You open the door to let in Elijah. You return to the cup, and it is empty. A smile spreads across your face. The time of the Messiah is upon us. You open your mouth to sing Siman Tov. The words come out backwards, and the cup begins to fill with wine.
The search for the afikomen begins. Quickly, your oldest child returns with half the middle matzah. Then your middle child. Then your youngest child. Each piece is identical, and all the boxes of matzah were empty. Each child demands the sum total of the reward. You look on helplessly.
The Hebrew on the back of the box of macaroons says they are pareve. The English states they are not kosher for Passover. You read them again. The Hebrew on the back of the box of macaroons says they are not kosher for Pesach. The English states they are pareve. You place the macaroons back on the shelf.
Day five of Passover. It feels as if you have not eaten chametz in years. You long for the taste of bread. You go to sleep, praying the days to pass quickly. You wake up. It is day five of Passover.
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