I have no idea about Passover. It seems like every other high holiday: somehow or other the Jews escape some unearthly pestilence or an unjust, violent persecution. Regardless, a few years back, it was a good excuse to be dismissed early from a faculty meeting so I could call my mother before sundown.
On Passover, there is something about Seder and pig's blood; something about famine and disease; maybe something about gefilte fish and calling home before dark. I cannot even say whether I have actually ever celebrated a Seder. In fact, I ate pork and drank gluten-free beer two Passovers ago. As it is, I am writing this well after dark.
It is what it is: Passover and me are like Karl Rove and Ru Paul sharing a basket for an Easter egg hunt. Involvement in Passover may be forever ambiguous but, no matter what, I damn well better play along and call my mom.