By Sara Kay

After 20 years of celebrating the Jewish holidays consistently with my family every year, I’ve learned one fact about them that has made me, well, a little scared.

God loves Jews, yet he secretly likes to poke fun at us each holiday. Why? Who knows? Did we do anything deserving such jokery? No, not that I can recall. But does he enjoy it? Now that’s a possibility.

So what do I mean by this, exactly? Well, I finally picked up on this little unknown fact while I was home for spring break. This year, as every year, spring break coincides with the Jewish holiday of Passover. It’s the holiday where Jews remember their freedom from Pharoah the slave driver, and trekked across the desert to the Promised Land. This holiday is basically a happy one; it’s symbolic of our triumph, our strength, our freedom. And yet, we as Jews are asked to do as the Romans do, (or in this case, do as the biblical Jews do) and eat like they had to eat. Since they had no yeast to make bread rise, they ended up making matzah, which is just a fancy word for unsalted cracker that serves as a substitute for actual flavor. Don’t get me wrong, matzah can taste pretty good as long as you cover it with so many other elements of taste, that the taste of the matzah is nothing but a bland memory.

We get to celebrate the triumph of our people, and yet we are cut to an eight day diet lacking in anything with yeast, corn syrup, or any corn product, which pretty much includes all food groups, and leaves matzah and those weird macaroons with dried-out coconut flakes. Although the first two nights consist of some excellent dinners and a whole lot of wine, the fact that a fresh-baked challah is replaced with a flat, lifeless cracker just gets me down.

Once I made the realization about Passover, it got me thinking about each major holiday that I celebrate throughout the year. I’m not talking about the minor ones; I’m talking about the biggies, the ones we get class cancelled for, the ones where family dinner doesn’t just consist of your immediate family, it’s where every grandmother, grandfather, cousin, aunt, and smelly uncle Merv are in attendance. With every positive, there is an unfortunate, and sometimes stinky, negative.

Hanukkah. It’s supposed to be happy and joyful, right? The presents, the potato pancakes, the pretty candles, they are all so lovely. Except for the fact that we only get one present a night, and instead of each night building up to one absolutely fantastic present, it ends in a bag of chocolate coins and a pair of lame-ass socks. I’ve seen the excitement on my Christian friends faces after a morning of opening presents from under the tree and talking about their most excellent presents, and I can also see their pity for me, as I show them my impressive treats. A $20 gift card to Starbucks, and, as always, a pair of socks.

Yom Kippur. The days of atonement. These couple of days are meant for just that, to apologize for our sins, cast them off and start anew. I actually like this holiday a lot, I think it’s a good representation of wiping the slate clean. However, the downside is that for about 36 hours, we don’t get to eat or drink anything. Hungry? Too bad. Thirsty? Swallow your spit. We may get the satisfaction of apologizing and gaining forgiveness, but we have to fast for over a day in order to get it. It’s the supermodel dream diet.

To be honest, I couldn’t think of an actual downside of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. Apples and honey, happiness, where is there a downside? And then I remembered spending two years of my life in the grand state of Georgia, going to pre-school in a church, and having all the Christian kids laugh at me for thinking the New Year was taking place in September and not in January. What a dummy I was, they said. Ignorant little snots.

I enjoy the Jewish holidays as they happen every year. They’re a time to celebrate with family, a time to eat delicious foods, or, in some cases, not eat anything, and most importantly a time to remember what my people did back in the day. So Big Man, keep on drinkin’ that Haterade. You have your fun up there; I’ll rock my Hanukkah socks down here.

Sara Kay is a junior print journalism student. You may e-mail her at [email protected].