"In the house I grew up in, the Talmud was not open to interpretation. Translated simply, it meant: “Because I said so.”
Among our Seder imperatives was a “festive meal” which didn’t occur until Page 30 of the Maxwell House Haggadah. Up until then there were no highfalutin discussions about wandering Aramaeans or anything else. Everyone at the table read a paragraph of the Passover story in turn — fast — mispronouncing the same words every year. Then someone would invariably drip Manischewitz red wine onto the white tablecloth and someone else would invariably drop red horseradish from the Seder plate onto the white tablecloth, and my mother would watch silently, chewing Maalox. What’s more festive than that?Then there was either gefilte fish or chopped liver, chicken soup with matzo balls, roast turkey or brisket accompanied by potato kugel, asparagus and tzimmes. For dessert, there were macaroons or some cake made without dairy products or yeast, all of which tasted like sugar mixed with clay. Everyone feigned delight. But the menu never changed because that would constitute a sin against the Talmud (see aforementioned translation). "
My hand is soooo up right now.