There is a common misconception among non-Jews that Jews love matzah. We don’t. It is a flavorless, messy, unleavened cracker. Yes, we eat it in memory of the aslavery in Egypt. But by no means do we love it. The honest truth is that non-Jews love matzah.
This is mainly because they never have to rely on it as their primary form of sustenance. Until you spend eight days constipated and in a constant state of hunger, you might love matzah. Until you’ve walked around Harris like a lost puppy with a plate of it (not to mention the confused stares), you might love it. But Jews? Not so much.
Unfortunately, Harris decided to make matzah the ultimate Passover staple this year, taking it to the extreme. I trudged into Harris before my nine o’clock class one morning, my stomach carbless and empty. I approached the hot line (strategically avoiding the bakery of amazingness that I couldn’t touch) and almost laughed out loud at the Passover-friendly meal of the day: “Scrambled Eggs and Matzah.” As you might expect, that’s scrambled egg and matzah – mixed together. As if on any other day I would be eating scrambled eggs and bread.
For the record, scrambled eggs are no problem on Passover. What we are required to avoid are the five species of grains – wheat, rye, oats, barley and spelt (as well as legumes). Rather than replace forbidden ingredients in every day recipes like many Jewish families do, Harris had a different brilliant idea: just add matzah!
Matzah lasagna, matzah barely-grilled cheese, or my personal favorite – matzah-crumb-covered tilapia. Life is difficult enough at home on Passover with simple restrictions, but Harris managed to turn the custom into a serious hardship. One night I looked up the Passover entrée and nearly gagged when I encountered the creatively dubbed “Tuna Nut Balls.” That’s right, I said it. Tuna Nut Balls. Oh, I forgot to mention the other option that night: green beans. Mm, I can just feel my stomach filling up by the second.
After living on fruits and vegetables (and, of course, matzah) for a week, I couldn’t help but resent Harris for its ignorance. Passover didn’t end until Tuesday night at about 7:30 PM. I arrived at Harris at five o’clock to grab dinner before my service learning and found absolutely no Passover option anywhere other than a few cracked pieces of leftover matzah. It was assumed that Passover was over after lunch and I, along with the rest of the Passover-observing Jewish population, was left to eat my fifth omelet in three days. At 8:30, I ate half of a large Domino’s pizza, cheesy bread, and two cupcakes. It was the best meal of my life.
