Two months ago, I moved to a new town 700 miles from home. Because gas isn’t cheap these days and airfare never has been, I decided it wasn’t feasible for me to travel home to Ohio for Passover. That left me in a holiday pickle: Because I’ve not yet become part of a Jewish community near my New Hampshire town, I faced the likelihood of celebrating Passover alone with my cat in front of the TV, eating a matzah pizza and sipping Manischewitz straight from the bottle. Not exactly the cheeriest or most traditional way to commemorate our people’s freedom from bondage.
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