Woman Completes List of Passover Tasks, Drinks Four Cups of Wine Before Seder Begins

Over the years, I have seen a lot of difficult sights during Passover seders: raw shank bones that someone accidentally forgot to cook; fluffy, glorious rice that was forbidden to the Ashkenazim at the table; parents whacking children; children whacking parents; grandparents whacking their children and grandchildren (and that was just the Persian “Dayenu” ritual of weaponized scallions). 

But of all the difficult sights I have witnessed during seders, the hardest to endure was the sight of a nearly 60-year-old man who sat down at his hosts’ seder table, asked when the food would be served, and when he had finished eating, left his plate on the table and headed over to an armchair to doze off.

The outrageous sight made me wonder whether most people actually know what it takes to prepare for Passover, especially for more traditional or observant Jews. And that motivated me to sit down and create a painstaking list of many Passover-related tasks that I undertook in honor of this beautiful holiday. 

As far as I can tell, Passover 5785/2025 began as follows: 

In mid-March, I began counting down the weeks until Passover. Six weeks seemed safe; four seemed doable; two weeks felt worrisome; one week resulted in a visit to Whole Foods, where I asked the vitamin guru whether St. John’s Wort actually relieves anxiety and “takes the edge off.” 

Also in mid-March, I was forced to answer the following: Would my family and I be in town this Passover? Given that tickets to most Passover programs cost more than our monthly mortgage, the answer was yes. Would we host a seder? Yes. In fact, we would host both seders. Would we be in town during Chol Ha’Moed, the days in between the first and last “Yom Tov” days of Passover? Yes, we would stay in town. I’d rather visit Palm Springs when I can order a (chametz) cocktail by the pool, then spill it all over myself after tripping on my kids’ water toys.

Also, I would have to be in town, after agreeing to watch our friends’ pet hamster, named Cheeseburger. Would a hamster named Cheeseburger be an appropriate addition to a home during Passover? The more important question is whether I can retain my sanity while eating underwhelming matzah and saying “Cheeseburger, come here!” for one week. 

After deciding to host both seders, it took weeks to confirm who would be able to attend our seders. If only everyone had been as organized as Cheeseburger’s owners. 

And then, last week, the floodgates of Passover preparation, also known as the annual Compromised Executive Functioning Week for Jewish Women, were opened. It is a week filled with short-term memory challenges, decision fatigue, difficulty planning anything and even more difficulty with self-regulation. For the past week, I had to somehow keep track of the following, while also working, cooking weekday meals, rushing to appointments, attending events and begrudgingly posting content to social media. Here is the list I recall. It is not the complete list. The print version of this wonderful paper could not possibly accommodate the complete list. Or even half of the tasks related to preparing the refrigerator alone. Here is how I spent last week:

• Took a mental inventory of what Passover pans, pots and dishes I had in stock in a cupboard above the refrigerator that I cannot access without a ladder. 

• Wasted 40 minutes on Amazon trying to find two new pots.

• Calculated exactly how many days I had to work and tend to my own mental and physical health, until school closed for 13 days.

• Took inventory of the chametz pasta cabinet, snack cabinet, pantry, fridge, freezer, to-go bag filled with treats and yes, my secret cabinet filled with cheese puffs, which I keep exclusively for myself.

• Returned one of the new Passover pots to the Amazon kiosk at Whole Foods, where I also inquired about more St. John’s Wort.

• Force-fed my family nearly all of the pasta, grains, oats, and other chametz items in the house, which I prepared and cooked

• Emptied a dozen cupboards and wiped them clean. Opened my “Chametz-Free Cabinet” to find that it was full of chametz.

• Prepared a list of new Passover groceries and added to existing grocery lists saved on my phone dating back to 2015.

• Scheduled an eyebrow touch-up with a local aesthetician so I wouldn’t resemble Eddie Munster during the seder.

• Updated the Passover grocery list every few hours, whether I was working, brushing my teeth, at the doctor, working, already at the market to buy ingredients for that week’s meals or working. Basically, thoughts regarding Passover entered my mind hundreds of times for days or weeks. When a Jew prepares for Passover, every thought becomes a task. 

Sometimes, I am able to write down these incessant thoughts. Other times, I beg my family to pretend that Shmurah Matzah is really just regular matzah that lives in a fancier zip code. 

• Canceled the appointment with the aesthetician, because who would devote time to their eyebrows when there were boxes of chametz strewn around the kitchen, living room, office and closets? Perhaps we can enjoy a “Munsters”-themed seder this year and my father will agree to wear a cape and dress as the beloved “Grandpa.”

• As occurs each year, I used the little left of my bandwidth to figure out whether I should shop for Passover groceries first, or clean out my refrigerator first and make the countertops kosher. Which came first, the overwhelmed chicken or the heavily tranquilized egg?

• Masochist that I am, I opted to visit the local kosher supermarket first. Two hundred dollars and one hour later, I left with just the basics.

• As I drove away from what I had hoped would be my only trip to the crowded kosher market, I realized I forgot a few more items. 

• Took the car to the wash, but not before taking time to remove everything from inside, including overcoats, emergency bags, picnic blankets, vomit bags, toys, wrappers, receipts and half a bag of cheese puffs I had been saving for myself. They were so stale. 

• Found space for countertop items that cannot be made kosher for Passover, including a slow cooker, toaster, many utensils, dish racks, and trivets. The slow cooker will sleep alongside me, under our bed. 

• Made the countertops kosher. Spent 20 minutes and untold elbow grease trying to remove one stain. Then koshered the sinks. 

• Koshered the dishwasher, then yelled at anyone who tried to use it afterward.

• Cleaned the stove and stove top thoroughly, then koshered them both, then boiled a giant pot of water, then koshered some stainless-steel utensils. Enjoyed an unplanned, boiling-pot-steam-facial that rejuvenated my skin, though my eyebrows are now interlocked like two vines that connect in the jungle. 

• Koshered the dishwasher. Made the microwave kosher. Realized I now had no way of rewarming food for my family for several days.

• Visited Trader Joe’s. Visited Whole Foods (again). Visited the kosher market again to buy two items. Left the kosher market having remembered to buy one item. 

• Bought new toothpaste and toothbrushes. Demanded to know why my kids kept asking me if they could search for chametz in the dark, with a feather, like their Ashkenazi friends. I threatened to make them prepare for Passover as my grandmother did back in Iran: by banging heavy, wet curtains against river rocks and breaking off a chunk of turmeric with an ice pick (the town collectively bought a giant block of turmeric to divide among itself).

• Ordered fancy, disposable plates, napkins and utensils for the seders. I forgot to order cups.

• Realized I had forgotten that I must also feed my family Shabbat dinner the night before Passover. I also forgot about Shabbat lunch, and lunches for us the first two days. 

• Asked myself how much wine I can consume until I cannot tell the difference between the prophet Elijah and the Pillsbury Doughboy.  Four cups of wine before the seder should do the trick.

• Remembered that I am not a victim of the demands of Jewish law and rituals; in fact, my life is indescribably enhanced and given meaning through the choices I make to uphold my beloved Judaism. I thanked G-d profusely for my blessings. And then, I passed out among a heap of shiny countertops, dirty clothes and renewed gratitude for being here another year to observe the rituals of a miraculous moment, 3,000 years ago, that finally freed me body and soul. 

Tabby Refael is an award-winning writer, speaker and weekly columnist for The Jewish Journal of Greater Los Angeles. Follow her on X and Instagram @TabbyRefael.