I remeber as a child that Passover nights were magic. My grandfather was a master. He would know how to take the ceremony, and make it wonderful. With his big voice (he was a big  man), and the way he would explain to us everything about Passover

When I was 14 he passed away. My uncle took over his place. But it was never the same. Something was missing. The joy of the evening was gone

After everyone's kids grew older, we started to divide into the new families. And my father has become the head of the ceremony. And then my mother died. And things are not the same again

In the year right after she passed away, my father, my sisters and my grandmother came over to us in the States for passover. it was about 2 months after she died, and we all felt that we cannot have the ceremony like we should. So we went to a small town in Texas, and stayed there for a few days at the lake side. In Passover eve, we went to a resaturant, and spent the evening there. No celebrations. We were not celebrating anything

This year, my father and his wife are holding the ceremony at their new home. They told us about it before they even moved there.

It's going to be different. It's going to be strange. But that's life

You move on

.But somewhere deep inside, I have that feeling of something that was lost forever