The next time I get to share my favorite Passover memories, I’ll probably start off with how we got our Seder dinner for 10 off the back of a tractor trailer. Who knew chopped liver and pot roast weighed that much?

I’ve been moved this spring by the many appreciative comments I’ve received since sharing my family’s Passover traditions at a model Seder a few weeks back in Jubilee Hall. I left it to the clergy to explain the theological meaning of the prayers and matzo that are at the heart of this celebration of freedom. My job was to take us back to Seders at the Garfield home, when my mom served up her famous split pea soup, my dad pulled out the mini-service he wrote so that the kids wouldn’t fidget, and we all savored the love and Manischewitz.

We yearn to hear each other’s faith stories, which is why I believe people seemed drawn to mine. Well let me tell you another story…

I traveled to Florida last week to celebrate Passover with my mom. I’m trying to get down there more often since my dad died and time is moving on. Passover offered the perfect opportunity to break matzo again with loved ones. I flew down with a heart touched by the powerful fact that Passover fell in the midst of Holy Week. For Jews and Christians, this was our time to bask in freedom and resurrection.

To thank God.

And to haul that box of Seder food to the car.

At 86, hosting a dinner for nine, it was a whole lot easier for mom to call Flakowitz deli than it was to fire up the oven at home. The Boynton Beach landmark had this down to a science, which was a good thing since about half of south Florida had the same idea about getting Passover to go. We picked up our paperwork by the deli counter, then lined up at the tractor trailer to get the goods. If they had lit a few candles and poured a little wine, we could have had our Seder out there in the parking lot.

But we had it at home that night, and at my aunt’s the next night. She cooked a turkey and a ton of other stuff. She’s younger than my mom.

The food, of course, was scrumptious both nights. But just as Easter dinner at your home isn’t about the ham and green beans, our Seders had little to do with what we ate even if the gefilte fish was just like I remembered it. I’m not sure I’ll even remember the prayers or songs, though we did a rousing chorus of “Dayenu” (“It is enough for us”) at the second Seder when we weren’t lamenting the economy, laughing about family stuff and talking about Michelle Obama.

What I’ll remember about these two Seder nights is what I remember about those Seders a lifetime ago, when I was a kid who believed that these nights of faith and love would return every year for a million years.

I can’t tell you what our Seders will look like next year, or who might be missing from our table, or if we’ll even have a Seder. All I know is that we had a Seder this year, all of us together.