Passover this year reminded me of the thrill I once had tagging along with Elijah – the coolest prophet in the good book – on his one-man global Seder crawl. The Big E doesn’t take a lot of ride-alongs so it was a mitzvah that I, a fallen follower of an “anno domini” religion, was permitted to accompany him on his sacred rounds.
Until I married into one of the twelve tribes – the Bergdorf Goodmans I believe they are – the rites of Passover were largely unknown to me. I knew that Jesus’s last supper was a Seder but that was about all I knew. I found that celebrating the holiday first hand helped me more fully appreciate the miracle of the Resurrection because the first time I had gefilte fish it took me three days to rise again too.
The order of the Passover meal is steeped in tradition. You have three questions, four children, ten plagues and pillows, but it was Elijah’s visit that always intrigued me. This guy perfected the always dear-to-my-heart Irish Exit: He comes in without saying hello and he leaves without saying goodbye. Brilliant.
One year I asked around about seeing Elijah in action and, low and behold, someone I knew knew a guy who knew a guy, and that guy knew a guy who knew Elijah’s orthodontist. It was a long shot but, as luck would have it, after going solo for almost a thousand years, the old perennial Seder-crasher was keen to have a wingman.
I was told to be ready at sundown on the first evening of Passover. I Siri-ed sundown and stood outside at 7:43 PM looking for… I wasn’t sure what. A chariot of fire? a donkey? a whirlwind? As I watched the skies a Lyft Lux slowed to a stop in front of me. A door opened and Elijah – you just know him when you see him – emerged.
“I never use Uber,” he said, nodding toward the car. “Sounds too, you know, German.”
Then he said it was time to go and, instantly, we were standing on a doorstep somewhere. Startled, I looked around wondering how we had gotten there.
“It’s called the ‘Lijah Lux.” He bobbed his eyebrows, awaiting my reaction, but I was too confused to answer. “People call it that,” he assured me.
Then, suddenly, we were inside the house, next to the dining room table. I was nervous until I understood. “Oh, they can’t see us… How? Do you have, like, a cloak of invisibility?”
Frustration showed on Elijah’s face. He mimed me saying “cloak of invisibility” and rolled his eyes. “No, I don’t have a cloak of invisibility. Everyone thinks that but a cloak of invisibility is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. It’s a cape. I have a cape of invisibleness. And I had it first.”
Meanwhile, a happy buzz of activity surrounded us. Kids seeking the afikomen flitted about, opening cabinets and lifting couch cushions while adults retrieved dinner plates and replaced them with enticing desserts. Someone was heroically but vainly, patting gravy, horseradish and grape juice stains with club soda. In the kitchen leftover brisket, charoset and Brussel sprouts were being divvied up for guests to take home.
Charmed by it all, I was lulled into a trance-like state. I didn’t know it yet, but variations of this scene would happen again and again throughout the evening.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see Elijah smiling knowingly at me.
“We’ve got work to do, Paddy.”
Moving only his eyes he diverted my attention to a small silver cup of wine. While a young boy and girl stared intently at the cup, the contents suddenly seemed to evaporate by a half inch. Their jaws dropped and their eyes widened. I’m sure mine did too.
I glanced up at Elijah in time to see him smacking his lips.
“Argentine Malbec, muy bueno.”
Next it was my turn. “Just imagine yourself drinking the wine, don’t move, just imagine… whoa! Easy, cowboy!” I was gagging but Elijah saved me with a slap on the back and a warning. “Just a sip. Ethereal spirits are extremely strong.”
And so it went throughout the night. Us moving from house to house, city to city, country to country, me peppering Elijah with questions, he, my guide, patiently answering them all.
I wondered how he covered the whole planet in a single night. It seemed improbable without reindeer or the hop-ability of a bunny. “It’s called the Passover Dilation,” he said. “Time slows for people at the Seder but stays normal for me. Santa has it too but I had it first.”
I asked if anyone ever noticed him. “French Bulldogs,” he said. “They get me all the time. They have, like, a sixth sense.”
It was a night of endless activity, countless surprises and mounds of apple cake. And then, suddenly, we were done. We had covered the globe and now the steps we stood on were my own.
We had been gone for hours but it was somehow barely dusk. “Passover dilation,” I said.
Elijah nodded. “Better get in. You’ll miss dessert.”
I struggled to find the words to thank him. Then I struggled to find any words at all. He smiled compassionately, “I know,” he said. “I know.”
His understanding was overwhelming and I couldn’t hold back the tears. “Whoa, dude. Don’t make it weird,” he said as he turned down the path.
Before I could speak he hoisted his arms and bellowed to the heavens, “’Lijah Lux, appear!”
And it did.
Driverless now, the car returned and stopped for him. Elijah climbed in. He checked the mirrors, adjusted the radio and flashed me a thumbs-up sign and sped off. As he accelerated the vehicle – in a flash of light – transformed into a chariot of fire. It became airborne and then, in a whirlwind it circled the house, circled the block and climbed to the heavens, and over the roar of it all I heard him exclaim, “Chag Pesach Sameach to all! And to all, a good-night.”
