Fearless Mom: A Passover Backstory

This week's news: my article about how to make a Passover maror with plenty of kick and punch was published in Unpacked this week, and you can read it here.

What I don't share in the article is the backstory about that maror, a.k.a. horseradish sauce, which sits on seder plates throughout the world as Passover begins.

This story starts with my mom (and my dad a little bit, too). I grew up watching them make maror every spring, a few days before the holiday in the basement of our home. I think they were in the basement because they could open the patio door and not disturb the main floor of our house with too many fumes.

My father reported that he could barely stand it, but my mom would have said no such thing. First, an explanation of what maror is and does. It is supposed to symbolize the bitterness of slavery and the tears shed by captive Jews as they toiled involuntarily for their "masters" in Egypt. And yes, maror literally means bitter herbs.

You make maror with horseradish root and today, we typically use a food processor. My mother and father used a food grinder, and I have no idea how they survived. Most online sources tell you that even with a food processor you should turn your face away when opening the lid, and make sure to open lots of windows or doors while making this dish. Many people wear goggles. 

But not my mom. When it came to maror, she was fearless. I think in fact she was maror, and maror was her. She was unwavering, larger than life, and no bitter herb was ever going to get the better of her. When she brought her maror to her brother's house for our yearly seder, my cousin Stewie couldn't get enough. The only maror he would eat was my mother's, and I think she made it stronger every year just to please him.

As strong as it was, I have to say, it was still delicious, though you had to be sure to eat it with as big of a helping as you could find of fish, brisket or whatever you had available. Mostly, the horseradish is eaten with something called gefilte fish, which my husband won't touch but which is a staple at Passover. It is made up of poachaed, ground fish such as carp, whitefish or pike and since it is fairly bland, it seems to pair well with maror. 

I think Passover allowed my mother to come into her own in ways that didn't happen the rest of the year. She wore bright red lipstick (every day) and red was her favorite color. I think she made her maror with beets because of it.

Mom wasn't someone you would get by easily if you told her a lie (she always knew it, anyway). She could be incredibly supportive and insightful, and she loved Broadway shows, which sowed the seeds for me as an actor and playwright. But if you crossed her, God help you. 

At the same time, I miss how smart she was about people and life and how determined she was about going after what she wanted. She taught me that persistence, and I'm so grateful she did.

That's why the recipe in this article is dedicated to you, Mom. I hope you get to celebrate Passover wherever you are. I hope they let you make maror -- and the malachim (angels) line up for a taste because everyone at your table is raving about it.

Maror Photo via Unpacked from Wikipedia Commons

Mom photo from Zark family collection