The other day I blogged about celebrating Passover on my great aunt’s dairy farm outside of Baltimore. I sent the link to my aunt and uncle (on the other side of the family). They read the latest books on their Kindle and have digitized all their old LPs, but it didn’t occur to my 80-year-old aunt to write an online comment. The post did bring back memories for her, though, and she sent them along in an email.
“My real problem with Passover as far as women are concerned,” she said, “is all the work that they had to do if their house was kosher. Packing all the dishes, pots, pans, and dragging them to the cellar. Unloading all the barrels, bringing the dishes up, washing, washing, washing. Then cooking, cooking, cooking.”
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