We remember when macaroons only came in vanilla and chocolate. Now the supermarket display is stocked with chocolate almond, chocolate dipped, chocolate chip, chocolate chunk, and “doubley chocolate gluten-free.”
Choosing one is almost as confusing as deciding whether our teeth need the toothpaste with “advanced whitening” or “tartar protection.”
We’ve been known to stand before the drugstore shampoo display paralyzed with indecision. Is our hair fine or limp? Do we need “Truly Relaxed” or “Curl Control?” Mostly, we’re just glad to wake up and find that we still have hair. We should probably go with “Age Defy,” which promises to “turn back the strands of time.”
These days, there are more choices than ever –and it’s both wonderful and exhausting. We understand how Russian immigrants, for whom shopping used to mean standing in a bread line, felt when they entered an American supermarket for the first time and were bewildered by the variety and abundance of consumer goods.
Shopping requires some soul-searching. To buy chicken broth, we have to weigh the relative evils of fat, salt, chemicals and chickens that haven’t been allowed to roam free. The problem is solved when we find a box that promises none of the above – at twice the cost. We also have to debate the merits of tried and true vs. something new. That turns out to be easy: The brand-new, “light whole wheat Bran Matzos” don’t even tempt us. We’ll stick with the plain kind.
After we navigate the grocery aisles, we realize that with Pesach coming, we have waaay more than four questions:
1. Do we have enough room to include Uncle Harold’s “lady friend” this year?
2. Where exactly should we put that orange on the seder plate?
3. Will our family want the same-old haroset or would they enjoy an exotic Sephardic version?
4. Should we finally buy new haggadot or use the raggedy old ones.
There are thousands of haggadot in existence – from an ecological haggadah that asks us to think about the four trees to a feminist haggadah that focuses on the contributions of Miriam, Sarah, Rachel and other women in Jewish history. Other haggadot themes include LGTB, interfaith, and hip-hop (for those who want their Jewish tunes written by rap artists). The 30-Minute Seder haggadah caters to those who want to nibble the gefilte fish sooner rather than later.
There’s even a new edition of the Maxwell House Passover Haggadah, which more than 50 million people have used since it was first printed in the 1930s. It’s considered the longest-running sales promotion in advertising history. On the inside cover it asks three questions: Do we want Master Blend, Breakfast Blend or Original Roast? Dayenu.
While we’re all in favor of diversity, we prefer to stick with the haggadot we pieced together through the years. We copied pages with our favorite passages, added in catchy songs from preschool, and deleted the parts we didn’t like. We’ve always disliked reading the section about the “four sons.” How dare they call one of the kids simple! There is one chief advantage to hosting the seder: We get to choose the haggadah. As the most famous Pharaoh, Yul Brenner, said, “So let it be written; so let it be done.”
When we were young, the choices – both secular and religious – were few. Watching TV meant walking over to the set and turning the channel from ABC to CBS to NBC. Three channels not three hundred. Buying sneakers meant choosing between Keds and Converse, and buying coffee meant instant or perked. For jeans, it was bell-bottom or straight leg.
Now we can’t buy sneakers until we decide if we are going to use them for tennis, running or walking. (Go for cross-trainers if you’re indecisive.) Buying a cup of coffee requires weighing the merits of venti vs. grande, cream vs. nonfat soy, and fair trade vs. exploitation. Shopping for jeans demands self-assessment: How do we know if we would look better in high-waisted, hip-hugging or low-rise? The online site we turned to for help asked us if we were shaped like a pear, apple or banana. At least we’re not an ugli fruit.
Passover was simpler then, too. There seemed to be just one recipe for haroset; it had apples and walnuts, not dates and pistachios and ginger. There was just one cup on the table for Elijah. You bought the big bottle of Manischewitz Concord Grape and didn’t worry if it paired well with roasted chicken or was perfect with salty fish appetizers.
Don’t get us wrong. We appreciate having lots of choices, but we do get tired of making them. And we know we’re not the only ones stressed out by the abundance of options. Maybe that’s why a number of manufacturers are reintroducing “classic” and “original” versions of their products.
This Passover, we’ll make it easy for ourselves, and we’ll pass over the “new and improved” super-tasty matzah, the “bigger and better” Pesachdik granola bars, and the “self-cooking” chicken. We’ll stick with tradition.