I announced I would not eat the matzoh ball soup!

My wife had been preparing the seder meal in the same manner she had always done, but this year's Passover would be different from all others.

The tension between us had been simmering for some time when the pot boiled over the afternoon of Erev Pesach, the eve of Passover. What made it happen was the indisputable fact that I could not have chosen a worse time to make such an announcement had I tried.

At immediate issue was a can of non-kosher chicken broth, but that alone was merely the tip of the iceberg.

Given the disharmony of our marital relationship, the very last thing I needed to be doing was quarreling with her about about the applicability of the laws of kashrut in our very unkosher kitchen.

“Must you use that particular broth?” I asked her, wishing I had kept my mouth shut, but I had, in fact, crossed the line.

The die was cast.

In other words, I was in big trouble. 

“Folks should be able to reasonably expect they will enjoy a kosher meal on Passover at the very least,” I blurted out thoughtlessly.

“What are you talking about?” she shot back. “It makes no difference because our kitchen is not kosher,” she reminded me, a fact that my daughter would soon echo.

I did understand that, mind you. What can I say? I was caught up in the contradiction between where my family was Jewishly and where I wanted it to be.

My wife was opposed to kashering our kitchen because she knew it would lead to a more observant Jewish lifestyle she wanted neither for herself nor for our family. I was so busy pursuing my personal religious odyssey I failed to recognize the danger it posed to my marriage. 

None of us was ready for a religious makeover.

The worst part of this Erev Pesach arrived when my daughter Kimberly confronted me on the steps leading to her room.

“Dad!” I could see steam coming out of her ears!

“Uh, oh!” I knew that look on her face.

“You have ruined Passover for me and the family,” she vehemently asserted. Her voice became louder but then cracked a bit.

“Sweetheart, I am trying," proclaiming my innocence.

 “Oh, I know what you are `trying’ to do. I see the groceries you bring home. All kosher. I see it.” I stood
in silence and listened to her rebuke.

No one had ever been so passionately angry with me. Always ready, willing and able to express herself, Kimberly attacked my insistence that only kosher food be served at seder-labeling it “an absurd contradiction.” 

I could say nothing in my defense. She and her mom were correct.

What was the point of pursuing a kosher agenda if it could not done properly and without the assent of my family?

 
While it is true my family and I did not know the laws of Pesach, we very much enjoyed its spirit at our seders.

I poisoned that spirit in my zeal to be more observant too quickly and, more importantly, by thinking that I could become more observant by myself.
 

This regrettable incident should have been a wake-up call for me. The truth is I remained “asleep” at the wheel on a path strewn with stumbling blocks.