Never am I happier to see the back end of a holiday, never readier to assimilate forever, than when Passover passes over. I feel like 40 years in the desert were just performed in real time.

My girlfriends and I celebrate Passover’s passing with pizza and beer. When the chag is over, we return to chometz, and to the world, together. But like many traditions, it bears the burden of memory: where were we last year at this time? How many broken hearts have we nursed each other through since? How many happily ever afters? (not enough, thank you very much) Life landmarks?

The tally for the past year of dating my girlfriends:

1 rabbinical school matriculation
4 break-ups
2 apartments purchased
1 book written
various siblings were engaged, married, or reproduced

As they say, next year…