A satire.

This year’s Passover excursion kept us in the United States. American programs tend to be much larger and more expensive since the law of large numbers doesn’t seem to apply to matzah. This one was the same: 1,300 people spending $25 million, while complaining about the yeshiva tuition and shidduch crises.

Despite the price tag for a single room which could have purchased a small car (pre-tariffs), my family couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend ten days with 33 extended family members, including 14 children under 10 years old. The challenge of migraines versus memories was too enticing to pass over.

Our small tribe descended on the destination “resort” nestled 47 minutes from civilization in desert foothills with panoramic views of ugly sand and rocks. The 99 degree heat baked every living thing except for snakes which blended into the brown landscape. We ran inside to escape the sun and scenery.

The hotel “lobby” had a couch and two chairs, insufficient for my immediate family let alone 1,300 other guests. It appeared that we were going to be left with few choices for hanging out together: either in the dining room, tea room, shul or our own rooms.

We grabbed keys and programs and headed to our rooms to unpack 75 outfits.

All of the rooms were essentially “suites” with a small living room which looked great for late night reading. However, the bathroom was so small that the door bumped into the toilet seat, so one needed to shimmy around the door and place a foot in the bathtub to enter. As I extended my hand to grab the shower door for balance, I actually grabbed a fistful of curtain. I let out a small shriek and heard someone next door do the same. A chorus of “a shower curtain?!” could be heard echoing through the halls.

Our horde unpacked and changed for the first of forty meals. On American programs, people seemed extra intent on getting their money’s worth by gorging non-stop. It was especially true at this location, as rooms normally go for $109 per night.

The first dinner was set up as a barbeque outside. The pieces of steak were larger than our plates to make us forget that the program lacked vegetables. It was delicious and set the stage for a carnivorous vacation theoretically focused on small tasteless pieces of flatbread.

We awoke early the next day and rapidly learned who was going to attend prayer services and who was tasked with looking over small tykes while their wives slept. We created a mini-WhatsApp group apart from the broader family chat to notify each other about minyan times and where to grab a nosh. There was a short back-and-forth about whether to label our chat “The Minyan 7” or “Tallis Toters” and settled on The “XYs” as none of the women attended other than for yizkor.

The conference room turned shul could seat 500 people, so the 70 men and 3 young women who came home from seminary in Israel had plenty of room, if not heat or decent lighting. The first ba’al tefillah launched prayers with “she asani aved” thanking God for making him a slave, dropping the important “not” in the blessing, making people wonder whether he had sold a kidney to pay for the program or was trying to set the mood for the Passover story of liberation.

The hashkama minyan flew by quickly, allowing people to enjoy another four hours of breakfast. It was our chance to see our family’s designated table for the holiday which occupied one-third of the dining room, a behemoth square of 28 feet a side. We had the staff reconfigure the table for the other meals so we could hear each other, but the reality of eating in a room with 1,000 other people including screaming children made a conversation beyond five feet impossible anyway.

The buffet in the center of the large hall was arranged as follows: wine table, omelet or carving station depending on the meal, various hot dishes, omelet/carving, hot dishes, omelet/carving, hot dishes, omelet/carving, hot dishes, and at the very back of the room, a small salad table with hearts of palm and shredded carrots. Perhaps the caterer didn’t want to check vegetables or wanted all-brown meals like the desert outside.

On rare occasion, there was plated food when we arrived, once consisting of gefilte fish with horseradish together with seared tuna and wasabi. If it was intended to placate both the Ashkenazi and Sephardi crowds it didn’t work as my Syrian niece threw up at the sight.

For some reason, despite the enormous quantity of cooked animal flesh at lunch and dinner, the dessert table only had 20 cookies. Everyone assumed we were being encouraged to head to the tea room for sweets so the staff could set up for the next meal.

We obliged and ran over to see what was in store.

Regrettably, it seemed that some guests had paid off staff to seize all the Bisli for their entourage. The rest of the attendees made due with “tropical” ices that tasted like antifreeze and various chocolate snacks that varied more in shape than flavor.

When snack time was over we were at a loss for what to do. We went to one of the pools to watch the water evaporate before our eyes. We then hunted for shade and were informed that the indoor cabanas were already reserved by guests for $12,000 for the week, a pretty penny to watch White Jews combust but many seemed content to do so.

My wife went looking for one of the shadchanim “matchmakers” to discuss our boys and various single friends. The boys refused to engage in the “meat market” and opted to sit at the poolside barbeque and talk to girls there.

People were kvetching that the program last year in the Caribbean was much nicer in terms of hotel and food quality. As one person voiced her disagreement, she was cut off by a loud thump of an older couple tripping on the broken cobblestone pathway, crashing to the ground. It would be the first of seven hospital calls during the holiday. By the last day of chag, thirteen orange cones dotted the heavily-trafficked walkway.

For shabbat, we were handed a few velcro strips to disable the electronic door locks. Later in the week, I saw some men using them to extend their belts to accommodate their bulging waists.

During shabbat and yomtov prayers, the program auctioned off aliyahs for different charities. It got more people to attend the earlier hashkama minyan in hope for a better deal. Az Yashir went for $5,000 at hashkama, but the winner didn’t realize he had to hand the aliyah over to the program’s rabbi. It crushed the fundraise for the next much larger minyan and people wouldn’t go above $100. I suggested bridging the tzedakah gap by bidding out the right to be the sole person to yell “ka’eleh” during the second torah reading, as the masses cannot keep themselves from drowning out the ba’al koreh.

The night activities alternated during shabbat and yomtov on talks about Israel at war, antisemitism and rabbis put into herem for heresy. Very uplifting and spiritual. During chol hamoed, the nights alternated between unfunny young comedians ripping off older comics’ material, to a couple of Sephardic singers singing the same popular four songs that they didn’t write. The band behind them pretended to play various instruments while their prepared music mix blared for the stablehands six miles away. It was the Israeli version of Milli Vanilli.

And the kids loved it. They cheered their Instagram star despite his lack of stage presence and joined the 45 year old bearded male singer when he asked for girls under 14 years old to join him on stage.

For some reason, I think I was the only one to find the spectacle creepy.

As the three-day shabbat-yomtov continued, people bemoaned their Wordle streaks ending. The various right-wing speakers suggested to all that it was a perfect time to terminate their New York Times subscriptions.

People slowly became aware that the entire hotel was not reserved for the Passover guests. Loaves of bread were in the hallways and a Christian wedding party which booked the second weekend created a stir. A ruckus broke out when the hotel insisted that all Jews leave the pool area for the wedding. Fewer men complained the following day when tall blonde women came out in their bikinis.

The Latin staff seemed nonplussed by everything and kept smiling. The Jewish staff looked perpetually perturbed by the incessant demands of one thousand over-entitled kvetches from friends and neighbors.

Overall, the holiday was a win. Getting so many family members together for a week is an accomplishment in itself, and there were no major blowouts. We had a chance to meet some nice new people and collectively discover why Jews left the desert over 3,300 years ago.

Related article:

My Big Fat Passover Program (April 2023)