Matzah: A Love/Hate Relationship
A Passover Poem

It’s afflicting. It’s bland.
It’s crumbly. It’s drab.
It’s execrable. It’s flat.
It’s grumpy. It’s hasty. It’s insipid. It’s jolting.
It’s a killjoy. It’s lamentable.
It’s mediocre. It’s nasty.
It’s obscene. It’s plain.
It’s questionable. It’s repulsive.
It’s stale. It’s tasteless.
It’s unsatisfying. It’s vile.
It’s warped. It’s xeric.
It’s yucky. It’s zealous.
Matzah is all these things. But for some reason, I love it. There’s nothing quite like matzoh and some charoset (chopped apples and nuts with wine), or maybe with some cream cheese. And then there are matzah pizzas and matzah brei (basically soaked matzah cooked with scrambled eggs… think French Toast, but made with crushed matzah). Of course, whether or not my insides like eating all of this for an entire week is another story.
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