Like most Jewish families mine has an annual Passover tradition that bears only some resemblance to that practiced by every other Jewish family. Why? Because tradition isn’t tradition unless everyone does it slightly differently.

I haven’t historically been preoccupied with Passover–some years I haven’t celebrated at all–but this year we got the whole family together, plus an assortment of family friends.

I guess this year, I decided it was better to have a silly tradition than none at all. Which is to say that it isn’t the shank bone and the matzah and the haroset that makes the holiday, but the fact that there is a tradition that everyone more or less knows and we practice together.

We, of course, supplement the dry facts of the holiday with our own family traditions, many revolving around the personality of my dad who runs the whole show and has his own eccentricities. My younger brother has steadfastly refused to solo the Four Questions his entire life, despite, I believe, it being punishable by death not to do so.

But in the end, our seder is just like every other family’s seder in that it’s unique and the same, modern and ancient, family and friends, good food and bad food, all mixed together in the endless Jewish story of contradictions, perseverance, and, well, wine. Chag Sameach.