The Coronavirus
Haggadah, AKA Passover 2020, by Martin Bodek
KADESH
When the father comes
home from praying in the middle of the street with the properly distanced four
cubits per person, he immediately runs to the sink, and washes his hands with
kosher for Passover soap and water for 20 seconds, while humming his favorite
guitar solo. Then, he recites the benediction over water with a grape-y taste.
Proper grape juice being unavailable since the closed Passover programs made it
almost as scarce as toilet paper.
URCHATZ
The head of the
household scrubs his hands again, for 20 seconds, as does every other member of
the household - but one at a time, to create the proper social distancing.
Usually, no blessing is said here, but this year the proper blessing is Birkat
Hagomel.
KARPAS
The tradition is to dip
a vegetable into salt water- typically parsley, celery, potato, onion, or
lettuce. Since none of that could be secured at the store due to preppers and
hoarders, anything green will do. It doesn't have to be food: some grass
clippings or a Hulk toy will suffice. Also, due to low availability of table
salt, we recommend using the surplus Ice-Melt in the garage (and having the
poison hotline number ready). Winter has been cancelled for the rest of
civilization anyway due to global warming, so you won't need it. If you're
lucky, drinking the road salt will kill the coronavirus, a win-win.
URCHATZ II
Everybody gets up one at
time - not even single-file will be allowed - and scrubs their hands again for
another 20 seconds. While doing so, it's a segulah to sing the alphabet in a
language you don't speak, so that you spend longer washing your hands.
YACHATZ
The head of the
household takes the already-broken (due to legally questionable price-gouging
on whole ones) middle matzah and breaks it further. He then estimates which the
larger half of shattered pieces is and places it in the afikoman (Greek word
meaning "ransom") bag, and hides it in a painfully obvious spot. This
lack of cunning is to prevent children from wandering outside to look for it.
Can't have that; it's The Purge out there.
URCHATZ III
This time the person
with the most-chapped hands goes first, out of respect.
MAGID
We tell over and bring
down the story of our exodus, and we begin with the prayer of Ha Lachma Anya.
The text is spoken as usual, but with one edit: the part about inviting the
hungry to come and eat. Yeah, no one's invited this year. Maybe next year,
after the apocalypse.
As for the Mah Nishtana,
these are the four questions that can be asked:
- Does anyone really need to ask
why this night is different from all other nights?
- Do you not see what's been
happening all around you?
- Do you live under a rock?
- Have you been under quarantine
for so long, you completely forgot why you’ve been under quarantine in the
first place?
However, the head of the
household is encouraged to solicit questions, starting with the youngest at the
table, and to put no cap on it whatsoever. Don't worry, nobody's going anywhere
for a long time, and there's no second night of Passover to prepare for. It was
ruled that due to all the various quarantines and shelters-in-place, everywhere
is considered a walled city, which means nobody is in Chutz L'aretz or “outside
of the land.”
We then recite Avadim Hayinu,
as a way to begin to expound on the miracles God hath (fancy Old-English word
meaning "has") wrought for us. People who expound on this are
considered praiseworthy. Expound away. Some have the new tradition of snacking
on (non-kitniyot) Snickers at this point, because you're not going anywhere for
a while. Ah har har har. Also, you’re pretty hungry at this point.
Then we recite some
short, sweet homiletics about five ancient rabbis who loved to palaver so much,
they didn't realize that time had passed until reminded of the time at dawn.
Boy, don't you wonder what they would have talked about under our
circumstances? At their advanced age, they probably wouldn't be allowed to get
together in the first place, due to their 15% death rate. Except for the sneaky
one who was actually 18. Clever trick.
The new full text for
the section of The Four Sons is as follows:
What does the wise child
ask? "What are the advisable things we should be doing during this
crisis?" You will respond by instructing the child in the intelligent and
responsible measures of social distancing, handwashing, learning the science,
understanding the curve-flattening concept, and looking out for your fellow
human being.
What does the wicked
child ask? "What is with all you people?" It is therefore proper to
respond forcefully: "What's the matter with us? What's the matter with
you? Get a clue!" Then we imagine giving a V8 slap in the head, but we
don't do it for real. Corporal Punishment is Old School. Also, Social
Distancing.
What does the simple
child ask? "What is this?" With a mighty hand will the Eternal Being,
or science, or maybe both, bring us out of this mess.
But as for the one who
has no capacity to ask, you must begin the narration in accord with the
statement, "And you shall relate to your child on that day," that
this is what happens to a society when it doesn't put proper safeguards in
place, refuses to acknowledge the truth at the outset, Fake Newses everything
until it's suddenly too late, and has people who think they're not subject to
sensible rules.
We then speed along the
next few paragraphs, so we can make some progress - gosh, we're starving! - and
pause at Vehi She’amda, which is now paraphrased thus:
And it is that promise
which has been our ancestors' support and ours, for not just one disease has
stood against us, but in every generation some have arisen to exterminate us,
yet the Most Holy and blessed, using science as his primary tool, saved us.
You see what I did
there. Subtle.
A few more paragraphs to
zip through, but taking a beat to stare at this whopper: "Your breast is
formed, and your hair is grown, whereas you had been naked and bare."
Chortle to yourself like Beavis and Butthead, then move on. People aren't paying
attention at this point anyway. They're too busy deciphering The Emoji
Haggadah.
Next stop is Vinitzak el
HaShem, which we pause to say out loud all together, and needs no paraphrasing
whatsoever:
And we cried out to The
Eternal, the God of our fathers, and The Eternal heard our voice, saw our
affliction, our sorrow, and our oppression. And our empty cupboards. Our
tushies, however, are nice and clean.
We motor through a large
chunk of the text and arrive at The Plagues. The ten usual ones are unchanged,
but we're going to add the 11th plague to the list this year. That is Coronavirus,
of course.
This effectively means
that Rabbi Yehuda's initials formulation now reads D”etzach A”dash B”achavc.
This new phrase still remains curiously indecipherable gibberish.
In honor of the spirited
discussion between Rav Yose, Rabbi Akiva, and Rav Eliezer, we now take a moment
to round-table discuss the nature of the coronavirus. Will this beast just end
up being another version of the flu? Will it mutate to become more benign or
more malignant? We know there are four coronaviruses already that are passed
around seasonally. Will this just become the fifth? Or is this so lethal, it's
in a class by itself? Will immune people still pass it on somehow? Will a
vaccine protect for life, or be seasonal? Engage fully, and enjoy the
intellectual rigor. Keep it going, the conversation will never be: dayenu. Ah
har har har. The rest is not so funny:
If Chinese officials
realized they were taking care of a very ill patient, but had not taken
seventeen days to realize this was a new strain of coronavirus, it would have
been enough to contain the plague.
If it took them
seventeen days, but had not asked the medical director to cover things up, it
would have been enough to contain the plague.
If they asked the
medical director to cover things up, but had not called it “pneumonia of
unclear cause” after they already knew what it really was, it would have been
enough to contain the plague.
If they called it
“pneumonia of unclear cause," but had not ordered labs to stop testing
samples and to destroy existing samples, it would have been enough to contain
the plague.
If they ordered labs to
stop testing samples and to destroy existing samples, but had not withheld
their knowledge of the coronavirus' complete genetic information for a week, it
would have been enough to contain the plague.
If they withheld their
knowledge of the coronavirus' complete genetic information, but had not had the
Wuhan Health Commission insist there are no new cases, it would have been
enough to contain the plague.
If they had told the
Wuhan Health Commission to insist there are no new cases, but had not informed
the WHO that there was no clear evidence of human-to-human transmission of the
novel coronavirus even though there was plenty of it, it would have been enough
to contain the plague.
If they had informed the
WHO that there was no clear evidence of human-to-human transmission of the
novel coronavirus even though there was plenty of it, but had not let a patient
with a known coronavirus infection travel to the U.S. (a day after the WHO made
their announcement), it would have been enough to contain the plague.
If they let a patient
with a known coronavirus infection travel to the U.S. (a day after the WHO made
their announcement), but had not then allowed a Wuhan festival to happen with tens
of thousands of revelers, it would have been enough to contain the plague.
If they allowed a Wuhan
festival to happen with tens of thousands of revelers, but had not allowed five
million people to leave a locked-down Wuhan completely unscreened for illness,
it would have been enough to contain the plague.
Had they allowed five
million people to leave a locked-down Wuhan completely unscreened for illness,
but had not allowed hundreds of millions of people to travel around their
country on their Lunar New Year holiday, it would not have been enough to
contain the plague.
We get to the section
where we usually mention and point to the Pesach, Matzah, and Maror.
There is no shankbone.
There isn't even chicken in stores anymore. Are kosher slaughterers still
employed?
The matzah is all
broken, as we discussed.
Maror is canceled this
year. Our lives are embittered enough, even though we're doing our best to make
the most of it.
We then lift our cups,
praise God briefly, then lower our cups, and praise God more fully, because
that's what we do, no matter what. We'll get through this.
URCHATZ IV
[Chorus]
RACHTZAH
Everyone washes their
hands, for 40 seconds this time. They must be filthy after this long delay.
That last washing two minutes ago didn't count.
URCHATZ V
Just in case anyone
skimped on soap. Back to the sink everyone goes. 60 seconds as a penalty.
MOTZI MATZAH
Food! Or some
resemblance of it. Tuck in. Matzah is supposed to be symbolic of the manna the
Israelites received from heaven while wandering around without Waze in the
desert. It is said to have tasted like honey, and it says in Tractate Berachot
that honey is a 60th of the taste of heaven. So that's what matzah tastes like.
Right, all we know for
sure is that the constipation will help us save on toilet paper this year.
Don't forget to take off
your facemask before eating.
URCHATZ VI
120 seconds, for all you
cheaters. Off to the sink. And Purell when you return, for good measure. Purell
was kosher for Passover even before this year.
MAROR
As we have discussed,
this is completely redundant. However, we still have the charoset, which we
usually dip our maror into. The charoset this year symbolizes the pain and
affliction of (non-essential) brick-and-mortar stores. Since we're the ones
embittered, everyone fills a bowl up with the stuff, flops their face into the
mix, and blows. We need some levity for the situation. Prizes for most creative
splatter.
URCHATZ VII
Everybody back to the
sink to wash your faces too. No humming snippets of a song this time. You must
sing whole songs, at least four minutes long. This is a problem, because the
average song is three and a half minutes long, unless it's a song by The
Ramones, which are all approximately seventeen seconds long. Songs like
Bohemian Rhapsody or Stairway to Heaven will have to do.
KORECH
We mash together our
mashed matzah, random green objects, the charoset, and our embittered spirits
and we recite that this is what Hillel did back in the good ol' days, with
delicious ingredients, but this Poor Man’s Korech is what we're doing now. Oy,
Mah Haya Lanu can be recited this time as well.
URCHATZ VIII
Everyone's face is still
a massive mess, plus everyone has charoset mustaches. Okay, everyone in the
shower, and reconvene in twenty minutes.
SHULCHAN ORECH
Food? What food? The
matriarch hasn't cooked her own Pesach food in sixteen years, and forgot how.
Also, most Pesach programs didn't refund anyone, so there was no money for
food. Enjoy the korech crumbs and move on. For dessert: korech atoms.
URCHATZ IX
Last shower wasn't long
enough. Everyone back in, and reconvene in forty minutes.
TZAFOON
Bribery execution time.
This year children will be creative, knowing they can't get physical things for
a while, because global supply lines are cut. Prepare for heartbreak as they
ask for hugs, playdates, permission to go back to school, and grandparents.
URCHATZ X
Everyone whips out the
Lysol can under their chairs, and empties the entire contents on the person to
their immediate left - since you have to lean that way anyway.
BARECH
We say Grace After
Meals, and we praise the Lord, because He'll get us through this, as He always
has: with a mighty hand and an outstretched forearm. In the past, when faced
with similar crises, He sent us Jenner, and Jesty, and Pearson, and Pasteur,
and Roux, and Toussaint, and Galtier, and Gemaleia, and Haffkine, and Pfeiffer,
and Kolle, and Wright, and Ramon, and Glenny, and Hilleman, and Koch, and Salk,
and Koprowski, and Sabin. And they created vaccines for cholera, and rabies,
and tetanus, and typhoid fever, and bubonic plague, and tuberculosis, and
diphtheria, and scarlet fever, and tetanus, and pertussis, and yellow fever,
and typhus, and tick-borne encephalitis, and influenza, and polio, and Japanese
encephalitis, and anthrax, and adenovirus-4 and 7, and measles, and mumps, and
rubella, and chicken pox, and pneumonia, and meningitis, and hepatitis B, and
Haemophilus influenzae type b, and Q fever, and hepatitis A, and Lyme disease,
and rotavirus, and human papillomavirus, and hepatitis E, and enterovirus 71,
and malaria, and dengue fever, and ebola, and he will send someone, or several
someones with a vaccine for coronavirus. This will not end with an opaque hand
grabbing hold of a bomb in Vegas (shout-out to Uncle Stevie!) but with a
vaccine. We must do our spiritual and pragmatic utmost, and He will do His part
at the appropriate time. He will send it; man will administer it. And if He
wants to send it Himself, with no agent, no angel, no seraph, but by Himself?
All the better. Whatever it will take. Amen.
We then imbibe our third
cup of grape-y juice. We sure could use it right about now, no matter the
dilution.
We now reach the part
where we usually welcome Elijah at the door, but he was ordered to quarantine
with the rest of Israel's citizens. Elijah asked Santa Claus to pitch in, but
Mr. Kringle is under lockdown in Canada himself. Instead, we open the front door
and shout at the outside world:
We pour out our wrath
against those who would not self-isolate despite overwhelming evidence of the
dangers, and against those who wouldn't heed logical warnings, or look out for
their fellow human beings, for they caused a consuming of the people of Jacob,
and ruined his home. We pour out our annoyance against you and our fierce anger
overtakes us. We will pursue you in rage and destroy you from under the heavens
of the Eternal. Actually, we can't leave the house. Coronavirus will take care
of that.
URCHATZ XI
My Grace After Meals
soapbox speech doesn't mean that we shouldn't continue washing our hands. This
further stresses my point. You feel me?
HALLEL
We Praise God some more,
because that's what we do. And well, since everything else that we used to do,
we can't do anymore - like, oh, I dunno, pray with a quorum, we stick with the
things we can still do. Focus hard on the "Ana HaShem" part.
We recite Ki L'olam
Chasdo verbatim. It isn't necessary to print that here. Grab another Haggadah
and look it up. Man, I hope you haven't been using this here Haggadah as an
actual substitute!
Now drink that fourth
cup down, why don'tcha? Have another while you're at it. That doesn't have to
stop.
URCHATZ XII
Lysol, Purell, and soap,
all together. Who cares if that's illogical? It feels like we're doing
something.
NIRTZAH
This year, the lyrics
are changed to the following:
The commemoration
service of the Passover has now been accomplished according to nothing of its
common order, or any of the usual laws and rules of the feast. As we have been
considered worthy to prepare this new version, now grant also that we may be worthy
to complete it the real way. You, Most Holy Who dwells on high, raise up your
innumerable people. Hasten to conduct us with joyful singing to the plants of
Your redeemed vineyard in Zion.
(This year in virtual
Jerusalem, but) Next Year in Jerusalem!
You can skip Vayehi
Bachatzi Halailah. Nobody knows a good song for it anyway, and everybody just
mumbles through it.
You can recite Ki Lo
Na'eh verbatim.
As for Adir Hu, you can
recite everything exactly as is, but every time it says "bayto" or
“baytcha," replace that with "vaccine." It's also exactly two
syllables, and it flows very nicely.
And now: Who Knows Zero?
Who knows zero?
I know zero. Zero is how
many squares there are left to spare.
Who knows one?
I know one. One is the
number of houses you're stuck in with your family. Zero is how many squares
there are left to spare.
Who knows two? I know
two. Two are the number of gloves allocated to each person. One is the number
of houses you're stuck in with your family. Zero is how many squares there are
left to spare.
Who knows three? I know
three. Three are the baggies left in the freezer whose contents you can't name.
Two are the number of gloves allocated to each person. One is the number of
houses you're stuck in with your family. Zero is how many squares there are
left to spare.
Who knows four? I know
four. Four are the leftover mashed candy bars which will have to be carbon
dated before eating. Three are the baggies left in the freezer whose contents
you can't name. Two are the number of gloves allocated to each person. One is
the number of houses you're stuck in with your family. Zero is how many squares
there are left to spare.
Who knows five? I know
five. Five are the last cuts of meat that might be woolly mammoth steak. Four
are the leftover mashed candy bars which will have to be carbon dated before
eating. Three are the baggies left in the freezer whose contents you can't
name. Two are the number of gloves allocated to each person. One is the number
of houses you're stuck in with your family. Zero is how many squares there are
left to spare.
Who knows six? I know
six. Six is the minimum distance of feet you should maintain from your fellow
human being. Five are the last cuts of meat that might be woolly mammoth steak.
Four are the leftover mashed candy bars which will have to be carbon dated
before eating. Three are the baggies left in the freezer whose contents you
can't name. Two are the number of gloves allocated to each person. One is the
number of houses you're stuck in with your family. Zero is how many squares
there are left to spare.
Who knows seven? I know
seven. Seven are the boxes of baking soda you discovered behind all your food,
each with a signature odor. Six is the minimum distance of feet you should
maintain from your fellow human being. Five are the last cuts of meat that might
be woolly mammoth steak. Four are the leftover mashed candy bars which will
have to be carbon dated before eating. Three are the baggies left in the
freezer whose contents you can't name. Two are the number of gloves allocated
to each person. One is the number of houses you're stuck in with your family.
Zero is how many squares there are left to spare.
Who knows eight? I know
eight. Eight is the new amount of cups of wine you can have at the seder this
year. Seven are the boxes of baking soda you discovered behind all your food,
each with a signature odor. Six is the minimum distance of feet you should
maintain from your fellow human being. Five are the last cuts of meat that
might be woolly mammoth steak. Four are the leftover mashed candy bars which will
have to be carbon dated before eating. Three are the baggies left in the
freezer whose contents you can't name. Two are the number of gloves allocated
to each person. One is the number of houses you're stuck in with your family.
Zero is how many squares there are left to spare.
Who knows nine? I know
nine. Nine is the number of months from now when we'll find out if we'll have a
Baby Boom or Baby Bust. Eight is the new amount of cups of wine you can have at
the seder this year. Seven are the boxes of baking soda you discovered behind
all your food, each with a signature odor. Six is the minimum distance of feet
you should maintain from your fellow human being. Five are the last cuts of
meat that might be woolly mammoth steak. Four are the leftover mashed candy
bars which will have to be carbon dated before eating. Three are the baggies
left in the freezer whose contents you can't name. Two are the number of gloves
allocated to each person. One is the number of houses you're stuck in with your
family. Zero is how many squares there are left to spare.
Who knows ten? I know
ten. Ten is the minimum number of seconds you have to count down from any time
your schooling-from-home children nag you during your working-from-home day.
Nine is the number of months from now when we'll find out if we'll have a Baby
Boom or Baby Bust. Eight is the new amount of cups of wine you can have at the
seder this year. Seven are the boxes of baking soda you discovered behind all
your food, each with a signature odor. Six is the minimum distance of feet you
should maintain from your fellow human being. Five are the last cuts of meat
that might be woolly mammoth steak. Four are the leftover mashed candy bars
which will have to be carbon dated before eating. Three are the baggies left in
the freezer whose contents you can't name. Two are the number of gloves
allocated to each person. One is the number of houses you're stuck in with your
family. Zero is how many squares there are left to spare.
Who knows eleven? I know
eleven. Eleven are the stars, which you know because stargazing is one of
several new habits, now that you're stuck at home. Did you know there are 88
constellations? Cool. Ten is the minimum number you have to count down from any
time your schooling-from-home children nag you during your working-from-home
day. Nine is the number of months from now when we'll find out if we'll have a
Baby Boom or Baby Bust. Eight is the new amount of cups of wine you can have at
the seder this year. Seven are the boxes of baking soda you discovered behind
all your food, each with a signature odor. Six is the minimum distance of feet
you should maintain from your fellow human being. Five are the last cuts of
meat that might be woolly mammoth steak. Four are the leftover mashed candy bars
which will have to be carbon dated before eating. Three are the baggies left in
the freezer whose contents you can't name. Two are the number of gloves
allocated to each person. One is the number of houses you're stuck in with your
family. Zero is how many squares there are left to spare.
Who knows twelve? I know
twelve. Twelve are the new grey hairs on your head. Eleven are the stars, which
you know because stargazing is one of several new habits, now that you're stuck
at home. Did you know there are 88 constellations? Cool. Ten is the minimum
number you have to count down from any time your schooling-from-home children
nag you during your working-from-home day. Nine is the number of months from
now when we'll find out if we'll have a Baby Boom or Baby Bust. Eight is the
new amount of cups of wine you can have at the seder this year. Seven are the
boxes of baking soda you discovered behind all your food, each with a signature
odor. Six is the minimum distance of feet you should maintain from your fellow human
being. Five are the last cuts of meat that might be woolly mammoth steak. Four
are the leftover mashed candy bars which will have to be carbon dated before
eating. Three are the baggies left in the freezer whose contents you can't
name. Two are the number of gloves allocated to each person. One is the number
of houses you're stuck in with your family. Zero is how many squares there are
left to spare.
Who knows thirteen? I
know thirteen. Thirteen are the total hairs left on your head. Twelve are the new
grey hairs on your head. Eleven are the stars, which you know because
stargazing is one of several new habits, now that you're stuck at home. Did you
know there are 88 constellations? Cool. Ten is the minimum number you have to
count down from any time your schooling-from-home children nag you during your
working-from-home day. Nine is the number of months from now when we'll find
out if we'll have a Baby Boom or Baby Bust. Eight is the new amount of cups of
wine you can have at the seder this year. Seven are the boxes of baking soda
you discovered behind all your food, each with a signature odor. Six is the
minimum distance of feet you should maintain from your fellow human being. Five
are the last cuts of meat that might be woolly mammoth steak. Four are the
leftover mashed candy bars which will have to be carbon dated before eating.
Three are the baggies left in the freezer whose contents you can't name. Two
are the number of gloves allocated to each person. One is the number of houses
you're stuck in with your family. Zero is how many squares there are left to
spare.
Chad Gadya
For the grand finale, I
cannot improve on the version drawn up by the talented Benjamin Blumenthal,
whose little creation was the impetus for the creation of this full
re-imagining of the Haggadah. I give him full props, and full credit, and
really, his version is so good, that everything preceded here before was really
just a buildup to his punchline:
"In the Pesach
spirit:
Chad gad yaw.
Chad gad yaw.
There once was a bat who
caught a virus. Chad gad yaw. Chad gad yaw.
Along came a Pangolin
who devoured the bat that caught the virus. Chad gad yaw. Chad gad yaw.
Along came a Chinese
man, who ate the pangolin, who devoured the bat that caught the virus. Chad gad
yaw. Chad gad yaw.
Along came an Italian,
who shook hands with the Chinese, who ate the pangolin who devoured the bat
that had the virus. Chad gad yaw. Chad gad yaw.
Along came a Frenchie
who kissed the Italian, who shook hands with the Chinese, who ate the pangolin
who devoured the bat that had the virus. Chad gad yaw. Chad gad yaw.
Along came a Brit that
drank a pint with the Frenchie who kissed the Italian, who shook hands with the
Chinese, who ate the pangolin that devoured the bat that had the virus. Chad
gad yaw. Chad gad yaw.
Along came an American
that hugged the Brit that had a pint with the Frenchie who kissed the Italian,
who shook hands with the Chinese, who ate the pangolin that devoured the bat
that had the virus. Chad gad yaw. Chad gad yaw.
Along came a long flight
with 300 passengers and the American that hugged the Brit that had a pint with
the Frenchie, who kissed the Italian, who shook hands with the Chinese, who ate
the pangolin that devoured the bat that had the virus. Chad gad yaw. Chad gad
yaw.
Along came a Global
pandemic that freaked out the whole world including the 300 passengers and the
American that hugged the Brit that had a pint with the Frenchie who kissed the
Italian, who shook hands with the Chinese, who ate the pangolin that devoured the
bat that had the virus. Chad gad yaw. Chad gad yaw.
Along came a Global Rush
on toilet paper and mandated home offices with children homeschooling in a
pandemic that freaked out the whole world including the 300 passengers and the
American that hugged the Brit that had a pint with the Frenchie who kissed the
Italian, who shook hands with the Chinese, who ate the pangolin that devoured
the bat that had the virus. Chad gad yaw. Chad gad yaw.
Along came GOD - The
Holy One, Blessed Be He, King of Heaven, Master of the Universe - Who reassured
us that family closeness, shared meals, slowing down, being still, grateful and
compassionate, and praying together, even if by video, is itself a blessing and
exactly what the world needs right now, which calmed the Global Rush on toilet
paper in mandated home offices with children homeschooling in a pandemic that
freaked out the whole world including the 300 passengers and the American that
hugged the Brit that had a pint with the Frenchie who kissed the Italian, who
shook hands with the Chinese, who ate the pangolin that devoured the bat that
had the virus. Chad gad yaw. Chad gad yaw!
Wishing you all a happy
and healthy passover.
- Benjamin Blumenthal,
3/18/2020"
You may now drink cups 5
through 8.
URCHATZ XIII
One more shower before
hitting the sack.
Please God, this will
all, very soon, Passover.
