T.S.Eliot was wrong; April is not the cruelest month, at least not for this writer.

The beginning of the baseball season…my son’s birthday…fresh, local asparagus…and Passover (most years)…all reasons for renewed joy.

Growing up in a family that was affiliated with the Conservative movement only by geographic accident, I celebrated most of the Jewish holidays in a cursory way, and some, not at all.

Passover, though, was always a big deal. My favorite cousins and aunt and uncle came over for both nights, along with my grandfather and his wife. My parents always invited some non-Jewish guests as well for the first night, hoping to teach them a bit about our unusual and wonderful tribe. We ate until our stomachs almost burst, and then ate some more. We barely cracked open the Manischewitz Haggadot strewn around the table, except for when my grandfather pointed at me, and loudly said, “Now!,” indicating it was time for me to recite the Four Questions. I was not the youngest, but I was the only one of the four cousins who was confident in her Hebrew (imagine!) and even more confident about showing off. Later, searching for and selling back the afikomen was the annual highlight of the holiday, since we four girls knew that my dad AND their dad AND our grandfather had come prepared and we’d end up with lots of gelt.

Passover remains my favorite holiday of the entire year. The Seder is a time when my Jewish roots and my socialist roots intertwine beautifully. Singing Zog Nit Ken Mol, Go Down Moses, and Hallel in the same evening reminds me of how rich my traditions are, and I’ve loved passing them on to my children, who are now adults leading their own lives.

This year, I will welcome an intimate group of beloved family and friends. I will be leading a Seder for the first time in many years, after shopping and cleaning and cooking all week. Even though I often proclaim that I am not a perfectionist, I have found myself fretting much of the week about this and that, about what could go wrong and worrying about what I was forgetting or neglecting.

This afternoon, as we relaxed over lunch after a morning of cooking, my friend and I shared our intentions of how to be good to ourselves in the next couple of days. We each talked about letting go of expectations, and committed to simply enjoying the seder and welcoming Shabbat together. A few hours later, I was delighted to read a piece from our Rabbi in which he reminds us to turn away from plagues (often self-imposed) and towards blessings.

No, Mr. T.S. Eliot, April is not the cruelest month, especially now that I am learning that very good is good enough.