We eat sprigs of parsley dipped in saltwater tears with ravenous joy, because it’s the first thing we’ve had to eat all evening and we’re starving. We eat chopped sweet apples and horseradish together like that combination makes sense. We drink red wine leaning, dribbling wine droplets on the previously pristine tablecloth. We eat “Grandma’s Famous Matzah Ball Soup” that we know came from the Manischewitz box mix because Grandma’s a shit cook but we love her anyway. We eat this feast of affliction foods because even if you don’t believe in it, even if you don’t believe that God waved a hand across the sky and brought us out from Egypt with an outstretched arm - even if you don’t believe in any of this shit, there is still some thread you want to keep from unraveling. So, by the eighth day, you’re eating matzah topped with ketchup and overpriced cheese like it’s the best pizza you’ve ever had.