White Peysakh (with apologies to Irving Berlin)

I woke up Monday morning to four inches of snow in Potomac, and still coming down. A beautiful, thick, Yuletide snow that inspired me to sit down to one of my most joyful pastimes. With apologies to Irving Berlin, but secretly knowing this is the song he wished he had written.


WHITE PEYSAKH


I’m dreaming of a white peysakh

With temperatures of 10 below.

Where the brisket glistens

Four children listen

To hear Elijah in the snow.



I’m dreaming of a white peysakh

With every plague that I recite.

May your herbs be bitter all night

And may all your Passovers be white.



I’m dreaming of a white peysakh

Just like the ones in old Poto.

Where the khomets is missin’

And the fireplace hissin’

To warm Elijah’s frost-bit toe.



I’m dreaming of a white peysakh

With every taskmaster I smite.

May your tyrants be stricken with blight

And may all your Passovers be white.