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On my Passover seder table last week was a pair of antique, brass candlesticks, with neon pink candles in them.

 

The candlesticks were a wedding gift handed down from my mother to me. She got them from my grandmother, whose mother also passed it on to her. Making them more special, Thelma, the nanny who helped raise me, and who Sydney Thelma is named after, helped my mom restore them before passing them down at my wedding shower.  I treasure them.

 

Growing up, we celebrated every Jewish holiday in a similar way: 30 or 40 people around a carefully set table, variations on similar dishes, and way too much food. A seder that lasted a little long enough that kids were wriggling in their seat.  No seat assignments except for that I always saved a seat for Thelma next to me. Those same set of candlesticks were lit at the beginning of the meal.   

 

The last couple of years changed a lot of things when we lost a lot of central people in our family. On the first holiday back, we did something silly, having a luau seder.  And then this year, I hosted in my Brooklyn apartment. My sister, her wife, and their baby came, along with some friends. I made a brisket – I make a mean brisket – and then I catered in the rest.

 

My cousin brought the neon pink candles for my grandmother’s candlesticks while Sammy and Johnny wrote and led a 10-minute seder, complete with jokes. (“Four sons? Why not make it 10 sons and call them a basketball team!”)

 

After the seder, we headed out to the North Fork where we participated in an easter egg hunt with friends. My almost 10-year old who is going to Hebrew School for the first time realized this wasn’t our holiday (“Not my religion, mom!”), while my five-year-old threw on bunny ears she found in the backseat of the car. She loved the thrill of the chase and … candy!  

 

I really love traditions. It was meaningful and comforting to have a slightly different version of the same holiday over and over again. And at the same time, I have learned that it’s okay and sometimes even beautiful for traditions to morph over the years.

 

If we refused to welcome in new ones, we might not have experienced Sammy and Johnny’s jokey seder, have a baby crawling around while we sang Dayenu, or even ventured to participate in an easter egg hunt. We also would not have dared to put neon pink candles on Gram's candlesticks.  

 

We can honor the old and welcome in the new.  We can dearly miss the ones who aren't with us anymore and marvel at the new faces around the table.  

 

Tell me, what old traditions have you made your own? How does it make you feel to have put your own touch to it?