A New York Passover Story

Dear Diary:

My firstborn daughter, Evelyn, accompanied her daughter to New York City. Returning to the hotel, they sat together with my husband in the taxi’s back seat. The taxi driver invited me to sit in the front with him and launched into conversation with the click of the meter.

DRIVER: “You must be Egyptian. You have Egyptian eyes!”

ME: “Really? You’re Egyptian?”

DRIVER: “I was born in Egypt. My family is there.”

ME: “I thought I recognized you!”

DRIVER: “So you are from Egypt.”

ME: “No. In another life I was a Hebrew slave and you were an Egyptian taskmaster. Incidentally, you owe me for back wages.”

We rode on in silence. After exiting the taxi, my daughter fumed: “Mom! I can’t believe you said that! I am never going to ride in a taxi with you again!”

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