Lots of memories get attached to Passover — visiting family, eating particular foods, making a life decision to free oneself from some sort of “slavery” or “bondage.” While my thoughts of Passover most always turn to charoset and gefilte fish, for me the holiday is now inexorably linked to a big decision I made two years ago.
I decided to give up drinking. Right before Passover. Three days before the four cups, in fact.
Pesach itself had nothing to do with my decision, at least not consciously. I never thought of it in terms of freeing myself from the slavery of the bottle or escaping the bondage of the brewpub. Nor did I say, “Hey, Passover is coming. Time for a major life change!”
Actually, the way I was looking at things then, deciding to make this change around Passover was a simple case of bad timing.
For a first-night seder with friends, I was nervous, unsure of how I was going to pull this off — but not because I feared I was going to cave in and imbibe.
Rather, I was someone that friends knew as a person who would almost never say no to a beer or a cocktail — and now, suddenly, I was going to turn down the four cups? Cups I’d usually fill and drink, no problem. Weren’t they going to ask questions? Probe? What was I going to say? There was no single reason, no pat answer.
And the second-night seder that year scared me even more.
Again, we were joining friends, but the bulk of this group was people that my wife and I always enjoyed social drinks with, and no doubt the wine would be flowing freely. Moreover, I had a reputation among them for knowing a lot about microbrews and local brewers. One night we went to an East Bay alehouse, a place with high-grade IPAs on tap and fresh ales from a hand-pump, and I was the guy talking about the different beers, making the recommendations.
All of a sudden, Andy is not drinking? Why? What gives?
I didn’t want to be put on the spot, especially at a seder table full of people. Maybe in a one-on-one or two-on-two situation, but not right in the middle of the telling of the Passover story.
So to go “undetected,” I devised a plan: I would put some wine in my glass when it was time to “fill” each cup, but I wouldn’t drink more than the smallest sip of a sip. Seriously. And that’s what I did.
Back then, to help me get started on my own road to sobriety, I decided to keep a small notebook, writing down the number of drinks I had each day. For the first three days, I wrote three zeroes, and it made me feel good, but on the first night of Passover, I had to enter a .2. Four tiny sips. The second night, I entered a .01. Again, I put some wine in my cup, but this time I barely even touched it to my pursed lips.
For the next 49 weeks, I entered a zero every day. Every day! I lost weight. My wife said I was “more present.” Weekends no longer revolved around beer festivals and long drives to out-of-the-way brewpubs. Plans for a night out no longer included stopping by a bar. No cocktails on vacations. Fewer big games at sports bars. Not even a sip during the Kiddush.
Eventually I stopped keeping the book. While writing down the zero every day felt good — as did writing down the numbers of drinks I would have had that day, which provided a weekly tally that was quite sobering, so to speak — the book was no longer needed, and it faded into oblivion.
It’s two years after those seders, and I haven’t had a drink since.
Although one Jewish beer-drinking buddy never fails to rail against me, trying desperately (all in good fun?) to get me off the wagon, most people don’t probe and don’t care. And last year and this year for Passover, I comfortably put grape juice in my four cups.
I’d call it a challenge, but I wouldn’t say it’s been overly difficult. And I guess I truly am free in some sense. I did experience some sort of personal Exodus, leaving behind one kind of life and moving into another.
Andy Altman-Ohr lives in Oakland. Reach him at [email protected].