My dog ate the afikomen (and other true Pesach horror stories)

We’ve all got at least one of these stories in us. The complex rules and family oriented nature of Pesach lends itself to the inevitable, legendary mishap that only grows in stature over time. The child who finds a hidden hammantash in a sock drawer on seder night. That forgotten candy at the bottom of a tallis bag. The seder mints that were discovered to be shockingly dairy after a fleishig meal. The moments that our jaws drop in disbelief, when we shout to ourselves: “How could I have overlooked this? And what do I do now?”

Fortunately, or unfortunately (depending on how highly you prioritize entertainment value over someone else’s holiday horror), I’ve got an assortment of Pesach disasters in my family’s history, and in other families who were brave enough to share their tales of hilarious anguish. Enjoy them if you will … even if at the expense of the participants who were less than amused in the moment.

We begin in 1996. The Ostrow family of Oceanside was sitting around the table for a family seder on the first night of Pesach. Situated under the dining room table – awaiting our crumbs - was Bambi, our beloved 5-year old Rottweiler/German Sheppard. Bambi always seemed fascinated by the seder. From the opening Kiddush through the final strains of Chad Gadya, Bambi would take her rightful spot next to Mom’s chair, only rising during shulchan orech when the food was brought out. Or at least so we thought…

My youngest brother, Ryan usually was granted the task of hiding the afikomen. When we all headed into the kitchen to wash for motzei, Ryan would locate the colorful bag containing half of the broken middle matzah and stash it in a dark room somewhere. Perhaps in a drawer, or on the top of his bunk-bed. In all the years, our father never once found it. This, of course, meant gifts for my brothers and I, much to our delight.

It was just past 11:45 on seder night when we had finished our delicious meal. The table was cleared. Seder mints (our family tradition) were being passed around. Hagadahs were being brought back to the table. And as our father playfully reached for the afikomen bag, he flashed a look of mock surprise. “Oh no! Not again. Someone stole my afikomen.”