David’s Journal

The problem seemed especially acute in the San Francisco Bay Area. In Palo Alto, Amy Kawadler said she had been told there was no matzo at the Mollie Stone’s Market, which carries a wide selection of kosher food, but she noticed a lone box making its way down a checkout conveyor.

When she inquired about it, the customer “grabbed it and pressed it against his chest and said, ‘This is my matzo,’ ” Ms. Kawadler said. He directed her to the section where one last box, of onion poppy matzo, remained, resting on the back of a bottom shelf. “I ran with my hands in the air, pumping the box in my hand saying, ‘I got the last box of matzo!’ ” Ms. Kawadler said.

“It was the talk of our seder.”

— Jennifer Steinhauer, “Who’s Hiding the Matzo?”, The New York Times, April 22, 2008

This was not the talk of my seder.

Rather, I showed up rather sheepishly and announced the Great Marin County Matzo Crisis of 2008. My gracious hosts, who proudly eat matzo only one evening out of the year (and in the process add new meaning to the fundamental question: “Why is this night different from all other nights”) offered me their leftover matzo on my way out.

I pointed out that instead of giving me their matzo, they should sell it on Craigslist for $10 a box. Suppy and demand and all that.

But in the Spirit of the Season or something, they collected all the remaining matzos from the table, placed whole wheat and regular side-by-side in a King David matzo box, and bid me adieu.

Later, I found out that my empty-nest parents are matzo hoarders. They bought five boxes back east in the matzo-rich land of Buffalo Grove.