The Passover We Grew Up With (Part I)

Photo by Afif Ramdhasuma via Pixabay.

Editor’s Note: In this two-part series, members of our family reflect on what Passover felt like in childhood, from two different homes and two different countries. Danielle, co-founder of Storied Ink, shares her memories of growing up in Israel. Danielle is married to Adam Mackie, whose brother Bryan is married to Storied Ink co-founder Darby.

Part I: Danielle’s Memories from Israel

As a child growing up in Israel, my earliest memory of Passover isn’t the Seder night. It’s the long school break. Two full weeks at home, no classes, no routine. Every child looks forward to it. After all, what could be better than not going to school?

But while school pauses, life at home becomes more intense than ever.

Passover preparation in an Israeli home, especially with a Moroccan mother, is not just cleaning. It’s a full transformation. For an entire month leading up to the holiday, everything must be renewed. Closets are emptied and reorganized, clothes are sorted, and every corner of the house is cleaned, including sometimes places that haven’t been touched in years.

This is what Passover cleaning really looks like.

As kids, we didn’t always understand it. My dad, my brother, and I would joke about the chaos, the endless tasks, and the intensity of it all. But everyone participates. We clean, we declutter, we let go of what we no longer need. And once the kitchen is made kosher for Passover, we say goodbye to bread and anything with gluten, even before the holiday officially begins.

And somehow, that moment, the end of the preparation, is where the magic begins.

I remember the feeling so clearly: fresh sheets on the beds, a house that feels completely new, and the opening of the first box of matzah. And of course, one of the most iconic Passover traditions: matzah with chocolate, enjoyed even before the Seder night arrives.

Anyone familiar with Jewish holidays knows this truth: every celebration revolves around food. There is no Jewish holiday without a meaningful meal.

 

Photo by Caleb Oquendo via Pexels.

The Passover Seder in Israel, especially in a large family, is something unforgettable.

At my grandmother’s house, with over 40 grandchildren, the Passover table stretched from the dining room into the living room. The coffee table became the kids’ table. The room was filled with energy: loud conversations, overlapping voices, bursts of laughter, and somewhere in the background, someone teasing someone else. In a Moroccan family, noise is part of the joy.

It’s a kind of happiness that feels alive.

Now that I live in the United States, it’s something I deeply miss, but also something I carry with me wherever I go.

One of the most meaningful Passover traditions is reading the Haggadah. For me, it’s not just a ritual. It’s a timeline of memories. The same page, the same lines, year after year.

I remember struggling to read those words as a child, just learning how. And years later, I found myself sitting next to my younger brother, helping him read that very same passage.

That’s the beauty of Passover traditions: you return to the same story every year, the same Seder, the same structure. But you grow. Your role changes. Your connection deepens.

And then come the songs, another unforgettable part of the Passover Seder, where all the kids eventually start laughing at the parents for singing completely off-key.

 

Photo by cottonbro studio via Pexels.

If I had to describe what Passover in Israel truly represents, I would say this:

It is a holiday of renewal.

A time for deep cleaning, both physical and emotional.

A moment to pause, reset, and gather with family.

And of course, a celebration centered around food and tradition.

It’s also, admittedly, a challenging holiday for bread-loving families like ours, especially in a Moroccan home where bread is part of everyday life.

And when Passover finally ends?

The first call everyone makes is to the local pizza place.

 

Editor’s Note: Traditions like these do not stay only in memory. They shape the homes we build, the rituals we carry forward, and the meaning we choose to hold onto in the next chapter of our lives.

In many ways, that is part of what makes Jewish wedding traditions like the ketubah so meaningful. They are not only ceremonial but something you live with, display, and return to over time.

If this piece stirred a memory of your own, we would love for you to share it in the comments.

Explore Storied Ink's Signature Ketubah Collection here.