Passover with Cher

I wrote this in honor of Passover AND Cher.

I invited Cher, Baruch Hashem, to my mom and dad’s house last year for Pesach. I didn’t know if she already had Seder plans or if she’d be too tuckered out from her, “This is my last farewell tour,” farewell tour, but I thought I'd tweet her anyway.

She accepted my invitation without hesitation. Then she wanted to know what color the Yarmulkes were, so she could color coordinate with her wig. I told her women didn’t usually wear Yarmulke’s in reformed Judaism. I said that my family we were so reformed they were practically Catholic.

She didn’t care and when she showed up, she was wearing a Bob Mackie Yarmulke original. Sequins, tassels, faux fur trim. It was a beanie masterpiece. My parents treated her like one of the family. More so than they did with any of my boyfriends.

She was a great conversationalist. She really impressed them when she told them about a new report that came out claiming that there was flame retardant in mother’s breast milk.

I showed her my Cher doll that I got in 1975. Unfortunately there was an accident with a pair of child proof scissors and now she looked like a slutty Dorothy Hammill, but she was touched, and I saw a tear roll down her wrinkle-free face.

Cher excused herself to make a costume change, and when she returned, she joined us at the dinner table. We started reading from the Haggadah, or prayer book. A few pages in, I looked over at Cher and thought she looked a bit uneasy. That’s when I realized that the multitude of glasses of wine we’re told to drink, can be very unsettling to a non alcoholic (Of which there are none in my family).

I told her she didn’t have to drink but being the mensch that she is, she threw that wine back like one of the drunken sailors in her, “If I Can Turn Back Time” video.

My dad gave our half-breed guest the honor of reading the four questions which are traditionally read by the youngest at the table. Cher stood up and presented us with a very unique gift.

She changed the lyrics to her song, Dark Lady, just for the occasion.


PHARAOH'S SLAVES TRIED TO FLEE,
AND I CAN RELATE BECAUSE I LEFT SONNY.
MOSES SAID, 'HEY, LISTEN BRO’,
DON'T YOU THINK IT'S TIME YOU LET ME PEOPLE GO?

VERSE
THEY WANDERED AROUND FOR 40 YEARS,
WHY SHOULD THEY KVETCH, IT'S SHORTER THAN MY CAREER.
THEY ARRIVED IN THE PROMISED LAND,
MORE BURNT OUT THAN THE ALLMAN BROTHER'S BAND.

CHORUS
Why is this night so different than the ones that came before?
Why do you dip herbs twice and only eat maror?
Why do you sit reclined and eat this funky looking bread?
If it were up to me I’d order in instead.

VERSE
THE FOUR QUESTIONS THEY HAVE TO ASK,
BITTER HERBS? I WAS OVERLOOKED FOR MASK.
NO TIME TO LET BREAD RISE THEY HAD TO SHAKE A LEG,
IF THEY BELIEVED IN CHRIST THEY’D BE EATIN’ CHOCOLATE EGGS.

TEN PLAGUES DIDN’T GO THAT FAR,
BOILS AND FROGS, HE SHOULD’VE CURSED THEM WITH EPSTEIN BARR.
IN THE END THEY ALL RECLINE,
WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL IT’S HOW I LAND JOBS ALL THE TIME.

CHORUS
Why is this night so different than the ones that came before?
Why do you dip herbs twice and only eat maror?
Why do you sit reclined and eat this funky looking bread?
If it were up to me I’d order in instead?

Cher joined my dad in lighting Yahrzeit candles, in memory of loved ones that had died. My Dad lit one for Nanny and Cher lit one for Sonny and her youth. He poured a glass of wine and opened the front door for the prophet Elijah. Cher started to speak, but my dad gently pressed his two fingers to her lip, "No, Dark lady, not your Elijah."

We play a game after the Seder meal. It's sort of a Jewish hide and seek, using a piece of Matzot, called the Afikoman. Whoever finds it, gets a cash prize. Cher wanted in. She loves games. And cash. She was also drunk off her tattooed ass. So she and my nephews scampered off to look for the big cracker.

After a few minutes, we heard a commotion coming from the basement. “No. Let it go. It’s mine. I found it.”

We ran down to the basement, and found Cher, acting all meshungina. She was pushing my nephew up against the wall, trying to pry the matzot out of his snausage-like fingers. She was schvitzing, her mascara was running, and her wig was cockeyed.

She ran up to my dad, out of breath, and planted herself firmly in front of him. She dropped a handful of matzot crumbs into his hand and waited. My Dad was disappointed. The people of the town were right. She is a gypsy, tramp and thief. But rules are rules. He took out a $20 bill and slapped it down in her hand, and said, "Shalom, Cher, Shalom."