But there are bonus points for certain things,too. Bonus points so valuable that they could even cancel out slouching or pinky rings.They could afford you a place in family lore. I am proud to say that at last,I may have earned one of these bonus points — by discovering the secret of the "fluffy" matzoh ball. 

For years I have simply followed the directions on the box. And for years I have made countless lumpy hard-centered matzoh balls. How many have my children and guests endured? We’ll never know, because it is an unspoken tradition that you always compliment the matzoh balls. No matter if they could be put to better use as exercise weights or pumice. Only I know, in my private shame, that my matzoh balls never measured up to my Aunt Evelyn’s fluffmeisters or my mother’s melt-in-your-mouth-perfectly-round masterpieces. I aspired and perspired, but excellence never transpired.

"Uh, mom,"I casually inquired during a visit while rinsing the dinner dishes, "so how did you get the matzoh balls so soft?" 

"Oh," she answered, looking away, "I just follow the directions on the box."

The directions on the box. I see. 

And while visiting my Aunt Evelyn in Michigan, I happened to hint, "So, um, how come your matzoh balls are so fluffy, Auntie?"

"Oh, it’s nothing," she scoffed, suddenly busy getting a new dishtowel, "I just follow the directions on the package." 

This is when I knew it was a cabal… a conspiracy to protect the sanctity of the position of the best matzoh ball makers in the family. They did not even share the recipe with each other! They had to have each come to their own hidden solutions behind closed doors! 

I was on my own. 

On a global level it was obviously clear that there was a conspiracy by the matzoh ball mix makers to keep you buying and trying: like the slots in Vegas, like getting the loop around the milk can at the midway, like a monthly payment at the gym.  

I couldn’t give up. I knew I’d have to try a different tack. 

Last week I dared to do the unthinkable, to think the undoable. In desperation, I altered the directions on the box. Just a little. No one saw me do it.

I didn’t say a word as my guests and kids tried not to act so pleased at the unusual warm delicious softness of my counterfeit matzoh balls. I could tell they were afraid of giving me a backhanded compliment such as exclaiming in awed surprise, "Gosh! These are so good! "The unspoken words left hanging… "compared to those India Rubber Balls you’ve served us in the past…" 

But I knew. As I bit into my first yummy, perfect, backslider matzoh ball, I knew I had the secret. Later, over the soapy dishes, I whispered to my mother, "Guess what… I know the secret of the perfect matzoh balls."

"Oh?" my mother stiffened ever so slightly. She raised her right eyebrow, maintaining her composure nicely.You’d never know she feared an ancient mystery was about to be blurted out, jeopardizing her hallowed position in the family as the "Supreme Manipulator of Matzoh Meal." 

"Yes!" I said smugly, and proceeded to tell her my secret, with great pride in my voice. Then I added, in my best it’sjust- us-girls tone, "Isn’t that exactly what you do, Mom?" 

With her eyebrow still raised she answered, "Well. Not exactly." Then she looked away and said, "I just follow the directions on the box." 

I guess I am so low that I have to alter the sacred directions that seem to work for everyone else. I am a matzoh ball blasphemer. But just in case you wish to know my secret, go to the Being Jewish website at http://www.beingjewish.org/htmlpages/matzohball.html to find out how to make your own matzoh masterpieces. From there you can learn my email address where you can confess your secrets, too. I could really use the help. 

Hope to hear from you. I promise not to show up with my perfect matzoh balls at your Passover dinner.

Jolie Kanat teaches 20 music classes a week at five different Jewish schools and is a professional freelance writer. She lives in California.

A Poem to Read Aloud

Where’s the Afikoman?  

Daddy hid the afikoman  
When I had looked away. 
I begged to know just where it was, 
But daddy would not say. 

I went to search in every room; 
Looked carefully around - 
On top of shelves and under chairs… 
The prize could not be found. 

I quickly checked behind my bed, 
But all I found was dust. 
I peered in all the closets, 
But I got my hair all mussed. 

I began to get discouraged, 
Having looked both high and low. 
I thought that I’d checked every place; 
Where it was I did not know. 

Suddenly, from the living room 
Came a cry of pure delight - 
My brother found Afikoman… 
Game was over for the night. 

Hillary Weinstein Steinbrook is a sophomore at Marblehead High School. She enjoys working as a Hebrew School TA and helping out at the nearby Jewish Family Service Food Pantry, where she organized a group of her peers to volunteer there once a month. Hillary is a three-time winner of the annual Saugus.net Halloween Ghost Story Contest.  

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