Make Matzah Not War: Easter, Passover, Nowruz, Eleusis & the Spirit of Max
Holidays whip up sweet and spicy memories of Captain Max that I stir into a new Spring casserole of vintage photos. Like onions, some make me cry, but most are tasty enough to make me smile and occasionally even lick my lips.
I call it “collage therapy” and, like good holy-dazed comfort food with special herbs – such as *herb,* also celebrated around this time (4/20, anyone?) – it soothes my bottomless sorrow since the May 13, 2025 death of my beloved husband Maximillian R. Lobkowicz di Filangieri, helping me navigate this strange space between grief and gratitude.
Max Collage #7 highlights the Passover Liberation from Slavery and the Easter Resurrection of Jesus Christ. Filled with fun and games, Easter egg and Afikoman hunts, these zesty Spring holidays, can also be harsh, with bitter herbs for Pesach and fasting for Lent, to give us a tiny taste of the great suffering of slavery, crucifixion and other sins perpetrated by human greed, brutality, hubris and foolishness.
Liberation & Resurrection
Both Passover (Pesach in Hebrew) and Easter honor divine Miracles of Return, echoing the primeval Eleusinian Mysteries of spring, which celebrate the pagan return of Persephone, Princess of the Underworld – and queen of the funereal grief I now feel – to her own grieving Earth Mother Demeter.
Yes, long before the Rebirth of the Holy Son returning to His Father in Heaven, the ancients honored the Resurrection of the Holy Daughter returning to Her Mother on Earth.
According to the Greeks, the Goddess Persephone (Proserpina to the Romans – like Max) rises up from the bowels of Hades (Pluto) to the old Athenian suburb of Eleusis, rejoining Her Earth Mama Demeter (Ceres) who is so ecstatic to embrace the fruit of Her loins that She showers the world in spring (now that’s some serious squirting)!
I only wish Max could return to me as Persephone returns to Her Earth Mother Demeter and Jesus returns to His Heavenly Father. That utterly irrational yet profound longing for the return of my beloved has opened my agnostic heart to understanding the deep faith so many place in the miracle of resurrection.
Ahhhh… if only!
Miracles of Spring
Though pretty amazing, the stories of Purim and St. Paddy’s Day don’t feature scientifically impossible *miracles.* No miraculous parting of the sea, and no walking on it either. The Megillat Esther doesn’t even mention the name of God. Easter and Passover are all about God and His (in Judeo-Christian-Islamic lore, God’s pronouns are always “He/Him”) miracles. Things that *can’t* happen – manna from heaven, resurrection of the dead – do.
The closest thing to a miracle I’ve ever experienced was Max himself, his energy and his love that somehow – miraculously – both protected and liberated me. Though agnostic, we tried to honor all the Gods and Goddesses, because as Max would say with a wink, “You never know.” We were fascinated and sometimes aroused by the ancient tales. Our Commedia Erotica interpretations might be considered blasphemous, but they were always heartfelt.
On the Passover/Easter convergence of 2011, we held a big “Last Supper Seder,” sharing matzah and chocolate bunnies, colored eggs, the Pascal lamb, red wine, “bitter herbs” and 4/20 herbs with professors, porn stars, artists and therapists. Max had just recovered from bladder cancer surgery a couple of weeks before, and he wasn’t sure if he was well enough to attend. But as I began the seder, he slipped into a long robe and suddenly *appeared* from behind my chair, playing the part of the resurrected Jesus… or Elijah, depending on what you believe. It was mystical, hilarious and genuinely surprised me – almost like a real resurrection!
I keep hoping he’ll do that again…
Easter, Pesach, Nowruz
Though we weren’t religious believers, Max fervently believed in consuming all the delicious foods of our elaborate Passover/Easter seder dinners, from matzah ball soup to chocolate Easter bunnies. Both Pesach and Easter highlight eggs, which Max adored, regardless of color.
Iranian or Persian New Year, aka “Nowruz,” also features eggs, sweets, spring cleaning, the idea of rebirth, renewal, sometimes rebellion (how about those Arab Springs?) and other parallels to the spring holidays Max and I grew up on. A 3000-year-old Vernal Equinox festival that’s more cultural than religious, with roots in Zoroastrianiasm, and is observed by over 300 million people around the world, we’d often acknowledge Nowruz or Noorooz (meaning “New Day”) in our Bonoboville Spring holiday bacchanals, but admittedly without nearly as much detail as Pesach or Easter because being the dumb Judeo-Christian-Pagan-
At least we acknowledged our ignorance, unlike many raised in so-called “Judeo-Christian” culture who excuse their war crimes by framing Iran as a savage society or Islam as an especially vicious religion.
Bonoboville Spring Bacchanals
Of course, Nowruz, Pesach and Easter are family occasions, but there comes a time when anyone with a pulse tires of trying to please their aunties and in-laws and craves a spicier blessing. Time to catch Spring Fever and fall in love… or at least party like a bonobo!
Thus, for the past three decades, after spending the first part of their holiday with family, bevies of Easter Bunnies, Passover Kinksters and a few Nowruz revelers would gather together in the Womb Room Sanctuary at the little Love Church of The Bonobo Way in Dr. Suzy’s Speakeasy of Bonoboville to celebrate the erotic, not-so family-friendly, bacchanalian roots of the Judeo-Christian Rites of Spring. And no, it wasn’t a cult; we were just having irreverent consenting-adult holiday fun.
Officiating in my priestly robes, tallit, gold cross (a gift from a devout Catholic therapy client), Star of David (woven for me by Twin Towers inmates from the threads of their prison uniforms), “Lox et Veritas” g-string and bunny ears, I would channel the spirit of The Great Bonobo Spring Easter Bunny Matzah Goddess, or some such mirthful divinity.
And Capt’n Max would channel Capt’n Max. Sometimes he’d wear his own Twin-Towers-woven star or bunny ears, but his sheer presence always projected plenty of divine “main character energy” on its own.
Never Again for Anyone
The pandemic cooled down our bacchanals, and as Israel’s escalating attacks on Palestinians passed over Passover 2021, Max and I sadly stowed our Stars of David, put on Keffiyehs and raised Palestinian flags. At the time, the choice felt simple to us: “Never Again” meant “Never Again for Anyone.”
Yet nothing is ever that simple. With loved ones on all sides, we couldn’t fully root for any *side* except the Bonobo Way, the side of peace through pleasure, ceasefire, sharing and good old-fashioned diplomacy. We also continued to root for Freedom of Speech – a vital aspect of that “freedom” from slavery that Passover celebrates – and that’s free speech for everyone, including the creeps who try to take ours away.
With Max now gone, I still root for free speech and the Bonobo Way, but I miss our painted eggs on the Last Supper seder plate. I miss Max.
Make Matzah Not War
Max passed over (literally) before tRump’s current bombardment of the ancient land of Iran, aka Operation Epstein Folly. Yes, “Operation Epic Fury” (did a gamer come up with that name?) was re-christened “Operation Epstein Fury” by clickbait influencers, but that merely exchanges Epstein for “Epic,” and it’s much worse than that.
“Folly” is more on-the-nose than “Fury” because none of the architects of this mess are authentically “furious” about anything. Certainly, the babbling tRumpus is not furious, nor are any of his cosplaying Cabinet of Dr. Caligari horror actors, yes-models and real estate developers. But they are all remarkably, hubristically and rather dangerously foolish.
The bombing of the girls’ school might be Herr Trumpenstein’s most foolish and horrific deed yet, especially as it appears to be a bloody coda to his Epstein history.
Fools can be funny, but this fool’s errand is devastating to people all over the Middle East. Needless to say, Nowruz 2026 is not as joyous as usual, though some Iranians are observing the pre-Nowruz traditional fire ritual Chaharshanbe Suri by defying government orders, while others are burning effigies of tRump and Bibi.
Poor Trumpty Dumpty was “shocked” that a big *civilized* country like Iran would actually fight back when pelted with American bombs. “They weren’t supposed to,” Trumpty whined (not so subtly blaming Jared), as Dr. Caligari’s Cabinet of Creeps nodded along, bombing away anyway.
Where’s Moses to part the Strait of Hormuz with his magic God Rod when you need him?
If Max were alive, no doubt he’d be ranting against these mad, arrogant, avaricious fools. And he’d make it personal, telling the story of his own experience as a former starry-eyed U.S. Army recruit to any bewildered soldiers that might be listening. Max was a rifleman, a crack shot being groomed for sniper duty when one fine day, his young brain figured out that after target practice came killing his fellow humans. So, he threw down his rifle, picked up a pen and studied war no more.
Well, it wasn’t that simple (nothing ever is), but that’s a story for another collage. In the meantime, let’s simply end this foolish war, or whatever it’s called.
Max would say, “Listen Trumpty, we all know you’re a bully and a fool, so why not go TACO (Trump Always Chickens Out), find an offramp (but that doesn’t mean pivoting to “take Cuba”!), and stop the bombing? Then maybe they’ll stop their bombing (after all, you started it), and we can all go bonobos, eat chocolate eggs and enjoy the miracles of Spring.”
Not that it’s ever that simple, but in the meantime… Happy Easter, Passover, Nowruz, 4/20, Dionysia, Primavera, Eleusinian Mysteries, Spring Break or whatever you celebrate, from me, Bonoboville and the Spirit of Max.
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