A s I write these words snow is falling fast and furious and our dreams for an end to winter have been shattered by an unanticipated March storm.

As I watch the snow I think back 35 years to Tuesday April 6 1982. On that day a rare April blizzard dumped a foot of snow on New York City. The airports were closed. The Yankees’ season opener was canceled. The 21° F temperature also made it the coldest April 6 on record.

And the next day was Erev Pesach.

As can be imagined many people’s plans changed.

A chassidisher friend of mine who never ate gebrochts in his life found himself being hosted by a litvishe rav where the nonconsumption of the balabusta’s knaidlach would have raised more than a few eyebrows.

My own plans were also altered.

I was a bochur at the time and my parents and I were planning to attend the Seder of relatives who lived a 15-minute walk from our home normally quite doable for our family. My mother who worked full-time was more than relieved not to have to prepare for the Seder. The plan was to walk there for the Seder and stroll back home to sleep.

And then came the snow.

By Wednesday morning it was clear that my father who had a heart condition was incapable of walking in the snow. Even driving to their home before Yom Tov was undoable as the roads weren’t yet cleared.

With no choice my mother and I rolled up our sleeves and began preparing for the Seder.

On Wednesday evening I went to shul alone as my father could not leave the house.

When I arrived home we immediately began the Seder. When we reached Mah Nishtanah the three of us looked at each other. We felt somewhat disappointed as we thought of all of our relatives just 15 minutes away enjoying a large and leibedig Seder while the three of us sat here alone at home. Nevertheless we were happy that we were safe and warm and we had each other.

Before we even reached Shulchan Oreich my father excused himself. He was drained and weary and the bone-chilling weather certainly didn’t help. Perhaps he was also frustrated at his inability to walk. Whatever the reason he was unable to continue and retired for the night.

My mother and I were left to carry on.

As we began our meal and I complimented my mother on her delicious soup I could not help but notice her eyelids beginning to close. She was clearly exhausted from the long day of unexpected cooking and preparing for the Seder.

“Ma please go up to sleep you’re so tired ” I pleaded with her.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Of course please go to sleep.”

Beyond fatigue my mother agreed and wearily went upstairs.

And then there was just me.

That’s when I realized the choice was in my hands.

As I sat there alone I knew I could either wallow in self-pity and be miserable or I could embrace the situation Hashem had prepared especially for me and make the best of it.

I chose the latter and have never regretted it.

I sat by myself and continued the Seder. I did not omit even one song and persisted until the very end singing happily aloud.

It turned out to be a very unique and personally meaningful and memorable Seder — attended by just me and He Who is always present.

Nowadays as I sit at my Seder table with my wife who I was privileged to marry just a few months later and my children and grandchildren I recognize just how blessed I am. Nevertheless I still recall with nostalgia my solo-Seder of the blizzard of ‘82. (Originally featured in Mishpacha Issue 655)