For Jews, this has always been a dodgy time of year. But I am much more relaxed about it than I used to be.
The number of people for whom Easter has a religious significance must be dwindling in inverse ratio to the number of Easter eggs sold. But what would I know? To Jews, Easter has always been a dodgy time of year.
Growing up in Britain in the 1950s, I could just about cope with Christmas. I felt excluded, of course, even though it was nothing like the fortnight shopping/eating-fest of today. But Christmas somehow felt manageable precisely because it had nothing to do with us.
But Easter? Easter turned round and pointed a giant accusing finger at Jews. For Christians who believed the New Testament, we were the bad guys. I didn't understand Easter - why was Good Friday good, who was it supposed to be good for? - yet knew that somehow they tried to implicate us. This didn't make for a comfortable feeling. (As I grew older I learned how central to the ideology of anti-semitism this "Jews killed Jesus" conviction was.)
We, meanwhile, had Passover, which meant hassle. No bread for eight days, the preparation of an enormous family meal - exciting but it always, somehow, ended in tears.
Over the years, things changed. I met my partner, who came from a family that had vicars (shh, don't tell my parents) in the not-so-distant past. He had no religious belief but enjoyed some of the rituals. His wishes were modest: he would have appreciated an Easter card. In our almost 30 years together, I don't think I've managed to give him one yet. Celebrating Easter seems like one ecumenical step too far.
We had children, agreed to raise them Jewish. I wanted them to enjoy Christmas carols, like I do (I used to sneak out of the alternative event laid on for Jewish girls at school and into the carol service) but I couldn't make any concessions to Easter beyond Easter eggs.
When my father died, we took over the Seder meal on the first night of Passover, and had the cross-cultural pleasure of seeing the guests bring our children Easter eggs. When they started school, the Easter bonnet parade, a ritual in which parents try to outdo each other with their crafty skills, arrived in our lives. Since my crafty skills are precisely none, my kids have always been left to fend for themselves. This year my youngest heroically made and painted by herself the clay figure of a skater to put on top of her hat. I wanted to add a sign saying, "All her own work", though her father was enlisted at the last minute to help stabilise it. As he observed drily, the end result looked remarkably like a crucifixion.
Now things have changed again. Easter Sunday has become the occasion for a family meal out. It's a time for emerging out of hibernation, for seeing new life. Summer is promised. Easter is still a time when I'm reminded that in Britain church and state are in close embrace - TV images of the royal family going to church tell us that. But this country is now so much more multicultural that I feel less persecuted by Easter.
