Growing up a child of intermarriage, Passover was the time I felt the most “Jewish.” We had an otherwise secular household—went to High Holiday services, but not much else. For Passover, however, my mother went all out.
A few weeks ahead of time, my mom would bring up the Passover dishes from the basement. A few days before the Seder, she would become a cleaning maniac, on a mission to get out every single crumb in the entire house. She’d pull out all of the couch cushions and move the furniture. My sister and I had to clean our rooms, under our beds, even our closets. We’d even burn the remains of last year’s afikoman to symbolically nullify all of the crumbs that might have been overlooked.
All this care and attention may also happen in other Jewish households, but in my home it came from a woman who was raised protestant. She was doing her part to make sure we were raised in a Jewish household.