I’m not sure if Jesus had anything to do with planning the dinner menu for the Last Supper, but I think he was really smart to keep it simple when serving the 12 apostles.

What with all the dietary restrictions he was facing around the table — apostles counting calories, having to deal with any food allergies or worrying about gluten-free and vegetarian options — Jesus was sensible to serve just flat bread and wine. It’s just not that filling.

It would have been nice if they were offered a cup of Sanka and maybe a piece of sponge or honey cake.

As imposing as it must have been to consider the culinary concern of a dozen close friends (OK, make that 11 friends), that’s nothing compared to the menu issues many dinner hosts are forced to deal with during this holy week for hungry Christians and Jews.

Think appeasing apostles was agonizing?

What about trying to comply with the kosher-for-Passover restrictions of the Jewish guest whom you invite to Easter dinner?

Conversely, while gentiles might not have to follow strict dietary observances during their holiday, should they have to give up fluffy hot-cross buns for bitter herbs or be denied spreading mayo on matzo when invited to sit at the Seder table?

Don’t even get me started on those Passover wines.

During Lent, Christians give up for weeks something they like.

At Yom Kippur, Jews give up for one day everything they like. Nobody’s happy.

This week is different.

It’s when friends and family gather in homes and partake in religious rituals thousands of years old.

When the youngest at the Passover Seder table can question the elders on why this night is different from all other nights.

It’s when we can break bread — or unleavened bread — and enjoy many of the same foods that satisfied the taste buds of our ancestors.

I have found over the years that balancing religious devotion with traditional holiday delicacies can be as tricky as parting a sea.

Personally, I think everyone should experience the effects of what eight days of matzo can do to your digestive system.

We all know the story. When Moses led the Jews and, as Cecil B. DeMille reminds us, Edward G. Robinson, out of Egypt, they carried with them in the desert dough that, in their rush, didn’t have time to rise.

To commemorate the Exodus and freedom from bondage, Jews during the Passover holiday eat matzo, a bland, cracker-like flatbread made of flour and water, and refrain from eating bread and other tasty leavened products. That was then.

Oh, we’re still bound, and as a result, pretty binding after eating matzo. It’s just that everything these days can be made out of matzo. And so many kinds of matzo: Plain. Onion. Egg. Egg and onion. Slightly salted. Whole wheat. Chocolate covered. Even gluten-free. And with it we make matzo ball soup, matzo cake, matzo brei, matzo pie, matzo pizza, matzo nachos, matzo s’mores. Endless.

Tonight we’ll have at least one of those matzo combinations along with a nice piece of brisket, a spiced fruit and nut spread and that infamous delicacy, gefilte fish, a holiday staple that neither looks nor tastes like any fish that came out of any body of water.

It’s made up of ground, deboned white fish that is more grey than white, is more jiggle than firm, and is formed into fish balls or patties. Most times it’s served with a gelatin-like-jelly whose compound has befuddled scientists for decades.

My people call it one of those acquired-taste foods.

You may call it something else.

I’m not sure why we eat it on Passover but it just wouldn’t be the holiday without it.