Seder
Everyone
has their own Seder traditions, and it’s not until you spend Passover with a new
group of people that they truly come to light. While I typically spend the holiday with
family, this year, since I hadn’t yet returned from Florida to my hometown in
New Jersey, I joined my friends Gail and Steve at their home for Seder.
I
arrived a few hours before the rest of the guests and when no one answered the door
bell, I pushed the door open. Announcing
myself as I walked through the house, I found Gail in the bathroom blow drying
her hair and Steve in the bedroom finishing up the vacuuming, sweat glistening
on his forehead. I startled both of
them, but they soon recovered and I was engulfed in warm hugs and exclamations.
After
showering and changing, Steve joined me in the family room and described the people
who were about to arrive: Gail’s
parents, Evelyn and Arnie, who are very quiet and probably won’t participate in
the Seder; Ilene and Clive, close friends who live next door, both British-born
psychologists who help clients get in touch with their blockages by recalling former
lives; Bud, the elderly, retired judge from across the street who is a lonely
soul and avid story teller; Michael, a non-Jew who Steve met at a local
networking event recently; and friends Linda and Rob, who married two years ago
after living with each other for 18. Oh,
and Linda lost an adopted son who overdosed on drugs so don’t bring up the
topic of children during dinner. I
thought, “What an eclectic group. This will
be an interesting Seder, for sure.”
Steve
had given me the low-down on the guests to manage my expectations. “I don’t think there are many in the group
who are going to participate in the Seder,” he said glumly. He assumed, rightly so, that I enjoy the
traditions of Passover, and was concerned that I would be disappointed in the
lack of energy around the table. Later
in the evening, while the group was becoming acquainted over vegetarian chopped
liver and matzo crackers, Steve approached me, bent his head low, and asked me
quietly if I would do the Four Questions.
“Why don’t I do the Hebrew,” I suggested, “and you can ask someone else
to read the English.” Steve was pleased,
and I think a bit hopeful that this Seder might be a bit more spirited with me
there.
He
led me to the Seder table in the dining room, elegantly set by Gail with
Wedgewood china, silver, crystal and a large, colorful Seder plate in the
middle. Picking up one of the Haggadahs
neatly laid on top of each place setting, Steve explained that he and Gail had
bought them a few years ago because they liked the format and text. “The responsive reading is on the right page
and a more detailed interpretation on the left,” he explained while flipping
through the small paper-backed book.
“And at the bottom of each section, there’s a reflective question to
guide discussion about how we can relate the Passover story to our lives today.”
He continued, “But I don’t think this is a group that would go for that.” I saw the eagerness in his eyes; he would
have been thrilled if I had suggested he use those questions to initiate
dialogue tonight, but I didn’t. My
stomach grumbling usually begins about a half-hour into the Seder so that’s how
long my patience and interest in the Passover story lasts. I was beginning to worry about the length of
the Seder under Steve’s leadership.
Later,
when we gathered in the dining room, I saw my name card at the seat across from
Steve and next to Gail. I felt honored
that they wanted me near them, but also felt a sense of responsibility building. Steve was really counting on me to add some
life to the service. Gail stood up and
introduced each person at the table, explaining the couple’s special
relationship with each of us. Then she
invited me to recite the blessing over the candles with her. I felt special standing next to her with our
heads bent, our hands covering our eyes and our voices strong together.
Before
beginning the Seder, Steve asked the group how long they wanted the service to
last. Linda immediately responded with,
“I’m VERY hungry. The last thing I ate
was oatmeal this morning.” Someone else
said, “A short service is fine with me.” I added, “About thirty minutes sounds
like the right amount of time.” The
discussion was reminiscent of my family Seders at home and I concluded that
negotiating how long the Seder would last was a common way to begin the evening
–with jokes and a bit of whining mixed in, of course.
This
informal “tradition” elicits childhood memories, where most of us had to sit
patiently for what seemed like an eternity before we could take part in the
feast -- the brisket, matzo farfel, roasted vegetables, and more. Parts of the Seder were fun, like reading the
Four Questions, being allowed to take a few sips of wine, and dipping our
pinkies in our full wine glasses as we named each of the 10 plagues. But the fact remained that the food followed
the Seder. And the quicker the Seder,
the sooner we would get to the food.
Tonight,
Steve described his childhood experiences at his family’s Seder table. He told us that his father would lower his
head into the Haggadah and read it from beginning to end in Hebrew. There was no participation and he had to sit
quietly and respectfully until his father was finished. I pictured, and felt sorry for, little Steve
fidgeting impatiently for hours until his father gave the signal that it was
time to eat.
My
Passover experience as a young child was probably similar to many: My family traveled to the Bronx to my aunt
and uncle’s house where my sister and I ran around with my cousins before
sitting down for the Seder. Uncle Harry
sat at the head of the table and led the service, reminding everyone which page
of the Haggadah we were on and asking each person at the table to read a
section. Some would read a few sentences
and others would read a whole page, if my uncle let them. We spent most of the time discussing the
symbolism of each of the items on the Seder plate; the shank bone to symbolize
the sacrificial lamb, the green vegetable dipped in salt water to symbolize the
tears of our Jewish ancestors; the bitter herbs to remind us of the harshness
of slavery, and more. Because I was the
youngest of the four cousins, I got to recite the Four Questions.
However,
the single most important device for keeping children awake and alert during
the Seder proceedings was the promise of the afikoman reward. Every Passover, my uncle would hide the
afikoman, a piece of broken matzo wrapped in a cloth napkin, and, after the
Seder, the children would race around the apartment to find it. I was disappointed each year because my oldest
cousin, Ira, always found it. However, the
sweet reward of a few dollars was shared with all the children, not just the
one who discovered the afikoman.
This
evening, Steve began the Seder with a question:
“Does anyone know what “Seder” means?”
Linda raised her hand eagerly as if in Sunday school and then blurted
out that it meant “order.” Steve gave
her a virtual gold star and explained that all of the practices of a Seder,
from raising the first Kiddush cup of wine to washing ones hands to discussing
the symbolism of the items on the Seder plate, follow in a particular
order. I hadn’t known this, or hadn’t
remembered it. Suddenly, I had a
beautiful vision of all the Jewish families around the world following the same
order in their Seders at the same time.
When
we discussed the symbolism of Elijah’s filled wine cup, Steve recalled how, as
a child, he had to pull on multiple locks on the door to open it for Elijah’s
spirit to enter. “You too?” I exclaimed.
I remembered the heavy metal locks that protected my aunt and uncle’s
family in their Bronx apartment. It
turns out that Steve lived in the Bronx too as a child.
Gail
pointed out that on her table, there were two filled glasses – one for Elijah,
the prophet, and another for Miriam, the prophetess. She explained that Miriam’s Cup is a
relatively new ritual for the Passover Seder.
Its purpose is to honor Miriam’s role in the Exodus and to highlight the
contributions of women to Jewish culture, past and present. I liked the addition of this new feminist
tradition.
When
we got to the Four Questions, Steve asked me to read them in Hebrew and Arnie
to read the English. As I recited the
familiar words, I felt like a child again in my aunt and uncle’s house with my
parents watching me proudly.
As
Steve guided us through the Seder, he asked us to go around the room and read
different passages. To his surprise and
joy, everyone participated. Like
children, we became especially animated and talkative when we were asked to do something
like dip our pinkies in our wine, or make a “Hillel sandwich” out of matzo,
horseradish and charoset, or dip parsley in salt water.
After
about thirty minutes, when Steve turned yet another page in the Haggadah, the group
became restless. First there was some gentle prodding, “Perhaps
we should skip to the end and sing Chad Gadya before eating.” Then there were more direct questions, “Isn’t
it time to eat yet?” But Steve kept
turning pages and directing people to read.
Finally, Gail leaned over and whispered urgently in Steve’s ear, “If we
don’t eat dinner soon, everything is going to be dry and burned.” Steve
knew that Gail had spent days preparing a delicious meal and didn’t want to
ruin everything. Also, when he lifted
his head to look around the table, he saw ten pairs of eyes imploring him to
end the Seder and announce that dinner was being served. He complied, lifting his wine glass and
toasting his wife in appreciation for all her hard work preparing for the Seder
meal. We all pushed our chairs away from
the table and Linda and I raced each other into the kitchen where a beautiful
buffet of hot delicious food was ready.
This
year at Passover, I felt the strength of the Jewish traditions at Seder that
bind us together, no matter who surrounds us– family or friends, loved ones or
strangers. While different words may be
used, in English or Hebrew, in the abbreviated or long version, it is the same
story that is told and in the same order:
The story of the Exodus, when God helped the ancient Israelites escape
Egyptian slavery. Steve need not have
worried; his guests came to the table with different backgrounds, memories and
experiences but we left the table sharing in the glory of the story and the
traditions of generations.
