Our special nuclear Pesach seder

By Toby Klein Greenwald

EFRAT, Israel — The Pesach of 1986 was our first year living in Efrat. We had five young children at the time, ranging in age from one to eight. We decided that, rather than join a larger extended family seder, we would do our own, but invite guests. The community had arranged for a number of families, who had recently made aliya from the Soviet Union, to be hosted by families in Efrat, and we were among them. We were all excited about it, and the children prepared for it as well.

At 3 p.m., we got a phone call that some of the families had not come, and our guests were among them.

We were stunned. A seder with just our nuclear family? What does that even look like?

It was wonderful.

The center of the focus was undeniably and only the children. “Vehigadta l’bincha. – And you shall tell [the Pesach story to] your son.” We finished early, as they fell asleep, and we sang all the lovely fun songs at the end of the Haggadah the next day, at lunch.

The children did not feel deprived; on the contrary. We all loved it so much that for many years afterwards, we only had nuclear sederim.

One year, after we had hosted a well-known non-Jew and his family for our Purim seuda (feast), he dropped a hint that they’d love to come to us for seder as well. We decided to not break with our tradition, so we set them up with Rabbi Shlomo Riskin’s family, and they were thrilled. (He had also stopped by to meet them at our Purim seuda.) We put family first.

After about ten years or so, one of our daughters said, “Ima, it’s okay if we start inviting guests again,” and so we did.

Now five of our six children are married with nuclear families of their own. For this I feel immense gratitude to Hashem and I cherish every Pesach seder with one or more of our children, and with our grandchildren.

Like millions of Jews the world over, they will be hosting their own nuclear family sedarim this year. Though they would not have wanted it to be due to Coronavirus, none of them are upset by it, as they grew up like that.

They are scattered, living in wonderful communities. From the “hard-core” deep Negev, to the north-east Negev — transplanted from Gush Katif — to lovely small communities set in woodlands not too far from Beit Shemesh and Gush Etzion, to Jerusalem.

I have no doubt that it will be a beautiful and bonding experience for their families.

As for my husband and I, we’ve never had a seder alone, just the two of us. But we are not alone. We are among hundreds of thousands, if not more, couples who will be reconnecting over the seder plate and the Haggadah. We will perhaps have longer conversations, or conversations that take a different angle, than we have when we’re together with others. Not to mention that preparations will be easier and simpler.

And I have in mind those who are on their own, who are having a “seder for one.” A friend of mine in that situation said to me yesterday, “I’m used to being on my own. It doesn’t freak me out.” I’m sure there are others who may feel differently.

I hope I’ll never be alone for seder, but I have treasured being in solitude on a regular day. It’s important that before Pesach, we reach out to those who are alone and let them know they are in our hearts. Communication is not just through words. I believe that if on seder night we think of them, those feelings will reach them, and they will not feel as alone.

Barbara Sofer, in her column in last week’s Jerusalem Post, told the story of a mutual friend of ours, author and Professor Susan Handelman, who used to fly to Chicago to spend Pesach with her mother. “When her mother died, she couldn’t bear joining a large seder in her year of mourning. I admired her decision to turn down many invitations, and make a seder for herself in her apartment, using her late mother’s exquisite seder dishes,” wrote Sofer.

I spoke with Professor Handelman, and she told me, “Those seders for two, just me and my mother, were so full. So full of love, so full of all the memories of our family, and our ancestors of seders past. So full with all people that we read about in the Haggadah. We were joining them across time, and they were there with us. So full of gratitude– hers that I was there with her, and mine that I could be there with her.

“So the next year when I did it on my own, in my year of mourning, I was perfectly fine. She was there with me again, and I was with her, and with all the generations of our family and the Jewish family, Am Yisrael.

“This year, I will be alone again, but not alone at all. I’ve also arranged with close friends that at certain points of the Haggadah that they have chosen, that I will think of them, and they will think of me. We will be together. Maybe even more strongly than if we were physically sitting next to each other.”

Whatever the size of our seder, we have with us the spirits and the souls of those who are elsewhere, and those who came before us, that we can call upon to join us, just as we invite Eliyahu Hanavi to join us. To quote Barbara again, “As we so often do at a wedding, let’s invite in our own now-gone parents and grandparents.”

Let’s remember their stories, and our own stories, as we give thanks, and pray for “Next year in rebuilt Jerusalem.” In good health.

Chag sameah.

 

Toby Klein Greenwald is an award-winning theater director and a recent recipient of an American Jewish Press Association award for Excellence in Jewish Journalism.