Why Was This Night Different from All Other Nights?
It's Passover, and I miss my dad.
He always led our seders from the head of the table, with me sitting right next to him—to keep him on track and to read the Hebrew he didn't know by heart. I was his co-pilot, I guess.
Every year, we stumbled through the service together.
Last night, we had a small seder—just my mom, my sister, my two young nieces, and me. And suddenly I was the one at the head of the table, leading the service.
It felt different for so many reasons. Zach wasn't there—he's in a new play and didn't finish rehearsal until we were well into dinner. My poor sister was on the tail end of a bout of food poisoning, so she commuted between the table and the couch, where she was able to rest as needed. And for the first time in memory, we didn't have any other guests.
Throughout my childhood, we always had company for our seders—relatives, neighbors, friends, boyfriends, and the occasional college roommate. And nearly every year, we had at least one visitor who wasn't Jewish and had never celebrated Passover before.
My dad made sure each guest felt welcome and found a way for everyone to participate in the service. He was a wonderful host, and it was always a very convivial event. (Most seders are convivial because the service calls for each person to drink four glasses of wine, but I hail from a family of teetotalers—we came by our festive atmosphere honestly, fueled mainly by grape juice.)
Tonight, we went to my cousin's house for the second seder. There were 19 of us in all, and a table overflowing with delicious food. Among the crowd was my cousin's husband's brother's fiancée, whom we were meeting for the first time—she had just converted to Judaism, and this was her very first seder. Because she wanted to have an authentic Passover experience, and because this side of the family has never really observed the holiday traditions, I was asked to lead the service.
I did the best I could, of course. But how I wish my dad had been there—to make her feel truly welcome and to show her how it's really done.
He always led our seders from the head of the table, with me sitting right next to him—to keep him on track and to read the Hebrew he didn't know by heart. I was his co-pilot, I guess.
Every year, we stumbled through the service together.
Last night, we had a small seder—just my mom, my sister, my two young nieces, and me. And suddenly I was the one at the head of the table, leading the service.
It felt different for so many reasons. Zach wasn't there—he's in a new play and didn't finish rehearsal until we were well into dinner. My poor sister was on the tail end of a bout of food poisoning, so she commuted between the table and the couch, where she was able to rest as needed. And for the first time in memory, we didn't have any other guests.
Throughout my childhood, we always had company for our seders—relatives, neighbors, friends, boyfriends, and the occasional college roommate. And nearly every year, we had at least one visitor who wasn't Jewish and had never celebrated Passover before.
My dad made sure each guest felt welcome and found a way for everyone to participate in the service. He was a wonderful host, and it was always a very convivial event. (Most seders are convivial because the service calls for each person to drink four glasses of wine, but I hail from a family of teetotalers—we came by our festive atmosphere honestly, fueled mainly by grape juice.)
Tonight, we went to my cousin's house for the second seder. There were 19 of us in all, and a table overflowing with delicious food. Among the crowd was my cousin's husband's brother's fiancée, whom we were meeting for the first time—she had just converted to Judaism, and this was her very first seder. Because she wanted to have an authentic Passover experience, and because this side of the family has never really observed the holiday traditions, I was asked to lead the service.
I did the best I could, of course. But how I wish my dad had been there—to make her feel truly welcome and to show her how it's really done.
posted by Jody Rosen Knower at 6:31 PM
1 Comments:
One of my most enduring memories of college was the seder at our apartment on Baltimore Ave. Your dad was at the head of the table and your grandfather was backseat driving from the chair next to mine. I vividly remember your grandfather's correction of your father's pronunciation of the word "herb" each and every time it was uttered and your dad nodding acknowledgement and yet, never missing a beat in his telling of the symbolism of each element. True grace under fire. In the 20 years since we left Penn, I've forgotten much...but that night I clearly remember.
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