Passover Seder: My Night Unlike Other Nights

I hung up the phone, attempting to not give in to frustration. I had just gotten off a call with another temple staffer, who had no problem with me attending the synagogue's Passover Seder as a reverent participant but had a big problem with me writing a story about it for Culver City Patch. Having had my own Seder a couple of years ago, I was fascinated by the rich symbolism, the history of the holiday and the ability of food to teach and instruct. In terms of a Passover Seder in Los Angeles, I have concluded that the word “reporter” must be synonymous with the word “unclean.”

I understand. The holiday is a time for worship and acknowledgment of God, who freed the Israelites from slavery in Egypt in the 13th century B.C.E. Although I had no intention of disrupting the Seder, I could understand that many people would not feel comfortable having a non-Jewish reporter attend the festivities.

I lucked out when I called the Chabad Jewish Community Center and spoke with Rabbi Yossi Greisman, whose friendly voice and calm demeanor were an immediate relief for the wild Seder-goose chase I had been on. After some email tag, he agreed to allow me to come to the Seder he would be conducting at his home with a few special guests and his family, composed of wife Sara and seven children.

I quietly observed as his six girls eagerly laid out the Seder elements, and took the time to explain to me each item of food on the table: the hard-boiled egg and shankbone for the sacrificial offerings brought to the Temple; the vegetables to be dipped in saltwater symbolizing the tears of slaves in Egypt; the apple, nut and raisin mixture called charoset representing the mortar used to build bricks; and the lettuce and horseradish telling eaters about the bitterness of slavery.

“Most of the Seder questions are asked by young children to give them an education,” Greisman explained about the service that takes guests through centuries of Israelite history. As he spoke, his darling girls darted to and fro in matching ensembles to put different items on the table.

The absolute delight of my brief time there was watching his 3-year-old daughter recite in Hebrew the Mah Nishtanah, also known as the four questions, which ask why this night is different from all other nights. In English, the questions ask:

On all nights we eat bread or matzo. Why on this night do we eat only matzo?

On all other nights we eat any kind of herbs. Why on this night do we eat only maror (bitter herbs)?

On all other nights we need not dip our herbs even once. Why on this night do we dip them twice?

On all nights we eat sitting upright or reclining. Why on this night do we all recline?

I was completely moved by the night, moved to tears as the rabbi explained lesson after spiritual lesson. My takeaway was when he explained a key concept of the matzo, or unleavened bread:

“Matzo is true spiritual food,” he said to a room of attentive guests. “When you break it, it is a reminder of freedom. That in order to have freedom, you need to allow yourself to be broken.”

I send a big round of thanks and a token of shalom (“peace”) to Rabbi Greisman and his lovely family for letting me join in their celebration.

Now, on to Easter!