Commentary : Seder Becomes a Meal of Hope

Our Passover table was radiant: Polished silver reflected the sparkling candles and eager faces flushed with holiday excitement. We were 18 seated together. Eighteen is the numerical equivalent of chai, the Hebrew word meaning life. Warm and loving friends joined us, our daughter Judi, son-in-law John and grandson Matthew in prayer and song. Our Seder, the Passover ritual meal and service, truly was a lively celebration of life. Springtime had emerged like a newborn child.

It was 1-year-old Matthew’s first Seder. It was his Grandpa Erv’s 66th. Around the table, some were having a first experience along with Matthew, while others remembered Sedarim (plural for Seder) of bygone years with their own parents and grandparents, nephews, nieces and siblings. You see, children are encouraged, urged, expected to attend Seder; the lengthy ritual is meant for them.

We have known the friends who shared our Passover for less than two years. In 1987, my husband, a retired rabbi, was invited by our rabbi to teach an “Introduction to Judaism” class at Temple Solel in Encinitas. The course is offered throughout the country in Reform synagogues to provide an adult understanding of Judaism for Christians and Jews. Beyond intellectual curiosity, however, reasons for enrolling are as varied as the individuals who register.

Erv was excited at the opportunity to teach the course. Years ago, as director of Reform temples in this Pacific Southwest, he had sponsored the course, supervised it, selected its instructors--but never taught it.

I was recruited to interview prospective students. They were young and not so young, Christian and Jew, searching and satisfied, patient and impatient, and all of them serious and motivated. We were impressed with their variety and caliber as they gathered from around San Diego County to learn.

Surveying our Seder table, I recalled those interviews, since half of the members of the class, now our extended family, joined us to celebrate the holiday. After the 1987 interviews, Erv and I had agreed that this was a gifted group of women and men. Time has only strengthened our conviction. After the prescribed 18 weeks of classes, they chose not to disband. At their request, we continued to meet monthly, sometimes to learn, always to share and socialize.

I had been fascinated when I met the prospective students and spoke with them. Although they shared an intellectual curiosity, each approached the study from a different place and for a different purpose. In the long run, that intellectual curiosity blossomed: Some became interested in what constituted a Jewish home; others became sensitive to the State of Israel. Personal agendas emerged.

Honey and Ed had been married for half a dozen years. She had been raised in the Baptist Belt, daughter of a liberal-thinking minister. Now a practicing psychologist, she was deeply curious about Ed’s Judaism. If she and Ed are blessed with children, Honey expects to raise them as Jews.

She and Ed rarely missed a class. Her understanding and knowledge of Judaism now are greater than that of most adult Jews I know. Honey is fast becoming a Jewish cook. Adhering to Passover dietary prohibitions, she made a sinful dessert for all of us, replacing forbidden leavening with delicious calories.

Jeanne, a former stewardess, came to class because she felt that her childhood Jewish education was inadequate for her as an adult. She was a loyal and eager participant, responding with equal enthusiasm to her classmates and to the subject.

Alan, an attorney, grew up in a Reform Jewish home. He made no religious demands upon his fiancee, Wendy. She, raised as a Christian, had moved away from the church. She thought it proper to learn about Alan’s religion. So they attended class conscientiously. Midway through the program, Wendy considered becoming Jewish. It was not an easy decision; she worried that her parents would be offended. Together, Wendy and Alan faced the problem with them and were received with understanding and love.

Jim, a military man, was correctly cautious. He came to class merely to please his Jewish girlfriend, who thought he should “at least” learn about her religious background. Jim asked incisive questions, always direct. He did not come to change his religion, but he did come to learn, and learn he did. After eight weeks, Jim challenged Ann: “I don’t understand your Judaism. You don’t even go to synagogue!” In time, they both changed. Ann rediscovered her Judaism and Jim converted.

Randi and Tom registered for class separately. An attorney, he was working in Los Angeles and attended the “Introduction to Judaism” course there. She joined our class. They discussed the study material by telephone during the week and together on weekends. Marriage had not entered their plans. In class, Randi’s questions were challenging, intelligent. She was eager for knowledge. Two-thirds of the way through, they made a decision to be married. Tom’s family embraced her with acceptance, no religious strings attached. Her eventual decision to accept Judaism was made deliberately and independently.

Norma came to the dinner with her young son, Daniel. Husband Tim remained at home to care for an ill daughter. Norma, a Jew, and Tim, a Catholic, have been happily married for almost 10 years. Tim was one of the most serious and intense students in the class. Time and again, he defended the traditional Jewish point of view from liberal interpretation. Tim was “checking out” Judaism on behalf of his children, though he had not shared that with us. Could he be comfortable with it as a religion for them?

At the Seder, Norma shared with me that Tim and she had agreed to enroll the children in our temple’s religious school in the fall.

Four guests at the table had not been part of the class: Ed’s dad, recently widowed, participated enthusiastically. Our family, who had not joined us in several years, did likewise--including our son-in-law, John, who, though not Jewish, had no difficulty in taking part in the ritual and relating effortlessly to our friends.

There we were, 18 Jews and Christians observing Passover with symbols, rituals, songs and prayers millennia old. We shared the service as we shared preparation of the food, each taking a turn reading portions of the narrative. We were 18 individuals, each of us as distinct in personality as in background, all of us bound together by love and friendship born of trust and understanding.

None of us was so naive as to believe that religious differences cannot create problems. But each of us is convinced that, out of those differences, can come unity.

Our experience in the past two years is evidence that, despite differences in belief, we can study together, live together and still maintain our individual identities--an important lesson we seem to have forgotten.

As our service drew to its conclusion, we chorused the traditional, age-old wish: “Next year in Jerusalem!” To which I added, silently, “And, if not there, perhaps here, at our home, once again!”