Dear Friends,
The Pesah seder is based on the commandment in Exodus 13:8 that ‘you should tell your child what ADONAI did for you when you went out of Egypt.’ Given that each mitzva has parameters, the Sages of the Talmud ask the question, ‘What if you have more than one child? Which child should be addressed?’ Their response: ‘The youngest child.’ Given the seders that I sat through as the youngest child, I can’t imagine that my grandfather of blessed memory knew about this rabbinic resolution. His fluent recitation of the text of the Haggadah had little to do with my older cousins, or with me, for that matter. My job was done early in the seder with my recitation of the Four Questions in Hebrew and in Yiddish. The rest of my grandfather’s recitation did nothing more than to engender a fifth question by everyone at the seder, namely, ‘So when do we eat?’
It wasn’t until my third year of Rabbinic School that I learned the full meaning of directing the seder to the youngest person at the table. It was in a tutorial with our Talmud professor, Dr. Saul Cohen, who was an Orthodox Jew. A fellow student and I spent a semester studying the Talmudic tractate that deals with the intricacies of Passover observance. Turning the passage in the traditional Haggadah that describes how the rabbanim in B’nay B’rak stayed up all night talking about the departure from Egypt until the time for reciting the morning sh’ma, my study partner remarked, “So, too, Rabbi Cohen, must your seder run for hours.” “What are you talking about?” he asked. “I have seven children. The youngest is still in a highchair. The mitzva instructs me to direct the seder to him. So my challenge is how will he, Hayyim Yankl understand liberation? Not with words. He’s not yet three years old. So we unstrap him from his highchair and let him loose to run circles around the dining room table while we quickly work our way through the blessing to get to dinner. As for Hayyim Yankl, we let him run until he drops, but only on Pesah so that he, too, will experience freedom.”
Until twelve years ago, my daughter Ruthie was the youngest ‘child’ at seder; but since the blessing of grandchildren, our seders have been completely reconstructed. Last year, instead of reading the story of the Exodus, Isaac, then five years old, was featured in a skit written by his Zaydie titled, ‘Hershel Potter and the Search for the Missing Afikomen.’ But what to do with then 20- month-old Tallulah? Well, she spent much of the seder sucking on her lamb binky, which added a surrealistic touch to the scene.
Because we direct the seder to the youngest, there has been no screaming of political views at the table. Last year, a college-age child of a family member by marriage who was, we were warned, a virulent anti-Zionist. “She will feel very comfortable being at our seder,” our hostess guaranteed. “Neither Isaac nor Tallulah knows anything about Zionism, so the issue will not be raised.” Granddaughter Helaina (age 8), who heads the “Pesah Posse” that’s in charge of shooting salt water on to people’s parsley from spray bottles did ask about why the Holy Blessed One had to bring a plague on the animals, while Isaac (age 5) questioned what was so bad to have an abundance of frogs, but that’s as controversial as it got. I can assure that the atmosphere was much more challenging the year that daughter Sara came home from university and challenged her rabbi mom for buying so completely into the patriarchy.
For you who are saddled with teenagers and young adults at your seders, consider borrowing a young child from a neighbor for your seder next year. I assure you that it makes all the difference in the world if you follow the direction of our long-ago Sages and focus your attention on making the youngest person at the seder happy.
For now, and for the remainder of your Pesah, may it be as meaningful as it is joyful.
With warmth and love,
Lee
