The Last Seder

 

 By Ken Shiovitz

4/20/03

 

It is the perfect memory of a perfect memory,

Every member of the family there,

My three brothers, their wives and children,

With Dad at the head of a long set of tables,

Mom sitting at his side, beaming,

“Qvelling,” as she called it.

 

Hugs and holiday smells had preceded

Settlement into assorted chairs, framing

White linen, not-quite best plates and utensils,

In deference to youth of nieces and nephews,

Rituals performed predictably,

My part still the Aramaic, “Ha Lachma Anya.”

 

Brotherly banter was never better,

Political commentary from Dad

Discretely digested as if we agreed with him,

Rabbinical interpretations of allowable foods,

Offered and defended by Mom, who interprets

All of life’s events through a Jewish filter.

 

The food met every expectation,

Egg Soup before Matzah Ball Soup,

Gefilte Fish with Horse Radish to cry for,

Chicken and brisket, smelling of Europe,

More prescribed Charoset mince of apples, wine, and nuts,

Macaroons, strawberries, Matzah-meal cake.

 

As always, we sang the entire grace after meals,

“Hallel,” melodious lines of lofty holiday praise,

“One Little Goat,” more earthy praise, and

“Who Knows One?” counting verses,

Every word of every single song, in Hebrew,

Finishing with the sweet strains of “Adir Hu.”

 

Nothing could ever taint this memory,

The last Seder of my parents’ central family,

Before each of the brothers and I endured

Complexities of time and growth,

Scattering us to our own emergent families,

Trying to retain the past while nurturing new alliances.

 

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