The experience that is Pesach

Two very heavy and lengthy evening meals later, preceded by a good meal out in a top-notch restaurant, and separated by a heavy day at work (I’m currently negotiating a deal with a huge margin and have to conclude by Thursday afternoon), Friday was strange.

The Seder experience is an indulgent affair. Many are large, with upwards of 10 guests being the norm (and knowing of one of 20 diners!). All start with an hour or so of readings, in Hebrew and English. There is usually a small child, who has to read four sections in Hebrew (the four sons – clever son, wicked son, foolish son, and one who hath not the wit) and which invariably take longer to read than if the leader were reading it all. At most Seder tables there are a few who don’t know the Hebrew well but read in English (me; every single time but I did know exactly where we were in the service even though I couldn’t have read it myself). At every single one there is an elderly gentleman. Usually the father of the house reads and leads everything. Apart from the Friday night Kiddush, that is. And actually, that is the same as the situation we have here – the father of the house is necessarily the most senior male in the room. This would usually be the father of the children in the room, and the owner of the house. Seder nights are when families meet up. Brothers and sisters and their families all descend on one sibling’s home, the parents of at least one couple will turn up too. So usually the man of the house is not the eldest there, because either his father or his father-in-law (and the father in-laws wishes have to be respected as much as his own father’s) is in attendance. On Wednesday night, both sets of parents were there. Together with a brother and his children. There were a couple of non- relatives. One ex-pupil of my teacher, one life-long friend of my teacher’s mother, and Mr Wonderful and me. So you’ve easily got 15 people, as this set are fortunate to have all four parents still alive, which is getting rarer now for the generation above mine.

The Afikomen is hidden. This is a lovely tradition that I’ve seen properly executed this Seder, because I previously hadn’t been to any Seder night with small children. My friend’s husband, and his father-in-law both broke the matza into three pieces, and both put the Afikomen “in a safe place”. Within seconds I was laughing – the person sitting next to the guy who is assiduously putting the Afikomen in a safe place has now brazenly pilfered it and spirited it into the gleefully waiting hands of some small children who bustle out of the room to re-emerge a short while later with smug grins and cryptic statements. We then start the story, and the children’s part (the youngest child’s questions) are, at this Seder night, split amongst the four children, a couple of who back out due to stage nerves! How sweet! Then the service continues with the story and the kids are there, eating horseradish root when requested (more than I managed).

The end of the meal comes and the man who led the service (usually the same guy as put the Afikomen in a safe place) goes to find the Afikomen. Putting on a huge show, he becomes the centre of attention for all at the table. He pats down the area where hi put the Afikomen, confidently certain he’s going to find it and then with almost comic disappointment he discovers the absence of the Afikomen. Indeed I think the only more shocking and unbelievable event would be if the Afikomen was still where he had put it.

Everyone has such genuine love and affection when watching the children march back in, triumphantly bearing the Afikomen. It’s not fake either – these are the parents and grandparents of the children. It’s a wonderful experience.