The Blogs: Lessons from the Unusual Menu of My First Passover Seder

A few months after immigrating to the United States, in late March of 1990, my grandmother Zelda was shopping for chicken at the local Philadelphia supermarket. Standing near the register, she decided to ask in Yiddish, which was the only foreign language Zelda knew for a price break on the item she was buying. Imagine my grandmother’s genuine surprise when the request was understood not by a cashier, but by a woman behind her in line who happened to be Mrs. Batsheva Shemtov, who together with her husband Avraham were sent as emissaries of the Lubavitcher Rebbe to Philadelphia. Seeing that the poultry was ‘treif’, Mrs. Shemtov suggested that kosher meat was also available at this store.

My grandmother was completely bewildered, for she has not heard these dietary terms for many decades. To be exact, her last family member who kept kosher was born almost a hundred years ago. Since the Communist Revolution of 1917, most Soviet Jews became completely assimilated and did not have any knowledge of their heritage. I don’t know what my grandmother decided to do about the chicken, but I certainly do remember that the result of this encounter changed the course of my entire life. In June of 1990, my family had a privilege to receive a blessing from the Lubavitcher Rebbe.

Mrs. Shemtov understood that we recently came from the Soviet Union and invited my grandmother with her entire family to the upcoming holiday of Passover. This was our first encounter with Jewish traditions during an amazing evening that celebrates freedom and identity. I remember looking forward to having dinner with ‘real’ American Jews. As new immigrants, we couldn’t afford lavish meals due to financial hardships, and I was excited for an opportunity to enjoy great food. At the time, we had absolutely no clarity on the situation and that this was not any ordinary dinner, but a Seder night. I remember being seated amongst other guests at a long table. The Shemtovs were full of excitement because they understood that it was our first Passover celebration.

Due to the language barrier, I couldn’t truly comprehend the significance of this occasion. I remember being surprised not to find bread and butter on the table because for me, that seemingly was a staple for any meal. We came in anticipation of a feast, and when I saw that the menu consisted of salt water and parsley, I felt genuinely confused. The table was set with rather strange items, grated apples, bone, celery, and eggs. I carefully observed Rabbi Shemtov who was following instructions written in a small book. We followed his lead and everyone to drank wine from gorgeous crystal cups. We then were instructed to eat items set in front of us in a particular order. I couldn’t understand what the rabbi was saying but I instinctively knew that there was a meaning behind this tradition. Mrs. Shemtov understood my confusion and kindly smiled at us. She came over and spoke with my grandmother in Yiddish who tried to translate what was explained to her about the holiday. As a 13-year-old girl, I didn’t know that this evening would be the beginning of my personally planted seed for a lifelong transformation.

Mrs. Shemtov remembers, “Often, when we speak, I remember you as the 13-year-old sweet girl dressed so elegantly at our Pesach Seder with your beloved Bubby and the rest of your family. It’s so fresh in my mind. Seems like it was yesterday.

Who would imagine then that this young girl would become a beacon of light.It seems that you quietly watched and internalized this experience. Decades later your labor bloomed into a life of Torah and mitzvot.”

There are two lessons that I learn from my first Passover Seder. First lesson reminds me that I don’t always see the full picture. Even though that evening, I didn’t understand the meaning behind the items set on the table, it didn’t mean there was no order to it. Often in life when I encounter situations that seem confusing and chaotic, I think of my first Seder. Ironically, that evening was all about order and my inability to understand it didn’t change the wisdom behind that night.

Secondly, I realized that change takes time, perseverance, and courage. If I had known how much work would be required from me to familiarize myself with my Jewish heritage, I would simply feel too overwhelmed to embark on the journey. It took decades of consistent dedication to learning and investing into experiences that helped me to embrace my Jewish identity. Change takes time and patience.

The Baal Shem Tov often speaks about two states of mind: the expansive, open, thinking; and the closed, anxious, narrow. When a person recognizes that they are in the closed state, this itself opens their mind. “

Each year, as I set my table with the Seder plate, I smile to myself and think about my first Passover. And while I rejoice in understanding the order of the night, I hope not to lose touch with my 13-year-old self who was curious enough to bring me to this moment. Perhaps the third lesson is to never stop asking questions. Isn’t this night all about that?