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yet another seder
Thursday, March 28 2002
The origins of Judaism are shrouded in myth and so are its many rituals and traditions. Understandably, then, no one seems to know why Jews practice two separate but ritualistically identical ceremonial seder meals on the consecutive nights ushering in the eight day Passover week. Being a member of a good Jewish household, I was expected to attend my second seder with a minimum complaints, feigned illness, fictitious family emergencies, and the like. Given the dullness of last night's seder, I had very low expectations for tonight's festivities, even though Gretchen insisted we would be having a much better time. I also thought ahead enough to eat something beforehand and perhaps even quaff an alcoholic brew. As a pro-social appetite-suppressant and boredom eraser, perhaps tussin would have been the ideal seder drug.
Tonight's seder was being hosted by a couple of Gretchen's old Oberlin friends who live in Fort Greene, a semi-upscale predominantly-black neighborhood near downtown Brooklyn. Fort Greene is within walking distance, so we didn't even have to take the subway.
As we neared our destination, we came upon a quirky little art gallery featuring a large computer-controlled video installation. It caught our attention long enough for the curator to catch our eyes and motion us in, so what the hell, we had a look around. The video installation was in perfect resonance with my geeky tastes. It featured two large podlike masses wrapped in white cloth, each with a different video image projected on its side. The images consisted of various three dimensional forms (humans, wireframes, boxes, etc.) whirling about, dancing, and combining in various ways. Periodically the sound would change and a light would travel down a vacuum cleaner hose running from one pod to the other. Judging from the complexity of the installation, it looked as though it had been built around a complex computer-controlled electronic mechanism. The curator himself was walking around with a USB cord dangling out of his hands and told us that his gallery was designed to showcase a number of artistic spinoffs of more commercial projects. The showcase nature of the gallery was further evident in the relative paucity of reasonably buyable art. The only portable artifacts were a series of tiny framed printouts of computer-generated graphics.
David the Rabbi met Gretchen and me at the door, having been sent by our seder host to relay her apologies about accidentally banning the bringing of beans (which Ashkenazi Jews consider chametz). Since Gretchen is a vegetarian, she recognizes the need for protein and (for her own purposes) doesn't consider legumes chametz. Our host's legume ban had puzzled us, given that the secular layer of her dietary rules are even more extreme than Gretchen's (she's a vegan). But it turned out that her Passover observance is even more complex than we'd imagined. On the first night of Passover, she considers legumes chametz. But by the second day, legumes are perfectly fine. Since these rules are all completely arbitrary and have no basis in biology, it's not the specifics of how one obeys them that connects one with his tradition, it's that one observes rules in a pre-formulated, consistent manner.
I knew that tonight's seder was going to be a big improvement over last night's the moment we made it to the kitchen. David the Rabbi called around asking who wanted a vodka drink (since potatoes aren't considered chametz). Nothing shines excitement into a dull ceremony like a little alcohol!
The seder crowd tonight had a number of threads of consistency running through it. By and large, those who came were former Oberlin students, from the Maryland suburbs, Jewish, artists, or some combination of all of the above. (As you may recall, I myself am an occasional artist and former Oberlin student from the Maryland suburbs.) There were a number of older parent-types there as well, but there were no kids and the median age probably hovered somewhere around 33. Consequently, tonight's seder had none of the family-oriented pretense of the one we'd attended last night.
What with the free-flowing alcohol and peerage commonalties, seder-oriented discussion worked in a way that hadn't been evident last night. The pre-meal discussion is supposed to reacquaint the Jew with the fact that he is a descendant of a people who were given the gift of freedom. Consequently, a Jew should live his life in a way that doesn't squander his divine gift. Last night, the Haggadah-based discussion had felt like a chore, a desert to pass through prior to being able to eat. Tonight, on the other hand, the Haggadah provided a simple framework to guide what amounted to a fairly interesting and wide-ranging discussion.
One of the most interesting differences between Judaism and Christianity is the way the two regard skepticism and curiosity. Jews, even atheist Jews, go about their lives operating under the premise of their Jewishness. There's nothing that will take their Jewishness away, and so there is less concern about asking questions, having doubts, and questioning motives, even those of God. Indeed, in the Haggadahs I've seen, such questioning seemed to be encouraged, right there at the dinner table. Christians, on the other hand, are never really very far from not being Christians, and many guard their precious personal Christianity by controlling their skepticism and suspending their disbelief, something their clergy actively encourages. What makes a Christian a Christian is the holding of certain beliefs. The moment those beliefs are gone, poof, one finds himself dumped out somewhere in unsettled agnostic territory.
With tonight's admittedly enlightened left-leaning crowd, questioning and skepticism seemed to confront all the rituals of the seder. But this did nothing to dull enthusiasm and participation. One might think flicking a few drops of wine is pretty anemic regret for the boils, beasts, and frogs suffered by the Egyptians, but one flicks the wine all the same.
Gretchen was disappointed that tonight's seder featured relatively little singing, since the singing is the part she likes best. She knows all the Hebrew Passover songs perfectly, a rare talent even among Jews.
When the food started appearing, it came in such quantities and variety that it was difficult for me to pace myself. Truth be known, there wasn't much left to pace; I'd made the fatal mistake of loading up on matzos. I did have a tiny bit of room left over for chicken, the only concession made to carnivores in the crowd.
I direct my biggest seder complaint at the uncomfortable folding chair in which I was seated. Given how long they run, there's a reason people traditionally recline during seder meals.
After the meal, Gretchen and I sat around on comfier chairs talking to our neighbor and fellow Oberlin alum Rachæl about the good old days in Oberlin, particularly the adventures of Alex Guldbeck and Dan Re!tman's unsatisfactory search for an accepting community, something that didn't happen until the advent of Filk usenet groups.
Gretchen, Rachæl and I got a ride home with a number of people in a car driven by one of the older parental people. One of the other passengers in the car was an older woman who had managed to get pretty messed from the combined effects of vodka, Passover wine, and matzos.
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