Passover is the holiday that probably holds the most memories for me. I remember going to my grandmother's z"l (and grandfather's z"l) house every year. The table was set with a white tablecloth, the good dishes (years later I would learn they were the Pesach dishes) and a kiddish cup at each place. My two uncles and two aunts, their five children and Chayim z"l joined my grandparents, parents, brother and me. Chayim was an elderly gentleman with a hearing aid attached by a wire to a box the size of a transistor radio, which he kept in his shirt pocket. I always assumed that he was a distant cousin or some long lost relative. When I was an adult, my mother told me that Chayim appeared at my grandparents' shul before Pesach one year. He was alone and had nowhere to go for the yomtiv, so my grandmother invited him to join us. He then came back every year until he died. I don't know exactly how many years that was. It may have been ten or fifteen or twenty years. Chayim had just become part of the family.

Another memory that I have of the yearly Passover Seder at my grandparents' house is the old Maxwell House Haggadah with the blue cover. We used to take turns reading from the Haggadah, mostly in English, usually going in order around the table. Occasionally we would break the order to call on one of the children to read a specific prayer or blessing in Hebrew. I even remember the time when my cousin Peter (now a successful documentary movie maker) had just begun Hebrew school so he asked for a shalom of cake. [Think about it: he was asking for a shalom = peace/piece of cake.]

Then all of us have a memory like this one. One year when it came time to open the door for Elijah, in sauntered my Uncle Bob z"l. My Uncle Bob (zikrono livracha), a very successful attorney representing the unions and keeping an open door office in the barrio, was a religious atheist (he celebrated all of the holidays with my grandparents). He was also a card-carrying member of the communist party, a WWII veteran, a libertarian candidate, an anti-war protestor, a freedom rider and one of the brightest men I ever knew. When I was a teen-ager, he would challenge the teachings and images of the Haggadah, and we would argue sometimes for hours. I learned how to clarify my thinking, and to defend my faith. Uncle Bob was sometimes sarcastic and sometimes so intellectually superior that my mind would be swimming, but he was always loving and jocular, and we always left each other with a hug and a kiss looking forward to our next intellectual sparring match.

Of course there was the annual theft of the afikomen from under my grandfather's pillow. He would break the middle matzah and wrap it in a cloth handkerchief and place it under his pillow. All of the older children would try to come up with excuses to get up from the table to squeeze past Papa's chair to reach under the pillow and grab the afikomen. To be perfectly honest, I do not remember the prize for the afikomen or if there even was one. Just “stealing” the afikomen was a prize in itself.

And finally there was the annual insult of sitting at the children's table. There was a card table with four or five settings, because the huge dining room table simply was not big enough for all of the cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents and Chayim. At first Uncle Bob's family sat at the card table because they always arrived late. Then when the children were a little older, my brother and I, and my older cousins, were relegated to the “children's table.” When my three younger cousins were old enough for the “children's table,” the fourth (and sometimes fifth) spaces were places of contention. I wanted to sit at the main table because I wanted to participate in the Seder. One of my cousins was older than me; she could not possibly be exiled to the “children's table.” My brother and her sister were often offended by being left behind with the younger cousins. Well I suspect you all know how these things eventually work themselves out.

These memories and many others will make Passover very special to me for the rest of my life. We continue to make new memories with family and friends. Maybe some day, my children and with God's blessing, grandchildren, will have warm and wonderful memories of Passover also.

Chag Pesach samayach! Happy Passover!

—Rabbi Harry A. Manhoff, Ph.D., D.D.

A Special Note From the Rabbi

Recently a member of our synagogue family was diagnosed with multiple myeloma cancer, an especially pernicious bone cancer, which our member has been valiantly battling to a standstill for a significant amount of time. There have been tough times and there have been triumphs. Now our member has asked us for support by asking us to donate to the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation. Our goal is to raise $1000.00 (one thousand dollars) for our member. You can make a donation to the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation Your tzedakah is truly appreciated. Please help us reach our goal as soon as possible. Send your check made out to MMRF to the synagogue, 642 Dolores Avenue, San Leandro, CA 94577 and mark it attn.: Rabbi Manhoff, MMRF.

Thank you very much.

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