What would Tevye think?

I thought my family's seders were big, but Kibbutz Naan has put things in perspective for me.  30 isn't so big.  1,100 is big.  Very big.

Last night was the first night of the holiday of Pesach, or what most of my friends know as Passover.  It is a seven day holiday, though outside of Israel - the Diaspora - Jews celebrate an eighth day.  Similarly, though there is always a seder - a large meal and ceremony that retells the story of the Exodus from Egypt - Diasporic Jews also have a second seder the next night.  A traditional seder is organized into segments filled with symbolic foods, stories, and gestures which all serve to remind us that we were slaves in Egypt and were freed, a prelude to the true beginning of the Jewish religion and people.  There is, of course, a grand meal in the middle of the seder which in my family has always consisted of poultry, brisket, chicken soup with kneydlach, mashed potatos, salads of every variety (except pasta), gefilte fish, charoset, and at least enough horseradish for my aunt's and cousin's traditional horseradish-eating contest.  First to cry loses.

But this year I am in Israel, and what's more, I am at Kibbutz Naan, home of the largest seder in Israel.  Miss this?  Well, seeing as my Mama's matza balls were nowhere in sight, I couldn't possibly miss it.  

And to think, we thought cramming 30 people into a dining
room was challenging!

The seder was set up in the Ulam Sport, meaning roughly "huge giant sport building," which is basically a basketball court and bleachers.  Still, big enough for a seder of this size.  The walls were draped with paintings of people and flowers, some artistically depicting our slavery in Egypt while others displayed larger-than-life flowers and other spring scenes.  Long tables filled the room, leaving  space only for a few isles and a large bimah, stage, in the center.

As if the guest list didn't tip you off, Naan's seder is anything but traditional.  Not only do they have their own hagadah (the small book used for the seder) tailored to fit the needs and aesthetics of a non-religious kibbutz, but their seder is a celebration of the talent and beauty of their members.  Instead of the traditional family-style seder where songs are sung off-key and the retelling of the Exodus might pause to answer questions and debate contemporary politics, each song in this seder was performed by a choir of children or adults, and accompanied by a band.  Some portions featured choreographed dances and skits from the students, portraying aspects of our slavery or freedom (the high school girls' dance depicting the burden of slavery and their celebratory timbrel dance were two of my favorites).

I can only imagine what Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof would think of such a breach of the cultural Jewish norm.

Though the songs and narrations were entirely in Hebrew, I was able to follow some of it, at least enough to get a general idea of what was being said.  In a traditional hagadah, the retelling of the Exodus is almost secondary to the descriptions of the Passover traditions and the arguments among the Rabbis of Old regarding how and why and what is meant by this, that, or the other thing.  But in the Naan hagadah the story of the slavery, the Exodus, the crossing of the sea, and even reaching Israel 40 years later is told and recreated in song and dance.  In some ways, I almost preferred this since I felt it made the true reason for Pesach and this meal more significant.

Now, I say "almost preferred this."  Sure, I had a wonderful time, and my ears loved the sound of Pesach songs in four-part vocal harmony accompanied by piano and brass instruments.  I loved seeing the children dressed in costume and depicting Chad Gadya and the Four Sons.  I enjoyed the ruach (spirit) and joy, and the food wasn't bad either.  But it wasn't home.

I missed the blue Maxwell House Haggadah stained with maror and wine from decades of use.  I missed my Mom's juicy charoset, a mix of apples, nuts, cinnamon, and a little extra wine to make Papa happy (they didn't even HAVE charoset!).  I missed the karpas part of the seder where my cousins and I eagerly dip red potatoes in salt water and use that to temporarily satisfy our hunger until we get to the Festive Meal (even though we're supposed to be remembering our salty tears throughout years of bondage).  I missed the family contests and traditions that have absolutely nothing with remembering the Exodus and absolutely everything to do with celebrating our quirky nature and love for one another.

And because I'm in Israel, even temporarily, I will not be celebrating the second seder, the more intimate one which I would normally celebrate at my house with my immediate family and various members of our town's Jewish community.  When I would in other years have been in the kitchen all day helping my mom chop vegetables, wash dishes, and set the table with our finest china and silver, today I am, well, blogging.

Normally Pesach is one of my favorite holidays, but this year as I celebrate it in the Holy Land only 45 minutes from the Jerusalem we pray every year to return to, all I can think about is how I wish I were celebrating it with the people I love the most.  Like a giant magnet, Tradition is trying its hardest to pull me in the direction of my family during this most celebrated of holidays.  So instead of saying "Next year in Jerusalem," I proclaim "Next year with my family, wherever that may be."