Bernard Axelrad Scholarship Fund

I still well remember the Passover Seder of 1924, when I was 4. Until this year, it had been my most memorable Seder.

In the summer of 1923, my maternal grandparents, Solomon and Sarah, had arrived from Europe with the three youngest of their 11 children. Even though it is three quarters of a century ago, I can still conjure up the excitement and anticipation of their coming. My mother, at every meal as she fed me, had filled me with stories of her youth and family in the small shtetl in Poland where she was born. I knew the family even before meeting them and also got to know my Mother before she became my Mom.

Although her life in Europe had been hard - at eleven she had been sent to a distant village to care for two small children and only saw her father once a week when he came to collect her wages - my mother truly loved her family. And in me she instilled that same love of family which I retain to this very day.

At thirteen, my mother was sent to America to join some older siblings and did not see her parents again for almost 15 years.

I knew my uncles and aunts by their Yiddish names - Chaim, Hershel, Temesh, Raisel, Mendl, et al - as the language of my youth was Yiddish.

My grandparents were ensconced in an apartment on The Lower East Side, on Avenue C and 1Oth Street, and we lived nearby on 8th Street between Avenue C and D. Mother and I walked over to the grandparents almost every day, usually with basic foods and necessities. While not quite four and not too conversant with the English language, I nevertheless was an English Master compared to my grandparents (who never did learn English) and my 'green-horn' two aunts and uncle. I had a field day showing them around the area and explaining to all and sundry that these were my 'green tantas' just off the boat.

I eagerly looked forward to my first Pesach in 1924 at my grandparents, where almost all my uncles, aunts and cousins would congregate for the Seder. Quite by default I had been designated to ask The Four Questions (in Hebrew with Yiddish translation) of my grandfather and I prepared diligently for my moment of glory before the entire family. Even at four, I was not afraid to address an assemblage.

My uncle Mendl, who worked in a hardware store, arranged to rent several picnic tables and long benches to seat the adults (children sat on the floor or on crates). It was one of those railroad apartments which stretched endlessly in a straight line from living room through the bedrooms.

I will never forget my pleasure and pride at my moment in the spotlight asking The Four Questions of my Zedah, he of the long beard and the handsome mien of an archetype Grandfather.

Later in the evening, after the reading of the Hagaddah and while the adults ate and talked, I played with my cousins and basked in the warmth of a family gathered together in prayer, festive celebration and harmony.

It was an unforgettable moment in my life.

Even though it took 74 years, Passover Seder 1998 was a memorable and poignant match for my 1924 Seder.

For the first time in 30 years all four of my children were seated at our Seder table. Both Steve and Lisa came in from Israel where they had long resided. Lisa and Yoram brought their 6 year old twins, Eden and Itai, and Steve came with Noam, 10, the youngest of his 3 children. When added to Kevin and Maureen's Rachel, 6, and Hannah, 3, I had 5 of my 7 grandchildren at the Seder. When we add my wife Lillian's 3 children and sister and various cousins there was a total of 21 at our Seder table, including my ex-wife, the mother of our children. Lillian, in her usual competent and gracious fashion, not only prepared the sumptuous meal but also the Seder Plate with its Charoset, Maror, Karpas, Betza and all the other Passover symbols.

It was a most affecting moment as I looked out at the Seder assemblage and saw the grown faces of my wonderful children and realized that the arduous journey over many years with its strife, heartache and burdens had all been worth it. That what I had envisioned as the hard and difficult life of my immigrant parents and grandparents was in many ways simpler, less stressful and not as torturous as my own journey. I felt gratified that it had ended so well with an intact family, existing in harmony.

The five grandchildren were a treat and a delight, all attractive, healthy and tractable. I was called Grandpa and Saba instead of Zeydah, as two spoke English only, one Hebrew only and the twins were bilingual. Somehow there was no language barrier as the children played with one another as if this was a common occurrence rather than a novel event.

There was not too much time for introspection as the Haggadah had to be read and discussed along with The Four Questions being asked by Rachel and The Afikomen being redeemed by Grandpa funding a trip to Disneyland for all the progeny (to avoid having five active children tear up the house in a search). The proceedings went on until almost midnight and ended with the chanting of Chad Gadya.

It was a most precious time, long awaited by me and fulfilled all my expectations. It was best epitomized by Lisa's comment as the long evening was winding down, "I waited so long for this night. I don't want it to end!"

I can only hope Seder 1998 will be as meaningful and as long remembered by Noam, Rachel, Hannah, Eden and Itai as Seder 1924 was by me.