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deckardcanineMy family's seder last Saturday was the first I can remember to include non-family guests. They were a lapsed Episcopalian named Ken and a lapsed Catholic named Bernadette. My sister also had come home from college for the occasion. Of the six of us, my dad is the only one we consider Jewish; naturally, he used his knowledge of Hebrew to be the leader most of the time, tho he got tired enough that he delegated many leader tasks to others.
Also unique to this seder was the use of goofy toys designed to teach children about the ten plagues. They included a mask for the beasts, a frog that hopped when you pressed air into it, shades for darkness, a little cow whose eyes bugged out when you squeezed it...The styrofoam hailstones were lame, tho.
This was the first seder since my Jewish grandfather died, may he rest in peace. Perhaps it was partly in his memory that we followed the rules a little more strictly than usual at home. Going by newer Haggadah editions, my dad learned about traditions his family never knew, like the two candles.
The other reason for doing more than usual was that Ken had never attended a seder before and had much to learn. The hardest part was indicating when to pick up, put down, and sip -- not chug -- the wine. (Man, we're always tortured by the part where you lift the wine, talk, and put it down without drinking. Even me, and I prefer my drinks less alcoholic than Manischewitz.) As we were sitting down to it, Ken asked if he could use the wine he brought, "or would that be blasphemy?" I had a Groucho moment: "Yes, and it would be a blast feh me, too."
Our second seder, by contrast, was abbreviated to the point that I wonder why we bothered. I mean, not only did we skip "Dayenu"; we asked the four questions and didn't read the answers. My dad follows Jewish traditions out of respect for his heritage rather than theological belief, but there's only so little effort you can put in before it seems less insulting to put in no effort at all.
Also unique to this seder was the use of goofy toys designed to teach children about the ten plagues. They included a mask for the beasts, a frog that hopped when you pressed air into it, shades for darkness, a little cow whose eyes bugged out when you squeezed it...The styrofoam hailstones were lame, tho.
This was the first seder since my Jewish grandfather died, may he rest in peace. Perhaps it was partly in his memory that we followed the rules a little more strictly than usual at home. Going by newer Haggadah editions, my dad learned about traditions his family never knew, like the two candles.
The other reason for doing more than usual was that Ken had never attended a seder before and had much to learn. The hardest part was indicating when to pick up, put down, and sip -- not chug -- the wine. (Man, we're always tortured by the part where you lift the wine, talk, and put it down without drinking. Even me, and I prefer my drinks less alcoholic than Manischewitz.) As we were sitting down to it, Ken asked if he could use the wine he brought, "or would that be blasphemy?" I had a Groucho moment: "Yes, and it would be a blast feh me, too."
Our second seder, by contrast, was abbreviated to the point that I wonder why we bothered. I mean, not only did we skip "Dayenu"; we asked the four questions and didn't read the answers. My dad follows Jewish traditions out of respect for his heritage rather than theological belief, but there's only so little effort you can put in before it seems less insulting to put in no effort at all.
