Here is a poem for our time – a time when Jew-hatred, the oldest hatred of all, is resurgent yet again. This simple, touching account of a family celebrating Passover is by Charles Causley.
Seder
The room is at first sight a winter room:
The tablecloth a fresh snowfall ordered
With frail matzot that splinter at the touch
Like too-fine ice, the wine glasses of hard
Snow-crystal. To the shifting candle-flame,
Blood-glint of wine against the polished green
Of garlands, white of bitter herbs, and on
Its ritual dish the shankbone of the lamb.
A chair stands empty for the celebrant,
Unfree, who cannot celebrate; the wine
Poured for Elijah; the half matzah snugged
In a napkin for a young child to find.
The reading of the Haggadah begins.
Let those who are an hungered come and eat
With us. Those who are needy come and keep
The Passover with us. Though we dwell here
This year in exile and in bondage, next
Year we are free. Prayers in a mash of tongues.
Why does this night differ from other nights?
A boy is asked. Another at the door
Open it that Elijah enters in
To blazon the Messiah, drink the wine
Of the unending promise, share the hope
Of Passover. Kisses, embraces as
The feast is ended. We disperse beneath
Uncounted stars as measureless as those
Children who marched into the wilderness.
Laughter. Yom Tov. A Good Yom Tov, they say,
This family, sometime traders in salt
In Novgorod: doctor, attorney, truck-
Driver, schoolteacher, mail-clerk, student, nurse,
The smiling grandparents, from whom God hid
His face, their eyes in shadow from the harsh
Rumour of yesterday. Every one
A trader still in necessary salt.
Causley, a poet admired by the not-easily-pleased Philip Larkin, was much more than a 'Cornish poet', or a 'children's poet'. 'Seder' comes from the late collection A Field of Vision, which also includes the beautiful 'Eden Rock', about which I have written before.
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