Page 26 - Issue 11

incongruous, for such a godless
bunch of freethinkers as we were.

Our "Third Seder" took place
during Hal Hamo'ed, a couple of
days later. For it, we wrote our own
Passover Hagadah, a new one every
year. It was half paraphrase, half
parody of the real thing. Everyone
who could was expected to

contribute something to it. Much of
it was humorous, full of "inside"
topical references and allusions,
poking fun at ourselves, our way of
Own up! Who put glue in the Head and Shoulders life, our beliefs and ideals, our
bottle in the women’s shower block? Habonim members elders; no sacred cow was safe
at the Hurst Grange Hachshara farm put on brave from our satire. We worked on it
faces despite the prank for many weeks in advance; when
the manuscript was complete, it
was typed on waxed paper sheets, to which decorative illustrations were added by
hand with a metal stylus, and finally mimeographed. I'm sure that in some Habonim
archive, one or two of these remarkable documents must be preserved (author's

note: I was right, I recently saw a couple of them at Ami' ad)

During the last couple of weeks before Passover, we would even cut back on meetings
and ideological discussions; preparations for the Seder took precedence over all else.

Besides the production of the Hagadah itself, the dining-room had to be decorated,
with huge coloured pictures of Passover themes covering the walls. In the kitchen,
special traditional Passover goodies were prepared and baked, using matza meal,
coconuts, sugared carrots, almonds - age-old recipes, used by Jewish cooks for
century after century. This was my first experience of Passover, and I was
fascinated by every detail. I was just beginning to discover the incredible richness of
texture which Jewish culture has acquired, during more than three thousand years of
continuous development.

Our Third Seder company usually included several guests among them, inevitably, Mr.
and Mrs. W., Louis' parents. Louis was one of our unattached bachelor members. His
mother was a Big Wheel in many Zionist organizations, and took a maternal interest in
our commune. She was a good woman, who did us many kindnesses. Her visits remain

associated in my mind with an incredible temporary abundance of cigarettes. Louis
was a heavy smoker who, like the rest of us, found it hard to make do with our tiny
tobacco ration. It was ideologically unacceptable for his mother to bring cigarettes
only for him; whatever she brought had to be shared out equally. So she would bring
dozens and dozens of packets, enough to ensure that even after an equitable
distribution, Louis had plenty of smokes for a while, at least.