I recall the Seder evenings at home. My mother would prepare the traditional dishes, we would lay a long table, friends would come over, there was an atmosphere of joy, closeness, family. Dad was sitting comfortably on down pillows, as is customary, because we were celebrating liberation from slavery; we are no longer slaves, we are free and masters of our destiny. The Afikoman, the matzah sheet required to continue the Seder after dinner, was next to my father, but, according to tradition, the youngest member of the family manages to snatch it every time. I joined the game and, with the help of my mother, took possession of the Afikoman. When my father would ask me what I wanted in exchange, I would invariably repeat what my parents had suggested a few days before – a doll, a book, or a toy – and, surprise! To my amazement and happiness, the gift was already there! It seemed to me that a miracle was happening - I barely uttered my wish, and it came true.
During the 60s, collective celebrations were allowed, and they took place here, in this hall. We brought the down pillows from home, the silver cup that my parents had received as a wedding present in 1948, and our Haggadah books (the book that is read during the Pesach Seder evenings). There were over a hundred and fifty people seated at the tables, but essentially nothing had changed; the warm, family-like atmosphere persisted. My father led the ceremony with a natural air of authority; he knew everyone, and everyone knew him. We were a big family.
