The “Paschal Yam” sits on the tray
instead of a shankbone
(although my mother served sweet potatoes in orange cups
every year).

At sunset we gather
to celebrate freedom
drink four cups of wine
eat four kinds of charoses:

Moroccan date balls wrapped in romaine,
Yemenite, apricots and pistachios,
a pyramid of dates from Iran.
(I still prefer
the traditional apples, walnuts, raisins, wine).

Shleime the Patriarch, my uncle’s father,
who led my childhood Seders
making magic with his strong voice
so I could stay awake till two in the morning
as we raced through “Echad Mi Yodea,”
still stands behind me,

but tonight we read, mostly, in English.
Joann and I sing “Avadim Hayenu”
and I sing the Hallel, mostly, alone,
but there’s always the young child
to sing the Four Questions
while Aiyana signs them, her fingers
dancing to the beat

as we all move
again
from slavery to freedom
and each year there’s someone
new at the table
to bring with us
across the Red Sea.

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  For more poetry see the Belles-Lettres section of ShalomVeg.