My most memorable Passover celebration

Forging a lifelong bond at Seder

The story starts in 1990, when my little cousin Rita and her mother Anna were shopping in Douglas Drug. There, they encountered Mrs. Rosen, Rita’s teacher, who invited them to her house for Passover. Since my relatives had just arrived in the United States from the former Soviet Union (FSU) and were “strangers” not only to the Rosen family, but also to the new country, that Seder was a difficult one. Everything, including the food and the culture, was unfamiliar. During the celebration, the Rosens learned that my uncle’s parents and brother (my father) had also immigrated to Rhode Island from FSU, and extended the invitation for the next year’s Seder to us as well.

However, the Seder that stands out in my memory occurred not in 1991, but a year later. For the second time, we sat around the two long tables at the hospitable home of Dr. and Mrs. (Rick and Jani) Rosen. This year, though, the Seder included the last branch of our extended family – my uncle, his wife and two daughters. The last group of relatives to immigrate, they had just arrived from Belarus to join us (my grandparents and their two sons, along with their wives and four daughters), and their presence caused the holiday to take on a more significant meaning.

That Passover was the first time the entire mishpucha had a chance to celebrate together. Because it encompassed everyone, that 1992 Seder is the one that stayed with me. The memory is strengthened by the fact that the Rhode Island Jewish Herald – an independent paper that later merged with a prior iteration of The Jewish Voice – wrote about our attendance at the Rosens’ Seder in its April 23, 1992, issue.

Last week, I called Mrs. Rosen to ask her about the ordeal of hosting a Seder for 28 people, 14 of whom barely spoke English. The first thing she said to me was – I have the newspaper with that article on my desk. Mrs. Rosen explained that she didn’t just pull it out of a drawer because she was expecting my call; no, she always keeps it in plain view. This small idiosyncrasy might have something to do with the fact that she considers the Gomans part of her family now. My extended family sees the Rosens the same way, inviting them to any major celebration. Nineteen years ago, the Rosens were the only Americans at my grandparents’ 50th anniversary party. When my cousins and I were getting married, the Rosens, who now live out of state, flew in for the weddings. This August, we will see them again to celebrate Irina Goman’s – my cousin’s – wedding (she and I shared the name until I got married in 2001).

I asked the bride, who is currently teaching at a Jewish school in Florida, about her memories of that Passover celebration. She said, “The Rosens’ Seder was warm and welcoming. It was my first connection to Judaism, which really helped spark my desire to want to know more. I am happy to say that, looking back, these were the moments that helped motivate and inspire me to connect to my Jewish roots. I will always be grateful to the Rosens for opening their doors to my family and me.”

But let’s return to the Seder of ’92 – to the day when the bond between the Rosens and the Gomans was just forging. During that evening, we were all impressed with the Rosens’ knowledge of Jewish history and traditions. After all, we hadn’t been able to embrace our heritage until immigration. Now, we were attempting to model our behavior on that of our gracious guides. Our family matriarch, Bunya Goman, had the easiest time blending in. She made herself at home by chatting in Yiddish with Mrs. Rosen’s mother, Bobbie Lun. The cousins and I kept up with her by reciting the four questions along with Toby, the Rosens’ “baby.” Russell, the oldest, explained the story of Joseph to us, and Dr. Rosen said a prayer for the freedom of Soviet Jews who were still hoping to emigrate.

Using the Russian haggadot, which were donated by the Jewish Federation, we read Hebrew sentences formed by Russian letters. Despite the transliteration, one of my uncles had a hard time pronouncing the unfamiliar words during a solo reading. In fact, he sounded so funny to us that my cousin Elina and I burst out laughing, embarrassing ourselves in front of everyone, yet unable to stifle the giggles.

I wanted to know Mrs. Rosen’s impressions of that Seder. She told me that the experience “felt wonderful,” emphasizing, “We were thrilled!” Mrs. Rosen shared that, for years, they talked about how lucky they were that their grandparents had decided to come to America around 1900; otherwise, they would have been in the same predicament. Their daughter Leslie had gone to the March on Washington to give a speech and, every year, they read the “Matzah of Hope” prayer to free the Jews of the USSR. Now, we were at their house: “You can’t abandon people whom you prayed to get out. For us, it was a natural thing, and we loved it,” Mrs. Rosen said.  Dr. Rosen chimed in, “It was a mitzvah.”

IRINA MISSIURO is a writer and editorial consultant for The Jewish Voice.