First Postwar Passover

I served in 1945 as the Jewish chaplain of the U.S. 3rd Infantry Division, an area that included the German cities of Kassel, Fulda and Marburg.

I was called to a General Staff meeting and shown orders from ETO HQ (European Theater of Operations, headed by Dwight D. Eisenhower) alerting all commanders to enable Jewish personnel to celebrate Passover. This involved granting leaves, providing special food, housing and facilities and I was asked to implement those orders in our division.

Someone said that the seder would be held in Kassel. “But the city is all bombed out,” I remarked.

I was told that one underground bunker, a huge area that could seat hundreds of people, was still operational. I began listing the special foods, wine and hagadot we would need, but was told that those were already stipulated in an order from Headquarters.

Before the staff meeting ended, I asked permission to invite Jewish survivors to take part in the seder. The general smiled and said, “If you invite me, you may invite them.”

Within a week of that meeting, Passover staples began to arrive in two-and-a-half-ton trucks. The drivers fondly called the operation “the Matzah Ball Express.” Matzah by the ton, wine by the gallon, gefilte fish by the truckload, hagadot by the case, nuts and apples by the bushel, and festival candles began to arrive in my tiny office in Bad Wildungen, to transship to Kassel.

Transportation and housing were arranged for 300 Jewish personnel, and I invited about a hundred survivors to join our seder. I asked if they wanted to sit separately or together with the military men, but since language was an obstacle, they opted to sit by themselves.

The seder was to be a full-dress affair - dark green jackets and pink pants for the officers and dress uniforms for the enlisted men, and “Shabbas clothes” for the survivors.

All day April 15, trucks rolled in bringing Jewish personnel from far-flung German cities. The Kassel bunker with its special lighting and decorations looked like an elegant hotel banquet hall.

The brass, led by the general, sat at the head table with several survivors. We even managed a brief evening service that set the tone for the evening.

Things went well as we began the kiddush. Some joined the traditional tune, but every one belted out the final “Shehecheyanu”: “Blessed are you, L-rd…who kept us alive to reach this season.” I then introduced the general, who addressed the gathering, welcoming both the military and civilian guests. His warm greetings were followed by one of the survivors who led us in reciting “Ha Lachma Anya;” “This is the bread of affliction which our ancestors ate in the land of Egypt.”

He had us in tears as he recounted the afflictions he and his fellow survivors suffered under the Nazis. He concluded by expressing his gratitude at being able to celebrate the first seder after five tortuous years. Finishing his remarks, he toasted the general and shook hands with him, and then embraced me with tears in his eyes.

The response was spontaneous. GIs and officers walked over to the survivors' tables, embracing and kissing them. The delightful scene lasted a while.

Unfortunately, I lost everyone’s attention by the Four Questions. I couldn’t get them to quiet down to sing, “Avadim hayeenu lefaro bemitsrayim - Slaves were we to Pharaoh in Egypt.” They didn’t heed my repeated attempts to describe the Four Sons, or the maror and charoset. They continued toasting, talking, and enjoying each other rather than following the Haggadah and the rest of the Seder.

The problem was that the waiters left the wine bottles on the tables!

This was the first time in years the survivors had wine, and the soldiers, too, liked the wine….

Either because of the wine or because of the moving Shehecheyanu prayer, seats were switched. Overcoming language and cultural barriers, the participants sang, talked and enjoyed one another like long lost relatives. They surely observed the law as prescribed, drinking four, maybe more, cups of wine.

Realizing my distress at not being able to conduct a “proper” seder with the Haggadah readings, the General put his arm over my shoulder and his other arm over my chest.

“Son, don't worry,” the general said. “You never conducted a better seder before, and you'll never conduct a better seder in the future.”