In 1946, on the occasion of my first Seder, I was given the National Jewish Welfare Board Haggadah published during World War II. Known as the JWB Haggadah, it was used in all American military installations around the world.
It was a very nice Haggadah with a blue cover. Its text was straightforward with a clear English translation. As a budding Haggadah lover, the three songs sung at the end – “The Star-Spangled Banner,” “America,” and “Hatikvah” – motivated me in my later years to research Haggadot across the United States and Israel and eventually create my American Heritage Haggadah.
Of that first Seder, all I remember is drinking wine and falling asleep on the sofa before the afikoman was revealed.
When I served as a chaplain in the US Army from 1965 to 1967, Passover had an added dimension. The higher-ups in the Joint Chiefs of Staff require a Seder to be held at all army, navy, and air force bases. In fulfilling an order of this nature, the officer in charge of the Fort Sill, Oklahoma, food services was aware that he would have to assist his Jewish chaplain in every phase of the Seder preparation.
My food service officer – today known as food service technician, or culinary specialist – was nervous. “I understand, Chaplain Geffen, that you are having two Seders in April. I am here to help,” he said with trepidation in November, causing me to feel strongly that it was I who must assist him. So I did, and quite seriously, the two Seders in each of my two years were truly magnificent.
The food service officer and I met again in January 1966 to review what I needed and where we could obtain the various items. The Jewish Welfare Board in New York regularly supplied me with wine, a crucial commodity, and with large kosher for Passover cans of Rokeach gefilte fish. And where would we get frozen kosher chickens for the 400 or even up to 500 attendees at the two Sedarim? Next, we needed either bottled horseradish or horseradish roots to grind up and make fiery chrain.
In my search, I discovered that there was a kosher Empire chicken supplier in Kansas City, Missouri. The officer’s club at our fort had two large freezers, so the army could purchase the chickens any time and store them there. Fresh vegetables were easy to obtain because Fort Sill’s food department purchased them regularly for the 80,000 artillery trainees and officers in residence at our installation.
I said we needed sponge cakes – Passover cakes made with eggs. We were going to need at least 1,000 fresh eggs, maybe more, for 500 cakes.
The officer brought up the issue of which kind of pans I would need to bake them in. We discussed where the Seders would be held. He said that an empty building with a large stove and oven would be assigned to me and that, according to regulations, I would sign for it. After signing, a squad of 10 soldiers came and cleaned the building thoroughly I told him that the Jewish Welfare Board would send, well in advance, as much matzah as I needed.
After all the food and logistics issues were handled, I used my imagination to decide what I wanted to do to enhance the Seder. I met with the Jewish women living in Lawton, Oklahoma, around 10 of them, the wives of Jewish doctors and dentists and career soldiers. We were fortunate that the distinguished 30-year army veteran Col. Jack Wolfson was on the commanding general’s staff. He was also the head of our Jewish officers’ organization, an advisory group to assist me.
I explained to the women that we needed to bake sponge cakes, and asked if any of them had a recipe. Several said they had. So we had to think through how to bake the enormous number of cakes. We found no answer, so we decided to meet again. I had conversations with the food officer, and he explained that there were bakers and mess sergeants who could be assigned to make the cakes. “I have to have a recipe,” he said emphatically.
I PUT in an order to the Jewish Welfare Board for 300 Haggadot, actually the same ones I had used as a youngster in Atlanta, Georgia. I had access to many of the shops at Fort Sill specializing in carpentry, printing, and decorative agriculture, such as roses, orchids, and other flowers needed for events.
Another chaplain, whom I met through the mail, was in his second year. He told me that he had chosen not to use the official Haggadah but instead to make his own creative Haggadah, which he had printed in the printing shop where he was stationed. So I said to myself: “I will make a small Haggadah which can be used on and off during the Seder.” I recount this with a tear in my eye because all I have left is a single copy of the Haggadah supplement.
I was not very knowledgeable about photo editing, which was already in vogue. Fort Sill’s chief printer said he would help me. “Just bring me the material to be used.” I said, “I need a place mat for each attendee.” “Bring me one I can copy,” he answered.
However, my crowning glory, I thought, could be a three-tiered matzah tower. I went to the carpentry shop and explained what I needed. One of the carpenters drew a plan with me, and then asked, “How soon do you need it?”
The matzah tower had legs and rose up with three wide shelves. I placed it at the head table at the Seder and used some matzah covers I had, to make it festive looking. The place mats were green for the spring season, and the printed 3x4-inch Haggadah was black and white.
In college, I had been unable to convince my fraternity brothers to have a model Seder and had to settle for a Passover party with wine, matzah, and macaroons. Already then, attempting to pass on as much Jewish knowledge as I could, I worked hard and typed up five small-font pages, calling it, The Haggadah and the Seder. I had kept several copies, so that was the introductory part of the Fort Sill Haggadah. To make it look more festive, I also reproduced two pages from a Kibbutz Haggadah in Hebrew and English. One of the English texts, written in calligraphy, reads “Here I stand, ready and prepared to recite the story of the Exodus from Egypt, together with all Israel.”
The facing page has text in Hebrew and English. “The night of Passover hath come/ All the world says Hallel/ Because on this night/ Treasures of the dew opened.” For the kibbutz members, it was the spring holiday, and the dew was needed to keep the vegetation growing.
Next, the “Kiddush” appeared in transliteration, followed by the 10 Plagues, for each of which I stressed a particular problem of that era. Dam (blood) was the situation of Soviet Jewry; tzefardeya (frogs) signified poverty; kinim (lice/gnats) represented mental illness; arov (flies) symbolized war; dever (livestock pestilence) meant disease; sh’chin (boils) were the results of narcotics, drug addiction, and alcoholism; barad (hail) was natural destruction; arbeh (locusts) stood for nuclear bombs; hoshech (darkness) for prejudice; and makat bechorot (killing of the firstborn) for illiteracy. In my study of the issues of the 1960s, these were the 10 that I selected.
The Haggadah had a page of songs in English and Hebrew transliteration, followed by “Grace after Meals.”
I have always believed that at the Seder there should be a prayer for the six million Holocaust victims. My Haggadah contains an annotated one in Hebrew and English. We stood and read it in English – then, still standing, we sang “Eliyahu HaNavi.”
The general of Fort Sill and his wife were our honored guests. We were all thrilled when the African American chaplain, Wes Geary, sang “Let My People Go.”
Each year, shortly after running my second Seder as chaplain, the men were ordered to ship off to Vietnam.