Several years ago, T-shirts bearing the words “I Found the Afikomen!” were proudly worn by young children after the Seder nights. The shirt was a fad, which, like most fads, faded, but the sentiment lives on. The joy of finding the afikomen will never be lost. The customs surrounding the afikomen may be based on the Talmud’s statement, “We grab the matzot on the night of Passover, so that the children will not sleep.” Sometimes, the broken part of the middle matzah is passed from hand to hand until the end of the meal, when whoever has it can bargain for a gift. And sometimes, the leader hides it, and the children must hunt until they find it.
Growing up in Baltimore in the late 40s and 50s, my afikomen gifts hold special memories for me. I remember Seders on Cylburn Avenue, which my Great-Aunt Cele, hosted. Although Aunt Cele never married, she was the matriarch of the family, who treated her nieces and nephews as her children.
Around her beautiful Seder table, sat my beloved mother, her niece, and my dear father. My brother and I sat across from them with Aunt Cele between us. As the aroma of simmering chicken soup wafted in from the kitchen and we listened to the words of the Haggadah, our eyelids would droop. That’s when Aunt Cele started whispering to us about when and where to search for the afikomen. She made it a mystery, an exciting game. My brother and I knew that if we found the afikomen – and every year we did! – we would get a prize.
Uncle Nate, Aunt Cele’s brother, and a veteran of World World War II, led the Seder in Hebrew at the same speed as the reader of the Megillah. He was the one who hid the wrapped piece of matzah in the cushions of the blue damask sofa or the mahogany secretariat in the living room. And he was the one who asked for it back. For some strange reason that we didn’t understand then, we couldn’t continue the Seder without it. So, of course, Uncle Nate promised us a gift if we found it. But the gifts were chosen by Aunt Cele.
The first afikomen gift that I remember was alive! I’m sure she consulted my parents beforehand, and we were promised what we really wanted that year – a puppy! That cute little butterscotch terrier, which we named Buttons, wasn’t so cute when he chewed on my father’s slippers and left puddles around the house. Sadly, our afikomen puppy lasted in our home for only two memorable weeks.
Afikomen gifts were not Aunt Cele’s only contribution to our upbringing. When we visited her, she entertained my brother and me with a record of Peter and the Wolf, performed by a symphony orchestra. I could hardly sit still to listen to it. But today, when I hum the tune of Peter as he walked through the meadow, I can see Aunt Cele turning on the record player and smiling. And I feel like dancing through the meadow with her.
As a sixth-grade teacher at Pimlico Elementary School, Aunt Cele wanted us to grow educationally, whether through listening to classical music or enjoying the next afikomen present. That one was the game of Scrabble, fresh off the market. We hadn’t even heard of it, but she had.
Aunt Cele also wanted us to grow Jewishly, so she chose presents that might spark our interest in Judaism. Those are the afikomen gifts that I remember the most. Early on, she gave us books. Mother Goose Rhymes for Jewish Children was a big, blue book with a drawing of a girl and a boy next to Mother Goose (wearing a Jewish star around her neck!) on the front cover. Aunt Cele also gave me a book called Great Jewish Women.
Most of all, I remember the last afikomen gift she gave me. By this time, I was a young teenager. After the Seder, Aunt Cele handed me Pathways Through the Bible, a thick green book by Mortimer Cohen, published by JPS. It contained excerpts from Tanach, illustrated by Arthur Szyk. After quickly leafing through it, I left it on my bookshelf – for years.
Then, when I was a commuter in college and dealing with stress, I thought that maybe if I read a little of this book every day I might feel better. I don’t know why I thought that, but I picked up the heavy green volume and started reading about Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.
With each chapter, I felt better. By the time I finished the stories, I knew there was something special about them. Then I lost track of Pathways to the Bible. Somehow – maybe when I moved to Atlanta in the early 70s – it disappeared. .
About 15 years ago, as I was browsing the Judaic section at the Brandeis Book Sale, I spotted a thick, green covered book, and my heart started pounding. It was Pathways Through the Bible. Although I was by then reading Chumashim and other sefarim with Hebrew and English, I grabbed this precious find.
Great Aunt Cele, who passed away over 30 years ago, left me with many memories. She never married or had children of her own, but I will always remember the Seders at her house on Cylburn Avenue, how she sat between my brother and me and helped us search for the afikomen – and our heritage.
