I became the Jewish chaplain of the U.S. 3rd Infantry Division in November of 1945.World War II had ended five months earlier. My job was to serve the division’s Jewish personnel and, by agreement with my commanding general, I could also serve the Jewish survivors who lived in the division’s area of occupation — an area that included the German cities Kassel, Fulda, and Marburg. 

Two months before the Seder, I was called in by General Frank T. Schmidt to a General Staff meeting. We were shown orders from ETO Headquarters (European Theater of Operations, headed by Dwight D. Eisenhower) alerting all commanders to the arrival of Passover and ordering them to enable Jewish personnel to celebrate the festival. This involved granting leaves and providing special foods, housing, and facilities to those desiring to observe Passover. I was told that my advice was needed in the implementation of those orders in the division. The number of Jews in the division was estimated to be about 400. 

Someone in the General Staff announced that a central location for the Seder would be in Kassel. 

"But the city is completely demolished, bombed out," I said, questioning the choice of that city. 

I was informed that there remained one underground bunker still operational. It was a huge area that could comfortably seat hundreds of people around banquet tables. When I began listing the special foods, wine, and hagadot we would need, I was told that all those were already stipulated in an order from Headquarters. 

Before the staff meeting ended, I asked the general for permission to invite some of the Jewish survivors to take part in the Seder. The general, a sixty-something-year- old man, 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 tons, wine by the gallons, gefilte fish by the truckload, hagadot by the case, nuts and apples by the bushels — even festival candles — began to arrive in my tiny office in Bad Wildungen, which I had to transship to Kassel. 

Reports from regimental commanders indicated that about 300 Jewish personnel signed up for the Seders in Kassel and that their transportation and housing were arranged. I then invited about one hundred survivors to join our Seder. 

I asked them if they wanted to sit separately by themselves or to be interspersed with the military men. Since the big obstacle would be the language, they opted to sit by themselves. 

Even the dress code was not overlooked. 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 the same for the survivors — "Shabbas clothes." 

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

Promptly at 7 p.m. the Seder began. The brass, led by the general, sat at the head table together with several survivors. Despite the huge turnout, we even managed to sneak in a brief evening (Ma’ariv) service to set the tone for the night. 

Things went well as we began with the kiddush over the wine. Some joined in the traditional tune but almost every one belted out the final prayer, "Shehecheyanu:" "Blessed are you, O Lord… who kept us alive Rabbi Abramovitz in World War II  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 the "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. Then, he concluded expressing his happiness at being able to celebrate their first Seder after five torturous years. Finishing his remarks, he toasted the general, shook hands with him and then turned to embrace me with tears in his eyes. 

The response of the GIs and officers was spontaneous. They walked over to the survivors’ tables, toasting them — embracing and kissing were the orders of the day. The delightful scene lasted for quite a while. 

Now, I ask you, what could have gone wrong? Why did I lose their attention when we got to the part of the Four Questions? Why couldn’t I get them to quiet down when we tried to sing, "Avadim hayeenu lefaro bemitrayim — Slaves were we onto Pharaoh in Egypt? "Why didn’t they listen to my repeated attempts to describe the Four Sons or the ritual of maror and charoset? Why did they continue toasting, talking, and enjoying each other rather than listening to me? 

I will tell you the serious mistake I made — a detail that I overlooked. 

The waiters left all the wine bottles on the tables!! 

How could I forget this was the first time in years the survivors had wine to drink? And how could I forget that to the soldiers, wine was the staff of life? 

But there was a happy ending to this story. Either because of the wine or because of the Shehecheyanu prayer, tables were switched. The military and the survivors began sitting with each other. Overcoming language and cultural barriers, they sang, they talked, they enjoyed one another like long lost relatives. 

And I can attest that they did observe the law: they did drink four — maybe more — cups of wine as prescribed by our sages. 

I will never forget what my Commanding General said when he realized my distress at not being able to conduct a "proper" Seder. He put his arm around over my shoulder and his other over my chest. 

"Son, don’t worry," the general said. "You’ve never conducted a better Seder before and you’ll probably never conduct a better Seder in the future." 

Rabbi Abramowitz’s column The View of 82 can be read at UJC.org under the Jewish Life section. He can be reached via e-mail at ibbar@aol.com.  

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