Scout & Birdie
Scout & Birdie Meet the Artists
Scout & Birdie
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Every spring my family would host our Passover Seder. Seder means order. There is a specific order to how a Seder is structured.

It was my job to recite the order.
קדש
ורחץ
כרפס
יחץ
מגיד
רחצה
מוציא
מצה
מרור
כורך
שולחן עורך
צפון
ברך
הלל
נרצה

Our dining room table would have both of its leaves added in, making it stretch over the dining room rug. The folding chairs would have been taken up from the basement and placed around the table to fill in the empty spots where the existing wood chairs with cushions weren’t. Lastly, the brown glossy folding chair, from my dad’s desk, would have been placed at a corner of the table. Saved for Sadie, the baby of the family.

There are six of us in my family: my mother, my dad, and four children. Just like the Four Children in the Haggadah.

We’d have placed a Haggadah, the book that takes you through the Seder, at every seat. My mother and I would have already planned out who’d sit where. My dad at the head of the table, always, since he led the Seder. My grandma at the other head, on the opposite side, as a way of honoring her. Sadie would sit next to her, at the corner of the table, since there wasn’t enough space for everyone. She’d have a pillow to sit on, boosting her up, so that her head could be seen. I’d sit by my mom and my mom would sit by the door to the kitchen, so she could get up and serve food easily. David and Noah would be closer to my dad. And aunts, uncles, and cousins would be scattered between us depending on who we wanted to sit next to.

"Should we get going?" my dad would always ask my mom before we started. My mother placed my dad at the front of the table to show that he leads the Seder but really we all knew who was leading the night. "Let’s get this show on the road," my mom would say. And with that we’d turn to page one in our Haggadah.

Us Wolfe siblings all went to private Jewish school, so it was a moment of pride for my parents when they’d pass things off for us to lead or have us explain meanings behind the traditions. And I was more than happy to take the lead. I loved our Seder, the order. I loved the roles I’d fulfill, every year, that kept our Seder going.

It was my role to recite the order of the Seder.
קדש
ורחץ  
Washing hands. My dad would turn to me and I would go into the kitchen to wash. While I was gone, my mom would explain that I was washing on behalf of everyone. Since the room was packed, and if everyone was to get up, go into the kitchen to wash "we’d be here till midnight," she’d always say. And everyone would laugh.
I’d pour the water from a cup onto my right hand first.
אחת שתיים שלוש
Then my left.
אחת שתיים שלוש
Sometimes David, Noah, or Sadie would go with me as well. If Sadie was joining me that year, I’d lift her up so that she could reach the sink.
I’d count with her.
אחת שתיים שלוש
אחת שתיים שלוש
Then help her to dry her hands off on the kitchen towel.

In the Haggadah there are four children. My dad would assign us each our role. Every year we’d be cast the same.
I was always "the wise child," the oldest... The one turned to to explain thing like, the significance of the Shank Bone on the Seder Plate, which was an easy one.
David was always "the wicked child," though he wasn’t often wicked, just different. A lone wolf in a family of Wolfes. He was turned to help with Kiddush, the blessing over wine.
Noah was always "the simple child." Simple in that he was content to spend his night drinking as much grape juice as he could, until my mother would tell him "that’s enough now, Noah." He wasn’t old enough to be turned to for much, maybe just to help with Kiddush and to sing some songs.
And then there’s Sadie. Sadie was always "the child who does not know enough to ask." The baby of our family. Her face just barely high enough, sitting on her chair and pillow, to see over the table. Her curls put into a half ponytail, with her freckled cheeks and blue eyes peeking over.

Sadie is eight years younger than me. I believed, for a long time, that I had wished her into existence. Too young to have many Seder roles, maybe she’d sing some songs with Noah and every year it was our role, together, to open the door for the Prophet Eliyahu. To welcome him into our Seder. But that part didn’t come until close to the end.  

Throughout the night it was inevitable that my father would, at some point, turn to David or Noah to lead us through some section or answer some question and they’d blank under the pressure. Forgetting how to read the Hebrew, or not knowing why the Shank Bone was on the Seder Plate, which really is an easy one.
To which my mother would say, "I’m so glad I paid thousands of dollars for you both to go to private Jewish school..." And everyone, including David and Noah, would laugh.

Throughout the night, it was also inevitable that Sadie would cry. The time most likely for tears was during the asking of the Four Questions, a role that falls on the youngest child present. She’d stand up on the folding chair placed at the side of the table. One year it collapsed as she started to stand up on it, which brought tears earlier than normal. My mom had to scoop her up and hold her for the rest of the night. On all other years, she’d stand up successfully and sing the first few questions from memory.
מַה נִּשְּׁתַּנָה הַלַּיְלָה הַזֶּה
Doing just fine until she got to the "on all other nights we don’t dip, why on this night, do we dip twice?" Which was always where the act started to go downhill. With all eyes on her, her little voice would crack, which was a sure sign she was about to cry. Tears would flow down her freckled cheeks. Around which time, my mom would join in, mostly to help her and partially because she cannot resist leading. Then I’d join in as well, for the same two reasons. And we’d finish out the Four Questions together. Sadie pushing through the tears, face bright red, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Maybe I’d go sit by her for a bit, or she’d come sit by me and my mom. Maybe I’d take her to the bathroom and help her blow her nose.

קדש
ורחץ
כרפס
יחץ
מגיד
רחצה
Washing hands a second time. I’d get up, again. Heading to the kitchen, I’d wash my hands, right hand first.
אחת שתיים שלוש
Then the left.
אחת שתיים שלוש  
This time I’d say the blessing, whispering to myself as I dried off my hands with a towel. Or whispering it to Sadie, or David or Noah if they’d joined me.

קדש
ורחץ
כרפס
יחץ
מגיד
רחצה
מוציא
מצה

We’d say the blessing over the Matzah and eat some for the first time that year. "Mmm, looking forward to eight days of this," my Mom would say and we’d all laugh.
Around that time, all four of us would make eye contact, David, Noah, Sadie, and me. I’d stand up and announce that I was taking Sadie to the bathroom and then Noah and David would announce that they were joining us. The adults would hold in their smiles, knowing what we were doing. I’d signal to David, who’d grab the middle Matzah, the Afikomen, from inside the Matzah cover. He’d put it behind his back and we’d fumble over each other leaving the crowded dining room together.
When in the kitchen, we’d smile big smiles, holding our hands over our mouths so that the grown ups in the next room didn’t hear us. I’d whisper for Sadie and David and Noah to look around for a good place to hide the Afikomen, this piece of matzah. They’d tip toe around frantically suggest places like in the printer, on the top shelf of the pantry, under the couch cushion or on top of the ceiling fan. I’d have the final say, "the grown ups have never found it yet, we don’t want this to be the first year." After it was placed we’d walk back into the dining room proudly and I’d look down at Sadie smirking to herself as I hoisted her back onto her folding chair.

קדש
ורחץ
כרפס
יחץ
מגיד
רחצה
מוציא
מצה
מרור
כורך
שולחן עורך
We’d eat the Passover meal. A big meal, and I’d help my mom bring out each course. Gefilte fish, salad, charoset, matzah ball soup, brisket, stuffing, carrots.

צפון
My dad would read the part of the Haggadah that explains how the last thing we eat has to be the Afikomen, the piece of matzah that’s hidden now in the printer or on the ceiling fan. He’d look and then get the help of other grownups at the Seder. He’d clown around, looking in places we’d already hid it in years past so as to not find it by accident. He’d ask Sadie and Noah where it was and they’d squeal holding their hands over their mouths. Eventually, my dad would pull out four crisp two dollar bills fresh from the bank. He’d hand them to each of us and Sadie would show him where the Afikomen had been hid.

ברך
Near the end of the Seder, Sadie and I would open the door for Eliyahu. Once open, Eliyahu would come inside to our Seder. He’d stay only long enough to drink out of his silver cup, full of wine, that we’d left for him on the table. He’d drink out of his cup then he’d leave. But we’d know he’d been there because when we’d come back to the table his cup would be close to or completely empty.
I knew that right when we’d step out onto the front porch my mother would pick up Eliyahu’s silver cup and quickly drink the wine, leaving only a bit left on the bottom. And although I’d known this since I was little, that my mom drank the wine, I’d hold Sadie close so my body blocked her view back into the house, so she’d really think Eliyahu had come.

"Her is coming," she’d always say before we’d go to the door. Sadie had a hard time with pronouns, saying "her" in place of any other, whether grammatically it should have been a "she," or whether the person was male or female, her was coming.

We’d open the door and be met with cold wind. I’d wrap my arms around Sadie with her standing in front of me. I’d be able to cover most of her body that way, taller than her and with my head tucked over hers. Our family behind us would sing "אליהו הנביא" and we’d sing together as well. Looking out over our street and neighbor’s houses.

The "wise child" leading the "one who doesn’t know enough to ask."

Each year we’d open the door together. And as the years went by her little body grew taller, until last year when she was almost as tall as me. And I stool on my tip toes to be able to wrap my arms around her, to keep her warm in the cold and blocking her head from peeking back into the house.

This year I didn’t go home for Passover. It was the first year in my life that I wasn’t there.

David didn’t make it back either. He and Noah are both in college now. Sadie is the only one of the four children still at home. And Sadie is taller than me now, David and Noah are too.

And I cannot help but think about all the roles left unfilled. Like who would recite the Seder’s order? Who would help serve the food? Who would explain the significance of the Shank Bone on our Seder plate, because it really is an easy one.

Who would help Sadie when she undoubtedly cried during the Four Questions? And who would supervise hiding the Afikomen?

Would she open the door for Eliyahu on her own with no one there to cover her body from the cold and block her eyes from peeking back into the house? Without me there with her, would she see my mom drinking the wine? Does she already know that it’s my mom who drinks the wine?

Without all of the Four Children who would she be?

The Shank Bone is on the Seder Plate to represent the sacrificial lamb, whose blood was smeared on the doorposts of the Israelites' homes to keep them safe from the angel of death who, as the last of the 10 plagues, swept over the land of Egypt, killing the first borns. The blood on the Israelites' doorpost was a sign for the angel to pass over their house, which is where we get the name for this holiday, Passover.

My mother posted a picture on Facebook of our family's Seder this year.
With half of us gone, they’d invited a young family to join them. A family with a little boy and girl, both around three years old.
My mother posted a picture of Sadie holding the door open. Holding the front door to our house open for Eliyahu, bending down with her arms wrapped around those two little kids. Keeping their bodies warm in the cold and blocking their eyes from peeking back into the house.

 

About the artist...

Anna Rose Wolfe is a writer, performer, and teaching artist. She is the co-founder and Outreach Director of Scout & Birdie. She is an alumna of Columbia College Chicago where she earned a BA in Acting and a minor in Gender Studies, graduating magna cum laude. Anna is currently a resident playwright with the Greenhouse Theater Center’s Trellis Initiative where her solo play In Her Footsteps was presented, as a reading, in 2017. Her work has been featured in Fillet of Solo, Greenhouse Theatre’s Solo Celebration, Abbie Fest, Greenhouse Theater’s Solo Performance Lab, The Election Monologues, and SheFest.

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