The Four Children of Your Club’s Passover Seder
And how best to handle them.
Who would have imagined that after decades of “no Jews allowed” policies, officially and unofficially, across America’s private clubs that Clubland USA would be featuring a Passover-themed article? Certainly not this yid. I’d say the other too, but he happens to be the founder and editor.
If your club (or you) hosted a Seder this year, you undoubtedly became familiar with the story in the Haggadah’s (book containing the order and prayers of the seder service) story of The Four Children: the Wise One, the Wicked One, the Simple One, and the One Who Does Not Know How to Ask. Please lean into your minhag (custom) if the Haggadah used at your table involved different names. We’re Jews (a bookish bunch) which means that some interpretations don’t make it to later editions. Some overachieving families even make their own Haggadah.
Nonetheless, Clubland USA has adapted this portion of the Seder (with a helpful bit of advice) to show who could be at your club’s seder table might be asking the 3,000-year-old question, “Why is this night different from all other nights?”
The One Who Cares (Maybe Too Much!) a.k.a. the Wise One
The Once Who Cares was the first to RSVP to the club seder. And if they’re over 60, they also called the office to verify the time that it began and if the prayers would be in both English and Hebrew. This wasn’t a sweet gesture, either. This club rat memorized all 15 steps of the seder (and their accompanying prayers) ahead of time.
When called upon, they raise a question that reflects not only a thoughtful engagement with the Haggadah but a keen understanding of Jewish history and life. They would ask something that would evoke an eye roll from our next guest—something like, “How does Passover observance amongst Jews in the Diaspora differ from Jews in Israel?”
Advice: When they ask a question that starts with “In Sephardic communities...”—just let them cook.
The Iconoclastic One a.k.a the Wicked One
The Iconoclastic One (probably someone’s university-attending grandchild without better spring break plans) was a pain in the tuchus for the event organizer. This club rat dragged their feet on RSVPing and blasted the organizer with absurd emails: will the maror be vegan and locally sourced? Will there be room for watermelon on the seder plate? And, the worst: can we make the competition searching for the afikomen less competitive?
Nonetheless, the night of the seder finally rolls around, and sure enough, the Iconoclastic One is there. They drop vague references to their “Jewish ancestry” and are sure to question the historicity of the Exodus at least twice (we heard you the first time, we just chose to ignore you). When they finally get a chance to ask a question, they raise an eyebrow, twist their lips into a smug grin, and ask, “When do you think American Jewish folx will drop the victim narrative?”
Advice: Give them the honor of opening the door for Elijah. Down the hall. In the lobby. Preferably from the outside.
The “Mysterious” Plus One a.k.a. the One Who Does Not Know How to Ask
The Plus One may actually be Jewish—it’s hard to tell. They aren’t citizens of Clubland, but the club rat who invited them is a legacy member. You’ll learn only a few details about this plus one: their last name ends in -berg, they were raised in New Jersey, and they’ve made it clear that they came primarily for the brisket.
While mumbling through the prayers in a “I vaguely remember this from Hebrew School” sort of way, you catch a fleeting glimpse of their phone under the table. The recognizable Google search bar reads, “what is maror?”
Advice: Don’t ask them where they go to temple. They don’t need any reminders about their guilt.
The One Who is Still at the Bar a.k.a the Simple One
The One Who is Still at the bar is just that. He’s psyched to be there but couldn’t quite bring himself to leave a conversation with a fellow club rat at the bar. Sneaking in the back door, he grabs a yarmulke and places it haphazardly on his head. (Note: he will spend the rest of the evening fidgeting with the yarmulke since he was absent when they handed out clips just before getting started.)
A little over halfway through the seder, but before the meal, this club rat finally reaches for their Haggadah after just watching the evening unfold. They will lean over to the person next to them, and ask their question:
“Where are we?”
Advice: Keep an eye on Elijah’s wine.
So, “why is tonight different from all other nights?”
Because tonight, we recline like free people, even as the One Who Cares overthinks the wine pairing, the Iconoclast tries to cancel Moses, the Plus One uses his phone under the table while reclining, and the One Who is Still at the Bar presents his final question, “Is there an afterparty for this thing?”
And somehow—like every generation before us—we call it tradition.