Mother of the Pound

by David Kazzaz
The Sepher-Hermon Press, Inc., 1999

The book Mother of the Pound (a literal translation from the Arabic "Um El-Poun") was recently published in the USA. The author, Dr. David Kazzaz, was born in Baghdad and graduated medical school in the American University in Beirut in the 1940s. He moved to Israel in 1950 and then moved to the United States to complete his psychiatric residency in the University of Colorado in Denver, where he still resides.
David Kazzaz book follows his biography since the 1940s, when he was still a medical student in Baghdad and follows his eventful life course. The heart of the book, however, goes beyond the personal story to tell the story of the no longer existing life of the Jews in Baghdad in the 1920s. The book brings stories of the daily life, of the traditions and of family celebrations, the celebration of the Jewish Holidays especially: preparing for the Holidays and sharing the Holidays within the family.
Here is a short passage from the chapter describing the celebration of Passover.
Each person had a role in preparing and carrying out the festivities. Women were largely responsible for all the food preparation, men handled the heavy work, and children were expected to do their share of the tasks. And when everyone finally came together at the table, important participatory roles were played by adults and children alike. Soon, the chanting of the Haggadah reverberated through the room and sailed out the windows. Then the food was served, its rich aroma filling the air, and that too crossed over to the houses close by. Since food was prepared almost identically by each family, we could smell the delicious scents wafting through our window and tell what portion of the meal the neighbors were eating a given moment. All in all, it was an occasion that no one would miss and an occasion on which we declared in the words of the Haggadahd: "Let all who are hungry come and eat and all who are needy celebrate the Passover with us."
The Iraqi culture had developed many special customs of its own surrounding the Pesach seder. For example, when it came time for the childred to ask the four questions, all the youngsters left the room carrying the afikomen, the piece of matzah that is traditionally saved for dessert, pretending to be travelers leaving the land of Egypt as the children of Israel did. This little ritual reminded us of the Israelites who carried their provisions of unleavened bread on their backs as they fled Egypt. And like so many of our traditions, it made us, the youngsters in the family, feel that we were a part of our own history. For a brief moment, we could pretend that we were living in the time of the Exodus, imagining that on our way to the Holy Land, we had somehow stumbled into a modern time and happened uppn adult Jews having a strange celebration and doing all sorts of odd things. In this way, the spirit of the reenactment was anachronistic and had almost a surreal dimension as well.
When the moment came to ask the four questions, all of the children (the travelers) came back and knocked at the door.
"Where did you come from?" the adults would ask.
"We came from Egypt," we responded.
"Where are you going?"
"To Jerusalem".
"Where are your provisions?" they queried.
This last question was certainly a logical one, for in a community without hotels and restaurants dotting the horizon, travelers had to provide their own sustenance and housing.
Frthermore, the question made reference to the travelers who were forced to leave Egypt without having time to prepare for their sojourn in the desert. But we children didn't answer this final question posed by the adults. Instead, we paused to analyze the situation, saying to ourselves, "Wait a minute. What are tese people doing - and why?" so we ignored this last question from the adults and went on to chant the four questions heard around seder tables across the world. Why is this night different from all other nights...?
We also had a custom that differed from that of the Ashkenazi Jews in regard to the afikomen.
During our seder, one male child was assigned to carry the afikomen on his back and to zealously guard it from the other children, who tried to steal it. The designated protector therefore had to remain awake and vigilant throughout the evening. For the children, it was a long night because the Haggadah was read to the fullest, each verse given in both Hebrew and Arabic translations.
Another unique custom of our seder centered around the ten biblical plagues. Each time the head of the family announced the name of a plague, he or another designated person poured wine from his own glass into an empty one. Thus, after his recitation, was complete, the glass symblically held all ten plaques, as if the pain, suffering, and disease they caused were contained in that one glass of wine. To help ensure that no plagues would visit our house, one person then took the "glass of plagues" away from the table and smashed it against an outside wall.
We were acutely aware of the fragility of Jewish safety throughout hisotry. Perhaps, in response, we created rituals that gave us power against danger. Smashing the glass as if it actually contained the plagues gave us a moment of security, and the children pretending to be travelers participatecd in an exercise in survival and independence. Both reenactments were enabling an empowering.