The Last Wrap Up

This year’s seder is fading astern. The tablecloth’s in the wash, the good cutlery is back in the top of Jill’s closet. I told Jill that about now she should draw up a list of stuff that went well and stuff that didn’t, in preparation for Seder 2010.

For those who’ve never attended one, the seder is a ritualized meal the courses of which are served out in timed order – how rigidly timed depends on the participants – and bookended by reading portions of the Haggadah, a book of stories and religious parables about the ancient Jewish people. The evening ends with platters of desserts and presents for the youngest attendees, who during the ritual must also ask questions about why this night is different for the Jewish people.

A seder presents a peerless test of getting someone with autism to sit, listen, eat, and otherwise partake of a special family moment. This spring, Alex’s is worth a last look astern.

“He’s making progress,” grandpa said at the end of this year’s two-hour event.

Didn’t start that way. Alex sat between me and Jill. Despite days of preparation (perhaps too much?), Alex didn’t want to sit at the table for more than a few moments. In those moments, he did, under Jill’s coaching, recite a question or two in Hebrew. Then his legs straightened to the floor and I felt his muscles tighten in preparation for a bolt.

Last year, he utterly refused to sit at the table, or even to turn down Elmo, until I had to leave the house with him and hit a coffeeshop for dinner. I figured last year that we no little right to compromise this special night for our guests, and that as the only adult non-Jewish person present, it was my job to take care of the disturbance, much as I would’ve in a restaurant.

This year, Jill pointed out that seder is all about the kids. And I guess it hit me that Alex is going to have the hardest time of anyone we know finding, taking solace in, and practicing whatever faith he decides he wants. He faces an uphill fight to become a grown-up, observant Jew.

Alex bolted about three times. I took him by the hand each time, leading him out of earshot of the table. I spoke in firm whispers that were, I like to think, short of hisses. “Alex,” I told him in the kitchen, “there’s no way I’m eating a cheeseburger this year!”

By the third bolt, I simply took him into the bedroom and shut the door. We stayed on the bed until I could hear the first half of the evening’s reading wind down and Jill came in to see if we’d be joining them. (While in the bedroom, I also missed Ned’s splendid reading

Jill and Aunt Julie corralled Alex for the rest of the evening, and in the best ways: Jill threatened Alex with no presents or cookies until he sat with us, and Aunt Julie, in the tail-gunner position at the long dinner table, kept telling him “no TV!” He listened. He listened. Progress indeed.

Beyond helping Alex on the road to faith, I think we may also have learned something about taking him to any social setting. This night was different, but I hope it will resemble more to come.

Image: sxc.hu