Seder evokes bittersweet memories of freedom.

Byline: FROM HEART TO HEART By Sabena Stark For The Register-Guard

In my childhood home, the Seder on the eve of Passover was a time to transcend daily struggles and take delight in the miracle of continuity and survival. We enjoyed delicious food, exuberant singing and extraordinary stories - stories of triumph over a cruel and powerful foe, a miraculous escape, and the tentative, first steps into freedom.

Much like the stories of my mother and father.

Our small household - my parents, my sister and I - was a tiny sprig of a family tree that survived the Shoah (a Hebrew word meaning `destruction'). My parents arrived in the United States in 1946 with little more than their determination to begin a new life.

The Nazi death machine had taken almost every member of both my mother's and father's families. I was born on the Lower East Side of New York City in a neighborhood sprinkled with Jewish families who, like us, straddled cultures and languages in the aftermath of the Holocaust.

Passover, also known as Z'man Cheruteynu, Time of Our Freedom, was by far my favorite holiday. Though she struggled with anger and grief, my mother lovingly prepared our small feast.

I loved helping her make charoset, the sweetest treat on the Seder table, by cracking dozens of walnuts with an old nickel-plated nutcracker, while she peeled and chopped apples. The mixture of apples, walnuts and sweet grape wine seemed to have a particular magic. And when eaten with matzoh and maror, the tear-producing, bitter horseradish, this medley embodied all the flavors and messages of the Passover Seder.

At the appropriate moment, as the youngest member of the family, I would proudly intone the Four Questions or "Fier Kashas," as we called them in Yiddish. By age 5 or 6, as soon as I was old enough to read the Hebrew letters, I learned to chant this ancient melody.

My father was a wonderful "maggid," a storyteller, and on this evening his skills would shine. Soon after the questions were sung, he answered with tales of the Israelites' exodus from Egypt, intertwined with stories from his pre-war childhood life in Lithuania.

The ceremonial wine made my mother sleepy, so her evening ended early. But my father and sister and I stayed up late into the night and, after the stories were told, we sang song after song. These moments remain some of my happiest memories of childhood.

As I got older and understood the deeper meaning of this centuries-old ritual, my yearly Seders evolved to reflect my spiritual and ethical life. Today, Passover is a beloved celebration of the eternal and the miraculous. And it is a time to remember why we cannot tolerate the persecution of any group. The holiday serves to strengthen my commitment to those of us imprisoned by poverty, discrimination and hatred, in my community and elsewhere.

As a doorway to spring, season of hope and emergence, the Passover Seder offers a way to share our abundance with others and to recommit to upholding the dignity of human rights, the blessings of freedom, for all people.

Sabena Stark is a writer and member of Temple Beth Israel. This column is coordinated by Two Rivers Interfaith Ministries, a network of more than 35 spiritual traditions in the Eugene-Springfield area. For more information, call 344-5693 or visit www.interfaitheugene.org.