by William Levine (Belmont, MA)
Why was our 1962 Passover Seder different from all other seders? It was because it coincided with the 7th game of the NBA championship series between our Boston Celtics and the L. A Lakers. On that night, my paternal grandparents had shoehorned twelve relatives into their small kitchen with a small auxiliary table sprawling into the foyer of their cramped one bedroom apartment in Boston’s Brighton neighborhood.
That night of April 18, 1962 would have been memorable without a final course of basketball. It was the only time in memory that my nuclear family of four my dad’s sister’s family of six, and my paternal grandparents met for a seder. We cousins ranged in age from eight to fourteen. At ten-and-a-half, I was the second oldest, and my sister was the youngest at eight, and thus the one who asked the Four Questions.
Honestly, though I don’t remember if she recited the questions. In fact, I can’t recall any Haggadah moments. Maybe some pages were covered because my uncle had just helped start-up an Orthodox shul. There was no afikomen (I would have remembered). My grandmother was an accomplished Jewish cook so I still remember the home made matzo ball soup with my favorite add-in, farfel. I’m sure I ate all grandma’s dishes except tzimmes because it had prunes. Dessert was undoubtedly angel food cake.
Dad and I were the two ardent Celtic fans at the seder so he would have been the one to turn the game on. The black and white set sat on the dining room table where we squeezed together close enough to view the game on the small screen. Once the parquet floor came in view, and the screen indicated late 2nd half with a close score, I was fixated on the TV. Dad was sitting next to me, and we both knew that this was high TV drama, like the climatic pistol duel on a TV western, with my nervousness doubled because this duel was real. Grandpa was a Sox fan only, and I’m sure my cousins commented on the action, but my dad and I were the only real Celtics diehards.
Here’s what happened in the excruciating last seconds of the regulation play:
The Lakers were tied with the Boston Celtics, 100-100, at Boston Garden with five seconds remaining in the fourth quarter of the decisive Game 7 of the N.B.A. championship series. Selvy inbounded the ball to guard Rod Hundley, who dribbled briefly, then sent a pass back to Selvy, who was alone in the left corner. He hoisted a shot that could have given the Lakers their first championship since moving to Los Angeles two years earlier, but it hit the rim.
The Celtics’ Bill Russell got the rebound and Boston went on to win, 110-107, in overtime.
I went from an emphatic OH, NO! when Selvy got the ball to OH, YEAH! when it clanged off the rim into Bill Russell’s hands. A five minute overtime ensued, during which I was in such ardent fan mode that even if Elijah had made an entrance, I wouldn’t have noticed. The Celtics prevailed in overtime 110-107, and it being past the cousins bed times we all probably left shortly after the buzzer.
Poor Frank Selvy, an excellent shooter, and the Lakers were “plagued” by this Passover game as they had to wait an additional twenty-three years and six NBA final attempts to defeat the Celtics for an NBA title
I remember only one other childhood Passover. It took place when I was six or seven, and thus, I was overwhelmed by the multitude of unknown relatives occupying several tables in my paternal great-grandma’s house in Boston’s Jewish Mattapan section. That’s my only memory: a seder with a veritable family tree of relatives.
So, the Celtic-Laker seder and great-grandma’s full-house seder are the only two that I remember from my youth. I had a Bar Mitzvah and was confirmed at my reform Temple in heavily Jewish, Newton MA. My parents were not very observant. They did though provide my sister and I with Passover meals at their Jewish country club, bringing Grandpa and Grandma along for the repast. We were of course handed menus, but no Haggadahs. The meal, which featured all the Passover dishes like, matzah ball soup, brisket, macaroons and possibly the dreaded tzimmes, smelled like Passover, but the only holiday spirit was Manischewitz.
I left for college missing the unique Jewish bonding, both spiritual and familial, that a Haggadah-ordered Seder could provide. Fortunately, when I married, I got to appreciate the full Seder plate experience of extended family warmth and a Haggadah service at my wife’s sister’s family Passover meals. At these celebrations the responsive reading did not cover the whole megillah of Passover, but it did hit the symbolic rituals. The afikomen was found, except for the year that the housekeeper discovered the matzah in the piano and threw it out. The nights always ended with family chatting over coffee and macaroons around the fireplace.
I have been lucky to capture the full Seder experience as an adult to offset the epicurean based Seders of my youth. Still, my favorite Passover moment is Frank Selvy’s missed shot as time ran out, starting the twenty-three year Lakers plague vs Celtics for the NBA championship.
Bill Levine is a retired IT professional and full time freelance writer who resides mostly in Belmont, MA. but winters in Delray Beach. Fl. He was lucky enough to witness in person the Lakers’ plague in 1966 and 1984 at the Boston Garden. If you’d like to read more of Bill’s work, you can read his previous two stories published on The Jewish Writing Project: My Mother, a Jewish Southern Belle and The Summers of My Golden Ghetto.
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