Stretching For Seder s the doors are opened for Elijah and the story of oppression is retold, Jews celebrate their freedom and proclaim, "Next year in Jerusalem." Cranky children squirm through hours-long seders while the homemakers lament about the work in changing dishes and cleaning for Pesach. By the end of the holiday, most are all too happy to return to a diet which includes yeast. Passover, with its bittersweet memories and preparation, remains one of the holidays most Jews celebrate, regardless of affiliation or level of ob- servance. In America, the thoughts of freedom usually turn to our forefathers and foremothers and brethren in foreign countries. But for some, the ideal is one considered and prayed for each day. And for these Jews, with their many and varied reasons, telling the sto- ry and eating the bread of affliction are perhaps even more significant — even when freedom seems impossible. LESLEY PEARL STAFF WRITER B Tom Tannis: Missed seder as a POW. Patriotism and Judaism LESLEY PEARL STAFF WRITER T tu Pesach In Prison eyond the metal detector and the guards, up the stairs to the "mezza- nine," Jackson Prison's Central Complex, the sounds of "Dayenu" will echo down the tiled hallways. Rabbi Alan Ponn of Jackson's Temple Beth Israel will lead the seder. The Beth Israel Sister- hood provides the meal for in- mates, family and friends. Dressed in state-issued blues, John Sherbine will read the Four Questions, traditionally asked by the youngest child. His conversion to Judaism will be complete next month. They use paper and plastic rather than fine china; wine is replaced with grape juice. The seder will be held on April 3 this year, the last day of the holiday, due to scheduling conflicts. In prison, you don't get to make many decisions as to how and when to celebrate. A fund, created from dona- tions by congregations, inmates and families, assures the men packages filled with matzah, macaroons and other Passover Photo by Marsha Sundq u ist Traditions take a twist when freedom is not absolute staples. Yarmulkes, prayer books, tallitot and Haggadahs are frayed, often mismatched. They are all donations, and the inmates need more. "I'm used to not being where I want to be on the holidays," Ed Holden said. Born into an Orthodox Jew- ish family in 1930 in Germany, Mr. Holden remembers sedarim that included the whole town. "That changed. Our whole way of life changed. So we came to the United States in 1941," Mr. Holden said. His first Passover in America was spent on Liberty Island, not yet released from quarantine. Twenty-four years in the mili- tary almost guaranteed Mr. Holden wouldn't speak with his loved ones of bitter herbs or plagues. The last 23 years, Mr. Holden has celebrated Passover behind bars. "I'm still free to think, to feel, to enjoy faith. It keeps me alive and motivated," Mr. Holden said. "For me, this is a time of renew- al, it helps me continue another year of this existence." When he reads the words, "Next year in Jerusalem," Mr. Holden will ponder his possible parole in 21 months. With those same words Harvey Hollo thinks of Miami, where his daughter and father are living. Mr. Hollo remembers the fights and the family. Often there were two tables at his sedarim — one for those who wanted to "do it right," the oth- er for those who "wanted to get it over with and eat." The buffet-style sederim are all Bill Lovett knows. He con- verted to Judaism in Jackson a few years ago. He will never leave there. "I have to disassociate the meaning of Pesach with being in prison — one is secular, the oth- er is spiritual," Mr. Lovett said. "I relish the freedom to exercise my religion under the circum- stances. I gain inner strength from sharing the seder with my congregation, with my family. Being able to participate in a seder is a great achievement for someone incarcerated." o survive World War II and the German cap- re of his Army infantry company in 1944, Tom Tennis left behind all that could identify him as a Jew. However, that religious sen- sibility and upbringing re- mained in his heart. Mr. Tannis' first military seder was in Uma, Ariz., with 400 other enlisted men. ("I think our blood was thin from the desert, so after four cups of wine we were all feeling good".) In 1943 Mr. Tannis found himself breaking matzah in Belfast, Ire- land, where he was stationed. The following year, Mr. Tan- nis missed Pesach. He was in a prisoner of war camp, captured by the German Army. "We didn't know it was Passover; we didn't have a cal- endar," Mr. Tannis said. "I knew it was that time of year, though." There was no matzah in the field kitchens, but Mr. Tannis recalls sneaking into a Russian compound to gather any food he could find. Mr. Tannis was one of two Jews in his company. The men didn't discuss religion. The oth- er soldiers protected identities from the Germans. It didn't seem a good idea to announce one's Jewishness. Being away from family and friends during holidays like Pe- sach was the hardest piece of military life for the drafted Mr. Tannis. As a Jew, he feels the Army did its best to accommodate him. Returning to the United States, he discovered otherwise of civilian life. Mr. Tannis shortened his name from Tikochinski in 1950 to assist in finding work. "That, like throwing away my dog tags, saved my life and my livelihood. People were not hir- ing Jews," Mr. Tannis said. Around Passover, Mr. Tan- nis celebrates his liberation from the POW camps. Each year, he makes his way to the pulpit of Congregation Beth Achim to read the weekly Haftorah portion. In addition, Mr. Tannis is involved with the Jewish War Veterans. "You can't forget your expe- riences, you appreciate your freedom and you remember a little each year," Mr. Tannis said. "At our war memorial, I look at the pictures of the Jew- ish veterans now gone. I work all the harder for-them."