The Bay of Naples is a delightful sight, with Capri on the horizon and the Vesuvius and the Vomero Hills at each end of the bay.

But a more splendid sight for me was to see five of Israel's Navy corvettes (fast, lightly-armed warships) steaming in to the Port of Naples. That's the stage setting of this column. The time is April, or Passover, 1950.

I was there not as a rabbi but as the head of JDC's operation in Naples. I was invited, as a courtesy, to greet the incoming ships and to visit with the ships' personnel aboard one of the corvettes. I thought it would be a lot of fun, so I brought along my wife and several members of the Naples' Jewish community to be part of my anticipated simcha.

As we were shown about the ship, we learned that the squadron of five corvettes -- which comprised the entire Navy of Israel -- were in Naples to use the city's dry docks for maritime repairs. At an impromptu ceremony, the officers and crew members, who were all young, were eager to "show-off" Israel's naval power.

When it was my turn to speak (in Hebrew, of course), I told our Israeli friends about JDC's emigration activities and then announced that the Naples Jewish community had a program of tours and entertainment planned for them. I closed by putting on my kippa and read two verses from the Bible:

"There is the sea, vast and wide, with its creatures without number ...
There go the ships ... all of them look to You to give them their food..." (Psalm
104:25-26)

At the refreshment table, I "confessed" to the captain that I was an American rabbi. He then asked me to remain on board following the welcoming ceremony, inviting me to attend a meeting with the crew. I had no idea what he wanted of me but I sensed an urgency in his voice and realized that this was to be no social club meeting. I therefore accompanied my group back to the port, drove my wife to my office, and returned to the port. I was shown the stern of the ship where the meeting, consisting of about sixty men, was already in progress.

They were not discussing a naval operation nor was there any mention of special assignments while they were in Naples.

They were discussing the Passover seder.

They were not discussing, they were arguing, with passion, with intensity, with vehemence -- about the forthcoming seder!

First there was Yossi, a religiously-observant officer who insisted on a full-traditional seder. Then there was Micha, a secular extremist who insisted that those who did not want to attend a seder were to be given shore leave. And, finally there was the kibbutznik Noam, who wanted the Kibbutzniks to run their own seder with their own "nationalistic" agenda.

Yossi demanded that in order to strictly observe the laws of kashrut, the galley was to be shut down for kashering purposes and new utensils had to be purchased. He also raised the question of a mashgiach (supervisor) to be on duty to make certain that chametz food not be mixed with Pesach dishes. Micha, the non-religious person, waxed poetic about the concept of freedom of religion; hence, he insisted that the non-religious men must be informed of their right not to have to be present at any religious service. And the Kibbutznik Noam made a simple suggestion: there was be two sedarim, an Orthodox one on one ship, and his on another.

The captain introduced me to this buzz saw.

I started by telling them the classic Yiddish joke about two litigants who come to the rabbi to judge their demands. After the first litigant stated his case, the rabbi said, "My son, you are right." When the second litigant stated his case, the rabbi again said, "My son, you are right." The rebbetzin asked: "How can they both be right?" The rabbi replied: "My darling wife, you are also right."

That quieted the tempers but provided no solution.

I asked the captain to appoint one individual from each side to meet with me because nothing could be resolved in a mob session. The group agreed that Yossi, Micha, and Noam would represent their respective groups. I stayed on the ship the rest of the day, had lunch with the men, and got to know them rather well.

I met with the three "representatives" to hammer out a compromise. You won't believe what was my winning argument.

I compared a seder to a ship at sea. The helmsman and the engineer, the radio and communication people, the bos'n mates and even the commodore had to act together as a unit if the ship was to safely reach its port.

You might consider this argument a bit trite, but they bought it.

I suggested to Noam the Kibbutznik to prepare his own readings which would be included in the traditional seder. To Micha, I bluntly stated that his very presence at the seder, even not reading a word of the Haggadah, would achieve the ideal of unity. To Yossi, no amount of arguing helped. I finally invited him to meet with a rabbi in the Bagnoli DP (Displaced Persons) camp, who would help him solve the kashering problems aboard a ship. (I had previously worked with the rabbi to make a kosher kitchen in the camp.)

I spent most of the day with the crew. I walked privately with Micha and asked him to read the Ho Lachma Anya ("This is the bread of affliction...Let all who are hungry come and eat thereof...), challenging him to discover any phrase therein with which he could not agree.

At the mess that evening, the commodore informed me that the three who met with me asked that I return on Passover evening to conduct the seder. I tried to hide my exhilaration at the invitation but didn't succeed because the commodore jokingly asked if he should issue special orders for me to come to the seder.

That seder a week later was one of the highlights of my six-year experience in Europe. Although the tables were set in the cramped quarters of the ship, the seder in the Bay of Naples was an awe-inspiring event.

How could anyone forget Micha, my non-religious friend, who opened the seder with an emotional reading of Ho Lachma Anya. How can I express the sheer magnificence of the Kibbutzniks' incredible presentation of songs, poems, and dramatic readings describing the birth of Israel. And, even Yossi, who, despite the lateness of the hour refused to skip even one line, one passage of the Haggadah, admitted to the crew that this seder was the best he ever attended.

But I will always remember the commodore's closing remarks to his crew. He reminded them that in a few weeks they would celebrate Israel's second anniversary of statehood and stressed that the display of unity aboard that ship was a positive omen for Israel's future.

Rabbi Abramowitz can be reached via e-mail at ibbar@aol.com.