Personal Perspective : My Seder With Blackmun: Court Gossip & Matzoh Balls

Eight years ago, the U.S. Supreme Court heard oral argument in a case challenging the constitutionality of Gramm-Rudman. As one of Justice Harry A. Blackmun’s law clerks, I had one of the scarce courtroom seats. It was terribly exciting to look around the courtroom and see it filled with members of Congress and Washington heavyweights. It was even more exciting to sit in Blackmun’s office later that day, listening to his account of how the justices had voted on the cases argued earlier in the week. But the real reason I remember that day has nothing to do with momentous issues of constitutional law. It was because of our Passover Seder.

All four of the justice’s clerks for the 1985-1986 term were Jewish. (That year, Blackmun became the first justice to hire three female clerks for the same term--he delighted in being a pioneer.) Every morning, precisely at 8 a.m., the justice would eat breakfast with us. At one meal, Blackmun had said, somewhat wistfully, that he had never been to a Seder and had always been curious about it. So when spring came around and the crush of work that kept us all working 15-hour days--including Blackmun, who was then 77, and in better shape than the four of us combined--made it clear we couldn’t get home for Passover, my co-clerk David Sklansky and I decided to hold a Seder for the other Jewish clerks at the court--and Blackmun.

Blackmun seemed enchanted with the invitation. He even authorized us to borrow folding chairs and tables from the court--though he wondered, mischievously, if this might cause Establishment Clause problems if it came to light.

Gramm-Rudman day was a blur of activity. David and I raced back and forth between meetings with the justice at the court and our 20-pound turkey--cleaned, stuffed and roasting at the home of one of Justice Thurgood S. Marshall’s clerks.

By the end of the day, we were exhausted. But we were all looking forward to the typical ultra-casual, ultra-Reform Seder: the four questions, the four sons, the 10 plagues, some matzoh ball soup and a relaxing dinner.

At seven o’clock, about 15 clerks, spouses and companions gathered for the Seder. Soon the Justice and Dorothy, his irrepressible wife, arrived. In his typical fashion, Blackmun had meticulously prepared: He was carrying a yarmulke and a Haggadah (the Passover narrative), that he had been studying. It was clear he was expecting a full-blown Seder--complete with Hebrew.

The only thing we managed to skip was the hand-washing. We certainly all finished every last required cup of wine.

Something magical happened at the Seder. Garrison Keillor has described Blackmun as “the shy person’s justice,” but that night he threw himself into the occasion--asking questions about the various rituals, reading a portion of the service, drawing clerks from the other chambers into conversation and telling self-effacing stories about himself.

Afterward, several clerks remarked they now understood why Blackmun’s clerks loved him so. It was a week night, and we had thought the Seder would be cut short as people went back to work, but no one wanted the evening to end. It was nearly midnight before we got up from the table. Though many of us could barely see straight, Blackmun was as alert and vivacious as he had been at eight that morning.

My year with Blackmun was defined as much by the series of ordinary meals--our daily breakfasts--as it was by this one extraordinary dinner. For much of the time, we were accompanied to the cafeteria by a Supreme Court police officer, since Blackmun had received death threats from extremists who disagreed with his position on abortion. But the justice, nonetheless, stuck to his regular routine. Frequently, we would be joined by one of his former clerks, and invariably, Blackmun would be up-to-date about that clerk’s personal and professional life. We would discuss history, baseball, politics and current court gossip. Then the justice would pull out a written list of work-related items to discuss and we would get ready for the coming day.

One view of the American judiciary holds that the law is what the judge had for breakfast. A year with Blackmun cured me of that sort of cynicism. But those breakfasts, and the Seder and special dinners he took us to, were a reflection of the kind of person he is: an uncommon combination of regular habits and genuine openness to new experiences and new people--a careful man in both of the best senses of the word.