feature
A Civil
War Seder
Memorialized in
Fayetteville, West Virginia
P rivate Joseph A. Joel noticed on
his calendar that Passover was
coming. He and 20 fellow Jewish
soldiers requested relief from duty
to celebrate the holiday. Permission
was granted. Despite the soldiers’
remote location, they acquired matzah and
other Passover products. The young men built
an area for services, held seders, recalled the
Exodus and off ered blessings.

Now, 161 years later, Joel and his compatriots’
eff orts are being preserved as a reminder of
the contributions and commitment of Jewish
soldiers during the Civil War.

On April 3, a sign bearing testament to the
Jewish troops and their commanding offi cer
— future President Rutherford B. Hayes — will
be unveiled in Fayetteville, West Virginia. A
corresponding ceremony, scheduled for 11 a.m.

at Lovey Hope Center for the Arts, will be a
reminder that “the original cast of the Civil War
is more diverse than maybe we believe it today,”
said Drew Gruber, executive director of Civil War
Trails, an organization that partners with commu-
nities in Virginia, Maryland, West Virginia, North
Carolina, Tennessee and Pennsylvania to connect
visitors to meaningful Civil War narratives.

What Joel and the other Jewish soldiers
did 161 years ago was
a “bright spot and
peaceful moment”
during a period
marked by carnage,
Gruber said.

Between 1861
and 1865, approx-
imately 620,000
soldiers died on
U.S. soil. The sum
is about equal to the
number of American
fatalities in
the Revolutionary War, the
War of 1812, the Mexican
War, the Spanish-American
War, World War I, World War
II and the Korean War combined,
according to the National Parks Service.

While the deaths, military confl icts and
commanders have long captivated histori-
ans, the Civil War “isn’t just about battles and
campaigns, but about humanity, and in this
instance, community,” Gruber said.

Jewish soldiers wanted to celebrate Passover
“but it was a wider community” that made it
happen, which makes a fascinating parallel to
What Joel and the other Jewish
soldiers did 161 years ago was a
“bright spot and peaceful
moment” during a period
marked by carnage.

20 MARCH 30, 2023 | JEWISH EXPONENT
today, researcher Victoria
Tolson explained.

Tolson, an administra-
tive assistant with Civil
War Trails, worked
with private collec-
tors and members of
West Virginia’s Jewish
community to unearth
details regarding the
1862 seders and Joel.

Born in Plymouth,
England, on May 27, 1844,
Joel enlisted in the Union
Army, 23rd Ohio Infantry, on
July 7, 1861. Less than two
years later, he was discharged on
Feb. 9, 1863, “after having sustained
eight gunshot wounds, and losing the tips
of two fi ngers,” according to documents shared
by the Shapell Manuscript Foundation.

Joel’s wartime eff orts earned the respect and
lifelong friendship of his commanding offi cer,
Rutherford B. Hayes. Following the Civil War,
the two corresponded extensively. They shared
updates about their families and personal
health. Hayes called Joel a “dear comrade” and
invited him to the Executive Mansion (a precur-
sor to the White House). Joel named his son
Rutherford B. Hayes Joel.

In 1873, Hayes described that honor, by
writing, “I am proud of your partiality and
shall always regard with great interest the
progress of the young gentleman. I shall try
to remember him in some substantial way. Let
him be as brave and honorable as his father
and he will be a credit to his parents and
namesake.” Hayes gave Joel and the other Jewish
soldiers a reprieve to celebrate Passover. The
landsmen, according to Joel’s 1866 writings,
hired their Jewish sutler to go to Cincinnati and
buy matzah.

Hayes: Prints & Photographs Division, Library of Congress; Cannon: KKStock /iStock/Getty Images; Background: desifoto/DigitalVisionVectors/Getty Images
ADAM REINHERZ



Popular Graphic Arts Collection, Prints & Photographs Division, Library of Congress. Washington, DC.

feature “About the middle of the morning of Erev
Pesach, a supply train arrived in camp, and to
our delight seven barrels of Matzos,” Joel wrote.

“On opening them, we were surprised and
pleased to fi nd that our thoughtful sutler had
enclosed two Haggadahs and prayer-books.”
The delivery was a start, but to truly mark the
holiday the young men needed other supplies.

“We held a consultation and decided to send
parties to forage in the country while a party
stayed to build a log hut for the services,” Joel
wrote. The foragers were successful and the
soldiers obtained “two kegs of cider, a lamb,
several chickens and some eggs. Horseradish
or parsley we could not obtain, but in lieu we
found a weed, whose bitterness, I apprehend,
exceeded anything our forefathers ‘enjoyed.’”
The Jewish soldiers had almost all the neces-
sary items, but they reached a quandary: “We
had the lamb, but did not know what part was
to represent it at the table.”
Thankfully, “Yankee ingenuity prevailed,”
Joel noted, “and it was decided to cook the
whole and put it on the table, then we could
dine off it, and be sure we had the right part.”
The seder plate was virtually in order, but
the young men realized they lacked charoset.

Despite trying, they couldn’t get the necessary
ingredients, so once again, they relied on their
Yiddishe kops.

“We got a brick which, rather hard to digest,
reminded us, by looking at it, for what purpose
it was intended,” Joel wrote.

The Jewish teen then led his comrades in
prayers. The evening went well until the group
reached Maror — the portion of the seder
in which the bitter herb is eaten — and the
“horrors” began.

“What a scene ensued in our little congrega-
tion, it is impossible for my pen to describe,”
Joel wrote. “The herb was very bitter and very
fi ery like Cayenne pepper, and excited our thirst
to such a degree, that we forgot the law autho-
rizing us to drink only four cups, and the conse-
quence was we drank up all the cider. Those
that drank the more freely became excited, and
one thought he was Moses, another Aaron, and
one had the audacity to call himself Pharaoh.

The consequence was a skirmish, with nobody
hurt, only Moses, Aaron and Pharaoh, had to be
carried to the camp, and there left in the arms
of Morpheus.”
The episode was memorable, but not only
because of the bitterness and drink.

“There, in the wild woods of West Virginia,
away from home and friends, we consecrated
and off ered up to the ever-loving G-d of Israel
our prayers and sacrifi ce,” Joel wrote. “I doubt
The Battle of South Mountain, Maryland,
on Sunday, Sept. 14, 1862
whether the spirits of our forefathers, had they
been looking down on us, standing there with
our arms by our side ready for an attack, faithful
to our G-d and our cause, would have imagined
themselves amongst mortals, enacting this
commemoration of the scene that transpired
in Egypt.”
Part of what makes this seder so incredi-
ble, Gruber said, is Joel’s appreciation. The
Ohioan went through multiple battles — includ-
ing Antietam, which begat the Emancipation
Proclamation — and, yet, later in life, returns
to this week of Passover as being one of his
greatest experiences.

“I’ve never seen a Civil War story like this,”
Gruber noted.

Since 1994, the organization Gruber heads
has worked with communities, historians and
descendants to place markers and preserve
local narratives.

“We have over 1,400 Civil War Trails sites,”
Gruber said. The soon-to-be dedicated sign
in Fayetteville is the “fi rst Civil War Trails site
in the nation that lifts up the story of Jewish
soldiers. … It’s beautiful.”
For Tolson, the tale off ers a diff erent
resonance. “There’s not enough about us, to be honest,
even though we’ve been here the entire time,”
the Jewish Virginian said. “There have been
Jewish people in Virginia and West Virginia from
the 18th century … so, of course, they would be
celebrating a seder during the Civil War.”
Tolson credited Jewish Appalachians, like Dr.

Joseph Golden of Temple Beth El in Beckley,
West Virginia, with preserving and transmitting
this account and other local Jewish history.

The thing about Joel’s saga is it’s “something
a lot of young Jewish people can relate to,”
Tolson said.

Joel and his fellow Ohioans were basically
teens who found themselves far from their
Cincinnati homes. The wider community
provides some Passover items, but much of
the holiday’s observance is fashioned by the
young people themselves. The soldiers make
mistakes about which herb to eat and where
the shank bone is located on a lamb, she said,
“but they’re in the spirit.”
For Tolson, the members of the 23rd Ohio
regiment represent a truth that bears repeat-
ing: “We’ve been able to keep our traditions
and be part of a wider community.”
Passover is predicated on leaving Egypt and
ending a life of servitude, Tolson said. Millenia
later, a band of Jewish soldiers fought to end
slavery in the wilds of West Virginia. These
young men created a connection to each other,
to an extended Jewish community and to their
non-Jewish commanding offi cer.

“I think that’s something we can all kind of
learn from,” she said. ■
Adam Reinherz is a staff writer with the
Pittsburgh Jewish Chronicle, an affi liated
publication. JEWISHEXPONENT.COM
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