Every Seder of my life has had a moment when my father reads a Yiddish poem by Binem Heller which begins in varsheve geto, iz itst khodesh Nissan, or “in the Warsaw ghetto, it is the month of Nissan.” But other Seders at other family tables include an Italian poem, or a translation of one, by Primo Levi, written April 9, 1982.