A Way Through the Sea

A Way Through the Sea by Robert Elmer Page B

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Authors: Robert Elmer
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dad was going to show him a place he had never been before, full of history and stories of people he had never met.
    “This is the Kaddish, or blessing, that we say before having the wine,” explained Mr. Melchior. He held up a sparkling glass with a long, thick stem, and the ruby red wine sloshed around in it. “Blessed are you, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who creates the fruit of the vine.”
    After he had said that, Mrs. Melchior passed a plate to him, and he put down the glass for a minute. On the plate was a large loaf of bread—all braided. Then the tour guide looked at Peter again.
    “This is a special Jewish bread,” he explained, “called hallah. It’s braided and made into a big, round hat shape. A crown. It reminds us of the King.” Then he continued with his blessing.
    “Blessed are you, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.”
    Peter was starting to get the idea now about the food. Mrs. Melchior even poured a little splash of wine in small glasses for the two boys. Henrik leaned over and whispered to Peter, “Now comes the good part.” Peter didn’t know why he whispered, but it was turning out to be that kind of meal. Not in a bad way, but definitely different.
    “Well, it wasn’t easy to get,” said Mr. Melchior with a smile, “but I understand Ruth, Mrs. Melchior, found some honey last June, and saved it all this time.” He patted her hand across the table. “Perfect.” Then Henrik’s dad looked over at Peter again. “There is another blessing to ask before we eat these apple slices dipped in honey.” He pointed to a bowl of cut yellow fruit. Peter knew the words by now and was almost following along.
    “Blessed are you, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who creates the fruit of the tree.”
    Peter followed Henrik’s example by taking an apple slice and dipping it into the small dish of honey. Not bad at all. When they finished their apples and licked the honey off their lips, Mr. Melchior cleared his throat again. There would be another blessing, or prayer, or something.
    “May it be your will, O Lord and God of our Fathers,” he recited in his deep voice, “to renew unto us a happy and sweet year.”
    Mrs. Melchior looked out the window just then, and for a moment she seemed far away. “A happy and sweet year,” she repeated softly.
    That said, everyone went on to the rest of the dinner, which was more like a traditional wartime meal. Cabbage, a little fish, some small potatoes. Mr. Melchior was even served a steaming fish head, another Jewish holiday tradition for the head of the household. Peter and Henrik were halfway through their cabbage when Mr. Melchior brought up the pigeon race again.
    “Now, tell me.” He looked up briefly and smiled at his wife; she was spooning another potato onto his plate. “What is all this about the Great Danish Pigeon Race? It’s different from what you boys had been doing this summer?” It seemed to Peter that he asked in an interested sort of way, as if he really wanted to know.
    “Just a little different, Father,” said Henrik, carefully choosing his words. He spoke to his dad almost the same way Peter did to his grandfather, only a little more formally, with a little more respect. His parents were a lot older than Peter’s. “Peter and his sister and I have been training the birds to fly home from farther and farther away, you know.”
    “And I’m not sure I approve anymore,” interrupted his father.
    What? Peter was afraid Henrik’s dad was going to bring up the whole episode down at the boat again, when Henrik broke his arm.
    “It was one thing when you boys were just staying around town, and the summer was quieter,” continued his dad. “But with all these Germans around now, and the way things are going, it’s just not safe anymore. I’ve spoken to Peter’s uncle about this. But,” he paused, thinking for a moment, “go ahead and explain it some more for me.”

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