table…!?”
“He didn’t mean it, Morris! It’s nothing! Don’t make a tzimmes.
Go, go finish!” A chorus of voices urged him.
“Yeah, Morris. Sorry. You know, I don’t mean anything by it,” Dave began, already regretting opening his mouth.
“Aach, please. It’s family! Forgotten already,” another relative chimed in.
“The afikomen,” Ruth said quietly. “Morris. The children.”
A friendly moan went around the table. The older cousins smirked and Sara suddenly remembered the game. One piece of matzah was hidden and until it was found, the Seder could not continue. She should have searched for it earlier and then any toy she wanted would have been hers as ransom. But now it was too late.
“It’s mine!” Jesse announced, holding the prize high above his head. Shouts of adult laughter and childish disappointment went up. “I want a…” he surveyed the faces around him, calculating, “a fishing rod…and a record player…”
“Oh, you hear that? A real businessman!” a cousin mocked. Jesse reddened, then smiled. “You want to finish this thing,”
he waved it tantalizingly, “and go to sleep?”
“Yeah. Better give him what he wants,” Aunt Harriet agreed. “It’s late already.”
Morris nodded. “All right. A fishing rod. After yonti?. ” “I’ll take care of it, Morris,” Dave offered.
Morris pointedly ignored him.
“Time for Elijah,” someone said, and an older cousin went to open the door. Everyone stood up silently staring at the large silver goblet in the middle of the table. A slight breeze made the candles flicker.
“There’s less,” Aunt Harriet whispered. “Look, it’s been tasted!” “Yes,” Ruth agreed. “A drop less.”
“Who drank?” Sara tugged at her mother’s skirt.
“Elijah the Prophet. He comes Seder night in a flaming chariot to announce that finally the Messiah will come. Next year we will all meet in Jerusalem.”
A chorus of “God Willing” and “Amen” rang out, along with laughter.
Were they making fun of her? Was it like Santa Claus who never came? Sara wondered. She saw the wine glisten in the cup and reached out to drink from the same place where the angel’s flaming lips had rested. It was cold, and a little damp. But the wine went down her throat like fire.
Chapter eight
Dad?” Jesse whispered loudly, hoping his father was already awake, but not at all guilty about getting him out of bed if he wasn’t. A promise—even if no one remembered it but himself—was still a promise. He listened for the soft shuffle of feet or a low moan and blankets rustling, but heard only his parents’ syncopated breathing ?owing without interruption from behind the closed bedroom door.
Damn! Now what?
He hesitated, his hand fidgeting with the doorknob, but pulled away. They would be lying there together. It had never bothered him before, but lately he had developed a squeamish delicacy about his parents’ bodies, lowering his eyes if his mother’s loose bathrobe accidentally parted, feeling queasy and unnatural coming upon his father after a shower. Only recently had he realized his mother was actually a woman with breasts and… (No! That was as far as it went). He fought equally hard against the vision of his father’s bulge straining against his pajamas, frightened and ashamed of these strange new visions, this unwanted knowledge.
So, he stood there, unmoving, paralyzed by the unseen vision of what lay on the other side of his parents’ bedroom door, not knowing what to do next, until the solution suddenly dawned on him.
“Sara! Get up!” He shook her rudely, until she swam up from the depths of sleep, her eyelids fluttering, struggling to dive back under. “Come on! For once in your life, do me a favor!”
“What?” she whimpered.
He shoved his hand quickly over her mouth. “Shhh. Just be quiet, will you? Nobody is doing nothing to you, OK?”
She pried the bony lock from her lips. Recognizing it was
“He didn’t mean it, Morris! It’s nothing! Don’t make a tzimmes.
Go, go finish!” A chorus of voices urged him.
“Yeah, Morris. Sorry. You know, I don’t mean anything by it,” Dave began, already regretting opening his mouth.
“Aach, please. It’s family! Forgotten already,” another relative chimed in.
“The afikomen,” Ruth said quietly. “Morris. The children.”
A friendly moan went around the table. The older cousins smirked and Sara suddenly remembered the game. One piece of matzah was hidden and until it was found, the Seder could not continue. She should have searched for it earlier and then any toy she wanted would have been hers as ransom. But now it was too late.
“It’s mine!” Jesse announced, holding the prize high above his head. Shouts of adult laughter and childish disappointment went up. “I want a…” he surveyed the faces around him, calculating, “a fishing rod…and a record player…”
“Oh, you hear that? A real businessman!” a cousin mocked. Jesse reddened, then smiled. “You want to finish this thing,”
he waved it tantalizingly, “and go to sleep?”
“Yeah. Better give him what he wants,” Aunt Harriet agreed. “It’s late already.”
Morris nodded. “All right. A fishing rod. After yonti?. ” “I’ll take care of it, Morris,” Dave offered.
Morris pointedly ignored him.
“Time for Elijah,” someone said, and an older cousin went to open the door. Everyone stood up silently staring at the large silver goblet in the middle of the table. A slight breeze made the candles flicker.
“There’s less,” Aunt Harriet whispered. “Look, it’s been tasted!” “Yes,” Ruth agreed. “A drop less.”
“Who drank?” Sara tugged at her mother’s skirt.
“Elijah the Prophet. He comes Seder night in a flaming chariot to announce that finally the Messiah will come. Next year we will all meet in Jerusalem.”
A chorus of “God Willing” and “Amen” rang out, along with laughter.
Were they making fun of her? Was it like Santa Claus who never came? Sara wondered. She saw the wine glisten in the cup and reached out to drink from the same place where the angel’s flaming lips had rested. It was cold, and a little damp. But the wine went down her throat like fire.
Chapter eight
Dad?” Jesse whispered loudly, hoping his father was already awake, but not at all guilty about getting him out of bed if he wasn’t. A promise—even if no one remembered it but himself—was still a promise. He listened for the soft shuffle of feet or a low moan and blankets rustling, but heard only his parents’ syncopated breathing ?owing without interruption from behind the closed bedroom door.
Damn! Now what?
He hesitated, his hand fidgeting with the doorknob, but pulled away. They would be lying there together. It had never bothered him before, but lately he had developed a squeamish delicacy about his parents’ bodies, lowering his eyes if his mother’s loose bathrobe accidentally parted, feeling queasy and unnatural coming upon his father after a shower. Only recently had he realized his mother was actually a woman with breasts and… (No! That was as far as it went). He fought equally hard against the vision of his father’s bulge straining against his pajamas, frightened and ashamed of these strange new visions, this unwanted knowledge.
So, he stood there, unmoving, paralyzed by the unseen vision of what lay on the other side of his parents’ bedroom door, not knowing what to do next, until the solution suddenly dawned on him.
“Sara! Get up!” He shook her rudely, until she swam up from the depths of sleep, her eyelids fluttering, struggling to dive back under. “Come on! For once in your life, do me a favor!”
“What?” she whimpered.
He shoved his hand quickly over her mouth. “Shhh. Just be quiet, will you? Nobody is doing nothing to you, OK?”
She pried the bony lock from her lips. Recognizing it was
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