Amy poked her head into the kitchen. “Aunt Judy? Did Aunt Helen ever play the violin?”
“Not that I know of, sweetie. Why do you ask?”
Amy related the incident at the Ellington concert at the Home. Judy shook her head. “I never heard from mom that Aunt Helen played any instrument. She used to listen to a lot of records at our house. You know what records are, don’t you Amy,” Judy asked teasingly.
Amy furrowed her brow and pretended to be perturbed. “I know there was something before cassette tapes but I’m not sure what it was. Didn’t they write on stone tablets back then?”
Judy hugged her. “Your grandfather had such a marvellous collection of records. Operettas, mostly Gilbert and Sullivan. He used to prance up and down in our small kitchen, drying the dishes after dinner and singing from The Pirates of Penzance and H.M.S. Pinafore. Remember Mitch?”
“Vaguely,” he said, recalling instead the times his father had taken him fishing off Montauk Point. They had mostly caught flounder and sand sharks. He remembered bringing home the freshly cleaned flounder filets and his mother broiling them that night.
Judy grabbed a carrot from the package in front of Ell, held it up like a sword and launched into “For I am A Pirate King,” her voice both sweet and forceful. She always had a good singing voice, Mitch thought. He had gotten the short end of the talent genes in that department. He could barely carry a tune. He should be more sensitive to Judy’s emotional needs. She was having such a good time. They needed to invite her up more often.
Tuesday, Ell worked only half a day and Mitch came home a little before four. Ell, as usual had everything under control. She and Judy had made the matzoh balls, the leg of lamb had just gone into the oven and a dozen boiled and peeled eggs sat in a bowl on the counter. Judy was cutting up chicken for the soup. Ell was kneading cooked fish, shredded carrots and onions together to make gefilte fish, from a recipe she had used ever since he could remember. He kissed her on the back of her neck and backed away in feigned fright as she threatened him with a handful of fish mixture.
“Take the large white tablecloth out of the cabinet,” she ordered. “Then open up the table. The kids are going to set it. I’ve already cleaned the silver. It’s on the kitchen counter behind me. Put it on the table for Amy and Josh. You need to find the silver wine cups and the one for Elijah. And also the Passover plate and small dishes for the herbs, egg, horse radish and lamb shank. Bring the four chairs down from Amy and Josh’s rooms and set them around the table so the kids know where the places are. If you could leave in about 10 minutes and pick up my mother that would be a big help. Then, you have to get Helen and Izzy and be back here by 5:45 the latest. The others are due here by 6:00, and you know Alan and Joan always come early since they only live across the street.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Permission to kiss my sister hello first. Ma’am.”
“Permission granted,” Ell replied. “And when you’re upstairs, ask Josh to walk Oliver. Right now. I’ve already asked him twice.”
By the time he returned with Helga, the house smelled delicious. The aromas of roast lamb, oregano and garlic, chicken soup, yams and carrots, greeted them in the entry alcove, assaulting their nostrils as they walked into the dining room and engulfed them in the kitchen.
“Boy, does that smell good,” Mitch said. “Too bad we have to go through the service to eat,” he said, winking at Judy.
Amy and Josh were setting the table and, either reminded beforehand by Ell, or because they remembered on their own how to behave, stopped in mid place setting and ran to hug their grandmother. He left Mrs. Fessler in the kitchen, chatting with Ell and his sister, found twelve copies of their xeroxed Haggadah, hid the piece of matzo between the Works of Marc Chagall and the Universal World Atlas, on the top bookshelf in the living room for the children to hunt for later, and left to pick up Aunt Helen and Izzy.
Izzy was in the lobby, in his usual chair, eager to leave. Mitch hurried upstairs, apprehensive about his Aunt’s state of readiness. He found her, sitting in her chair by the window, dressed in a black wool skirt, clean but perhaps too warm for April, a silver colored blouse and a purple scarf tied around her waist as a belt. Amina was brushing Helen’s hair. Her blue coat was lying on the bed.
“I helped her to pick out her clothes,” she said. “So she would look nice for the Passover.”
“Amina, you’re terrific,” he said, bending down to kiss Helen. “You’re terrific too, Aunt Helen.” He helped her into the wheelchair.
“Need a ride to the Metro?” he asked Amina.
“No thank you, Mr. Farber. I am not quite ready to go yet,” she said, thinking of her meeting, at the end of her shift, with Ms. Bernstein. If the Home could accommodate her, fine. If not, she would do agency work. Getting her degree and license as an RN was more important to her than this full time job. It would be best to find out now. She would miss Helen and the Home. Well, she thought, it would certainly end whatever relationship Maynard thought was going on. She rode down with them in the elevator, waved goodbye and caught Molly coming out her office door. How stupid of me, Amina thought. Ms. Bernstein also has a Passover seder to go to.
“I don’t have much time Amina,” Molly said. ‘I’m already running late. Can I give you a ride to the Metro? We can talk in my car.”
Amina had already signed out upstairs, intending to leave from Molly’s office. She followed her to the parking lot.
“Have you heard from Josephine? I know the two of you were friends,” Molly asked.
Josephine had called Amina on Sunday. Thomas had passed away in the late afternoon on Saturday, in a room full of sunlight, crowded with his relatives, helping him to go peacefully. Josephine said she hadn’t cried that night or the next day, because she had cried herself out that last week in January when they had first arrived in Negril. Thomas had been right, she said. Dying with your family around made it easier, not just for him, but for Josephine. She told Amina there was so much love in that house for her and Thomas, it gave her the strength to live. She wanted to remain in Negril, do some nursing work down there, be with the family. Maybe she would come back to the United States in a year or so. Maybe not. She didn’t know.
“Yes, Ms. Bernstein,” Amina replied.
“Well, she called me today. Her husband died over the weekend. She’s decided not to come back for a while. But you probably know that. It’s too bad. About her husband of course. I meant that she won’t be working at the Home. She had a way with many of the residents. Like you do.” She paused, waiting for Amina to say something. “And what do you want to talk to me about? I hope it’s not about your leaving too.”
Amina explained her intention to take the courses at NOVA for the Associate Degree in Nursing so she could become an RN. She wouldn’t be starting until the fall, but she wanted some assurance that her work schedule could be flexible to accommodate her classes. Molly was not only encouraging but enthusiastic about Amina’s plans. Amina walked into the Metro with Ms. Bernstein’s words swirling in her head- to have Amina with her talent and compassion as an RN would be a tremendous asset for the Home. She was relieved. She pictured herself at the nurses station where Maynard sat now, dispensing medicines and advice, with time to still be able to visit Helen.
Mitch drove home, wheeled Aunt Helen inside and helped her on to the sofa. Judy came over and sat with their aunt, holding her hand.
He heard them, as he folded up the wheel chair and put it out of the way in the rear alcove, talking about Seders when Aunt Helen had been a young girl. His sister was really good with their aunt. He’d have to tell her that. It would help boost her self confidence. He left Izzy in Josh’s care, opened three bottles of wine and placed a Haggadah on each chair. Within a few minutes, Alan and Joan came across the street, followed quickly by Chris and Margie.
And then, miraculously, everyone was seated, Eleanor recited the blessing as she lit the candles, and Mitch asked everyone to open their Hagadahs. Au
nt Helen seemed confused by the commotion and new faces. She was sitting next to Judy. They shared one Haggadah so Helen could follow along.
“In our house, we take turns reading from the Haggadah. Just going around the table. That way you don’t have to listen to me as the Leader for the whole night.” Mitch paused, looking around. The table looked festive. The light from the two candlesticks, the ones Aunt Helen had brought down, reflected warmly in the small silver goblets. “We also have a tradition of asking everyone to feel free to discuss issues raised by the story of the Israelites flight from slavery in Egypt to freedom.
There’s no obligation of course. Amy and Josh have a few ideas they want to discuss later. So, let’s begin our Seder, which by the way, means ‘order.’ I’ll start the reading.” They went around the table in turn, Ell, then Helga, Chris and Margie, Alan and Joan, with Izzy ending with the reading about how the Jews, fleeing Egypt in haste, baked unleavened bread, the bread of affliction and poverty.
“I have something to relate,” Amy said. “I think it fits here. A few months ago,” she began speaking quickly, “I interviewed my great Aunt Helen about her growing up in Poland and she mentioned the ‘blood libel.’” She looked at Aunt Helen who was dipping her right index finger in her silver wine cup and licking the wine off. “I didn’t know what that was so I researched it. In Poland, Christians believed that Jews needed blood from a Christian child to make matzo for Passover. So if children disappeared around Passover, like maybe they ran away from their homes or something, the Christians blamed the Jews. They burned their Synagogues and killed them. I think it’s terrible that this holiday celebrating freedom and our duty as Jews to help the oppressed became a reason for murdering my ancestors.” She had rushed through her presentation as if she wanted to get it over with, rather than to communicate her ideas. Mitch had been working with her on her Bat Mitzvah speech but couldn’t get her to slow down.
“That kind of thinking stems from ignorance and greed,” Chris said. Mitch knew Chris was Chair of Sessions in the Presbyterian Church. He had a calm air of certainty and authority. When he spoke it was more like a friend with knowledge he wanted to share rather than a professor, lecturing from a position of supposed superiority. “There are people like that who belong to every religion,” Chris continued. “Christianity was founded as a moral religion. Religious leaders have an obligation to teach morality and social justice. If they don’t and people commit crimes in their religion’s name, that doesn’t make Christianity bad.”
“That’s a good point,” Joan said. “We’re Catholic. I’ll confess we’re at odds with some of the teachings and more comfortable emphasizing the social justice aspects of Christ’s message.”
“I notice you used the word “confess” Chris interrupted. “That’s just highlighting another difference between Catholics and Presbyterians.”
Joan laughed. “Touche. But to get back to the point Amy made. I’ve never heard of the blood libel before. I can’t believe American Catholics ever thought that human blood was used in making matzo. Not in this country. Maybe it was just in the Middle Ages.”
“I don’t think so,” Amy said. “It happened when my great grandmother was a little girl. So that would be when?” She looked to her parents for help.
Mitch did some quick calculations, knowing his mother had emigrated, as an infant, in the early 1920s. “Figure sometime in the 1880s to 1890s or so. Somewhere around then.”
There was a pause in the conversation as they absorbed the fact that the blood libel had been around until recently. “When I was growing up in New York City,” Izzy said, “we lived near a Catholic parochial school. We used to have fights with the boys from St. Tolentines, I think it was called. The Catholic kids called us ‘Christ killers.’ We, of course, called them bad names as well. It was just the natural way boys acted. I never thought it was religiously motivated.”
“You’re probably right,” Alan said. “Catholicism certainly doesn’t teach that the Jews killed Christ. Good Pope John put that to rest once and for all. In fact, one could argue theologically that since God sent His only son to be sacrificed for mankind, Judas’ betrayal and the crucifixion were part of God’s plan for the salvation of all mankind. Blaming the Jews is tantamount to blaming God for Jesus’ death. It was all preordained.”
“This is an all time first,” Mitch laughed. “We’ve never had a discussion on Christian theology at our Seder.”
“Well,” Alan said chuckling, “if we Christians must accept that the Last Supper was a Passover Seder, and it was, because Jesus and his disciples were Jewish, then Jews should accept a little Catholic theology at their modern Seder. Fair is fair.”
“Why don’t we continue with the Seder and pick up on this during dinner,” Ell suggested, mindful that the lamb was roasting in the oven and she didn’t want it overcooked. “I think it’s my mother’s turn to read. We’re up to the four questions, mother. And Josh, you’re the youngest so you get to answer.”
Helga asked in English, why is this night different than all other nights and Josh replied in Hebrew.
This night is different in four ways:
It differs in that on all other nights we eat bread or matzo, while on this night we eat only matzo;
It differs in that on all other nights we eat vegetables and herbs of all kinds, while on this night we must eat bitter herbs;
It differs in that on all other nights we do not dip vegetables even once, while on this night we dip them twice; and
It differs in that on all other nights we eat in an upright or reclining position, while on this night we recline at the table.”
“We don’t really lie down,” Josh pointing to the crowded table, “but the idea is we can take our time eating because we’re no longer slaves.”
“Well done, Josh,” Izzy said. “Your Hebrew is terrific and your pronunciation is great. Mrs. Fessler, you should be very proud of your grandson.”
“I am. And of my grand-daughter too,” she said nodding at Amy across the table. “She will be Bat Mitzvahed this May. In my day, it wasn’t allowed. Not that my family was so religious,” she added quickly.
They continued in turn, each person reading one paragraph of the story of Passover, starting with Joseph arriving in Egypt, interpreting the Pharoah’s dreams and rising to prominence, a new Pharoah’s decree that every baby boy born to the Israelites be put to death, the birth of Moses, his being found in the bull rushes and raised in the Pharoah’s palace, God’s command from the burning bush for Moses to deliver My people out of Egypt and the visitation of the ten plagues before the Pharoah finally relented. They sang a rousing version of “Let My People Go,” making up for being off key with their enthusiastic and loud rendition of the chorus.
By chance, it was Ell’s turn to read the part about the three major Passover symbols, the lamb shank, the matzo and the bitter herbs. She picked up each from the Passover plate in front of her as she read and everyone ate matzo, then matzo with bitter herbs followed by hard boiled eggs dipped in salt water.
Eleanor picked up the orange on the plate. “Although this is not traditional at all, Amy thought we should include it and she’ll tell you why.”
“Oh goody, an orange,” Aunt Helen said, putting down what was left of her egg. Amy reached across the table, took the orange from her mother and gave it to her aunt.
“The orange means two things to me,” Amy said. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, looking down at her plate. “Like my grandmother said, young girls couldn’t even be Bat Mitzvahed when she was growing up. I read that when women tried to become Rabbis, many men were against the idea. They said that a woman belongs in a synagogue as a Rabbi, like an orange belongs on the Seder plate. Now, like there are lots of women Rabbis. I think the orange reminds us that women had to fight to be Rabbis. And they’re just as good as men Rabbis, maybe even better because it’s a known fact that girls study harder than boys.”
Ell noticed that Izzy was about to in
terrupt but changed his mind. He probably had been brought up orthodox and was offended by Amy’s comments. She would try to make amends later. She didn’t want him feeling uncomfortable in her home.
“The other thing the orange means to me, is very personal and family like.” She looked at Aunt Helen. “When I interviewed my great aunt, like I said before, she told me about coming over with her mother and her little sister, Lillian, who was my grandmother. My other grandmother,” she added hastily, smiling at Mrs. Fessler. “But it was strange, because she, Aunt Helen, I mean, told me the story as if she was speaking as her mother, my great grandmother.” Amy giggled nervously. “I know this sounds confusing,” she said looking down at her plate again. She related the story of the her great grandmother, Helen and Lillian, traveling in the cramped hold of a ship, of Lillian getting sick and Helen fighting for the boy for the orange so her little sister would get better. “That’s why,” she concluded, “I wanted an orange on our Seder plate. To honor my great Aunt Helen.”
“I never heard that story before,” Judy said, wiping her eyes with her napkin. She leaned over and kissed Aunt Helen on the top of her head. Helen looked up, smiled and continued rolling the orange in her hands. “My mom never said anything about it. You’ve uncovered a family treasure, Amy.”
No one said anything for a few moments, which was unusual at their Seders. “That’s very moving,” Izzy said quietly. “All those immigrant women, who crossed the ocean alone, with their infant children, to begin a new life here. They were very courageous.”
“Think of what motivated them to take those risks,” Chris said. “It was usually religious persecution in the old world, and the promise of religious freedom in the new one.” Mitch knew, from past conversations with Chris that he loved history, read voraciously and retained everything. “It didn’t happen only to Jews of course. The pilgrims fled religious persecution. French Huguenots fled persecution by Catholics. Catholics left England when their religion was forced underground by Cromwell,” warming to his topic. “I’ll bet you didn’t know that the carol, The Twelve Days of Christmas, originated as a secret Catholic song to teach children the catechism, when Catholicism was outlawed in Britain.”
The Orange Tree Page 29
