The Orange Tree

by Martin Ganzglass

  “Which I think gets us back to one of the themes of Passover,” Mitch added, redirecting the conversation to the Seder service, before Chris could explain what each verse of the carol referred to. “Oppression and the strong desire of people to be free. If no one objects, we’re now up to part of the Seder where we get to enjoy the meal. Let’s start the meal. We can carry on this discussion if we like. Josh and Amy, can you help carry in the soup?” Ell preceded the kids into the kitchen, filling each bowl with soup and two matzo balls. Amy came out carrying a bowl confidently, followed by Josh who walked more slowly, taking small steps, obviously nervous about spilling the soup. He put a bowl down in front of Joan and whispered in Mitch’s ear, “Dad” he said urgently with a slight irritation in his voice. “I didn’t get to talk about my thing.”

  “Oh, that’s right. How about after the meal just before we drink the third cup of wine? I think it fits in there. Don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” he said, disappointment in his voice because he couldn’t do it right away.

  “It’s not a good time now. People want to eat their soup while it’s hot. You have to know when to make a pitch to an audience. Timing is everything.”

  Josh grinned. “Yeah, dad, you’re right. After the meal and before the wine. Don’t forget now.”

  After the soup, Eleanor served her gefilte fish which elicited effusive compliments from Izzy, who said it reminded him of his mother’s. Aunt Helen, who was one course behind, reminded everyone that chicken soup cured everything and her mother’s chicken soup was the best. The main course of roast lamb, baked carrots and yams, and steamed green beans with almonds followed. It was a good mix of family and friends, Mitch thought, looking in from the kitchen, as he eased the cork out of another bottle of wine.

  “Everybody seems to be enjoying themselves,” he said to Ell as she carried the almost empty lamb platter into the kitchen, bearing a few remaining scraps of end pieces. “So far, so good,” she chirped. “And what can go wrong with dessert? Chocolate and coconut macaroons and poached pears in wine.”

  “Ah, that reminds me. Josh wants to tell everyone his Seder related story. Let’s do that before dessert.”

  Mitch redistributed the Haggadahs. “Ok. We’re up to the third cup of wine, the cup of peace, on page 14. Everyone have wine?” The bottle was passed around to fill up the little silver cups. Judy poured a little in Aunt Helen’s and winked at her brother.

  “Don’t want to return her to the Home schnockered, do we Mitch?”

  “It’s no joke. I didn’t even ask about interactions with her meds.”

  Judy shrugged in reply.

  “Josh, you’re on.”

  Instead of sitting as his sister had done, Josh stood up and spoke in a conversational, confident voice.

  “When we were studying the Civil War last month, one of the battles, I forgot which one, was in April.” He looked over to Izzy for help, who silently mouthed ‘Shiloh.’ “That’s right. It was Shiloh. I got to thinking about how Jewish soldiers celebrated Passover. I mean, they could get eggs and chicken, and probably parsley. But what about wine, and horseradish and matzo, and Haggadahs?” He paused to let the dilemma of Jewish soldiers sink in, out in the wilderness unable to celebrate Passover without their prayer book to guide them. “Well, I Googled it, to satisfy my own curiosity, and of course for extra credit.” Judy and Margie, who were both teachers, laughed. “There was a Jewish community at the time in Cinncinati, Ohio, and they sent a barrel of matzo and several Haggadahs. For wine, the soldiers bought apple cider from a local farmer. They tasted different weeds until they found one which was bitter and that was their horseradish. They couldn’t get the charoset, like we ate tonight to symbolize the mortar the Israelites used to build the pyramids. So guess what they did?”

  “They found a beehive and used honey and apples?” Ell guessed, not knowing where Josh was going.

  “No. Mom. They found a brick and looked at it to remind them of the mortar.” Everyone laughed. “That’s true,” Josh said grinning. “Wait. It gets better. They were pretty smart soldiers. But they were from the city. The bitter herb they had picked was like a hot pepper, so when they ate it, it set their mouths on fire. They had to drink a lot, but the cider they bought was hard. I guess that means it had alcohol, so they got drunk during the Seder.”

  “And then they fought in the battle of Shiloh?” Alan asked.

  “No. Passover was a few days after the battle, I think,” Josh said.

  “On that note,” Mitch said, “it’s very appropriate that we offer up a prayer for peace as we drink the third cup.” There was a chorus of “to peace” and a “well done, Josh” from Izzy.

  They finished the Seder, Amy running to open the door for Elijah, as Mitch observed that the untouched cup on the Seder Plate was for the great prophet and they opened the door to welcome him, as they should to welcome anyone to share the Seder meal with their family. He nodded at Izzy who inclined his head in thanks.

  Mitch explained that Seders have traditionally concluded with the words, “next year in Jerusalem,” but that wasn’t true as far as he and Ell were concerned. “We aren’t hoping to move to Israel and celebrate Passover in Jerusalem, next year. We think of ourselves as Americans. Our religion is Judaism. That’s why our Haggadah concludes with a wish that Jews and Arabs live together in peace in Jerusalem.”

  “This raises an interesting question about assimilation of Jews in the United States and Europe.” Chris said. “In Europe, Jews traditionally have been thought of as a nation within a nation, or in later times, as a race. In the U.S., they were just viewed as another group of immigrants, like the Irish, Germans or Italians. And yet it’s a religion and not a nationality.”

  “In Austria, it depends whether you were speaking of Jews in Vienna or in rural areas,” Mrs. Fessler said. “Until Hitler, of course. Then, everything changed,” she added somberly.

  Mitch glanced at Ell and smiled, his way of saying that he wasn’t going to start an argument about how assimilated Viennese Jews met the same fate as those in the shetls. She didn’t beam at him with appreciation. After their last conversation about his reaction to her mother, she expected him to behave properly. But, he knew from the subtle grin playing at the corners of her mouth, she knew he was restraining himself and was amused by it.

  Chris took a sip of wine before continuing his analysis of assimilation of immigrant groups. Josh, oblivious to the rhythm of the conversation, stood up eagerly and announced in loud voice, “I have a wish for next Passover.” Without waiting for anyone to ask what it was, he enthusiastically announced, “I wish next year that Mr. Lowenstein’s sons, the pilot and the one in the Army, come home to celebrate Passover with him.”

  “What a nice thought,” Judy said. Alan raised his glass to toast the wish coming true but stopped in mid-air. Josh was looking to Izzy for approval. His expression of innocent joy for having said something nice turned to puzzlement. The old man had turned pale, his shoulders slumped and his head shook from side to side, as if willing Josh to take back what he had said. Mitch saw Izzy and Eleanor lock eyes, his showing fear and submission at the same time, his wife’s gaze sympathetic and imploring. Izzy looked up at the ceiling, mumbled something Mitch couldn’t hear and turned toward Josh.

  “I’m sorry, Josh,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I was going to tell you. Just between the two of us. I can’t now. I have to speak in front of everyone and I ask them to forgive me for disturbing their Seder, but you especially, because I have lied to you.”

  Josh sat down confused. The others around the table were embarrassed.

  “I lied to you about my sons, Josh. They’re not in the military. Barry’s not a pilot. He’s an investment manager and lives in New York City. Ted’s not stationed in Japan. He’s a biologist and he’s always out of the country.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I made up they were in the military. I’m lied to you because I didn’t want you to think of me as a w
orthless old man whose own sons didn’t visit him. I was afraid you’d stop talking to me. Josh. This may be my final lesson for you. Lies have a way of catching up with you. It’s better to always tell the truth.”

  Aunt Helen broke the awkward silence. “Ask me. I know it’s awful growing old alone. Remember,” she said, leaning forward and wagging her boney index finger at no one in particular, “two parents cannot take care of forty children, but forty children can take care of two parents. Now, you can understand why I’m an angry old lady.” She clamped her lips shut, signaling she had finished.

  “Well, Aunt Helen,” Judy said, “we’ll just have to find forty children to adopt you.” She patted her aunt’s hand. “In the meantime, it’s just Mitch, Eleanor, Amy and Josh, and me when I can visit.”

  “I have another wish,” Josh said, this time more softly. “I wish that next Passover, Mr. Lowenstein spends it with us, again.”

  His mother blew him a kiss. “Josh, you make me so proud of you.”

  “Well,” Mitch said, “I’m not sure our next Seder will be as dramatic, but we always have good discussions.”

  “It was a wonderful Seder,” Joan said, to accompanying echoes of agreement. There was the usual hubbub as people offered to help clean up, standing around for a little while, saying their thank yous and goodbyes.

  As they were cleaning up in the kitchen, Ell asked Mitch to drive her mother home.

  “I’ll take Izzy and Aunt Helen too and make one trip.”

  “No, Mitch. I think Mother would resent being part of the Nursing Home crowd. Come home after that, I’ll drive Izzy and Aunt Helen and you can stay here with Judy and talk. You haven’t had that much time together and she’s leaving tomorrow.”

  “You have some ulterior motive and I don’t know what it is.” He kissed her, found his mother-in-law’s stylish black spring coat in the closet and grabbed the car keys from the wooden painted knick knack box in the alcove.

  “It was good, as usual,” Helga said, next to him in the front seat as he put the key in the ignition. “Eleanor works so hard preparing the meal. I don’t know how she does it with her job and the children.”

  Mitch was about to respond sarcastically but he held back. Don’t rise to the bait. Pick your fights, he told himself. “Well, we’re a good family,” he said, “and we all help. You came over early, the kids set the table, I carved the lamb. Judy helped Ell cook.

  But, as you know, Helga, Ell is one in a million. She is so organized. She makes a Seder for twelve look easy.”

  His mother-in-law looked pleased. “You know Mitchell, you do your part to help too. It was much different in my house. My husband was not that involved in raising Eleanor. He was a businessman and had an important job.”

  And what am I? Mitch thought to himself. A janitor? But she didn’t mean it that way. He let it pass.

  “I think you know Amy very well. Better than my husband knew Eleanor when she was growing up. That’s why she and I are so close. She always had all of my attention because I devoted myself to her, knowing my husband was busy with his work.”

  Mitch kept quiet. They were almost to 16th Street and her apartment house. Don’t blow it now, he thought.

  “So,” Mrs. Fessler said, nervously picking at some lint on her coat. “Amy has asked me to give her a Star of David for her Bat Mitzvah. Do you think that’s what she really wants? I want to give her something very special. She’s my only grand-daughter, as you know.”

  “Yes, Helga,” he said smiling. “I know Amy’s your only granddaughter, since I’m your only son-in-law.” Helga laughed back.

  “Amy is proud she’s Jewish. I don’t think it’s a passing phase. If you give her a Star of David to wear, she won’t put it away in a drawer in a year.” He paused searching for the right approach. “I can see you at her Bat Mitzvah, putting the Star of David on a chain around her neck. I think she would tell everyone, my grandmother gave me this and she would cherish it. Think of it. She might even give it to her daughter, your great granddaughter someday.”

  “It would be nice to be able to live to see that,” Helga said, wistfully. “My mother lived a long time so it’s not impossible.”

  Mitch pulled into the driveway to her apartment building. Although he usually didn’t do so, he got out of the car, trotted around the back and opened the passenger door for her. She alighted as if he had driven her to the Vienna Opera House for the opening of the season. He felt the moment called for extra gallantry. He offered his arm and escorted her up the frayed green carpeted steps to the glass doors to the lobby and kissed her on both cheeks.

  “Good night, Mitchell. Thank you for your advice. Drive carefully going home.”

  Ell and his sister were drying the silverware in the kitchen. “Everything ok?” Ell asked turning half way from the counter. “Sure. Why not?” he shrugged, giving her the keys. She looked at him quizzically. “What? I was the soul of discretion and a paragon of virtue. You’re mom’s going to tell you tomorrow what a great guy I am. And if you can’t believe your own mother,” he said with a flourish,” who can you believe?”

  “Eleanor already knows what a fine person you are,” Judy said. “Only I know what a rotten little brother you were. A really wicked pest.”

  “Aha. You must tell me those stories about my husband. Maybe it’ll help me understand what he and Josh are up to from time to time.”

  “I’ll get the wheelchair and help you get Aunt Helen into the car. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive Izzy and Aunt Helen?”

  Ell threw the dishtowel at him. “You dry, keep your sister company and I’ll drive. I can always ask the man at the desk to help me with the wheelchair.”

  By the time Ell reached Wisconsin Avenue, no more than five minutes from their house, Aunt Helen was snoring in the backseat.

  “You know, Izzy. You didn’t have to confess in front of everyone. I was trying to tell you that.”

  “I made a promise to you, with God as my witness, never to lie to Josh again. If I didn’t tell him tonight, it would have been another lie. And worse before God. I’m an old man. I should have known making a promise is easy. Keeping it is the difficult part.”

  “You probably taught my son more about honesty tonight than Mitch and I have been able to do for years. He still worships you, you know.”

  “Maybe not as much as before. I’m tarnished in his eyes but it makes for a better relationship. We’ll see when he visits next weekend.”

  Eleanor slowed down for the turn into the driveway. “Josh is coming with us tomorrow night for the Seder at the Home. He’s already asked to sit next to you. Izzy. I know my son. You’re still his surrogate grandfather. No doubt in my mind.”

  “Even with all that went on tonight, it was a wonderful Seder. It was nice of you to invite me.”

  “I hope Amy’s comments about female Rabbis didn’t offend you. I never asked you. Are you Orthodox?”

  “Me?” Izzy chuckled. “My father was an atheist. He rebelled against his parents. They were Orthodox. I probably rebelled against him and became religious, but not too much.”

  “So what did you think of Amy’s comments?

  “She has your fighting spirit and sense of justice. She needs to work on her delivery. Josh. Now, he’s a natural storyteller. If you don’t mind my saying so, Amy is so intense, she’s almost self righteous.”

  Ell nodded in agreement. “I was like that in high school and college. I learned the hard way my freshman year at NYU, you don’t make too many friends that way. Or change anybody’s mind.” She was silent for a moment, remembering a particularly embarrassing exchange with one of her political science professors. God, that was years ago and she still blushed in embarrassment. “It seemed you wanted to say something when Amy was talking about the orange on the Seder plate. Am I wrong?”

  “No, I was going to correct her about the reason for the orange on the Seder plate. That story has a life of its own. But it’s an urban myth. Susan Heschel was the fi
rst one to propose it. She said the orange symbolizes the fruitfulness of the community if gays and lesbians are included.”

  “Really? I’m glad you didn’t point that out. I’m not sure how everyone would have reacted.”

  “Well, you can pass it on to Amy. If she looks up the writings of Susan Heschel, she’ll find out why the orange is on the Seder plate. I like her other reason. To remember Helen fighting for the orange, and to honor her. That was a touching story.”

  “Sometimes, our children amaze us.”

  “You have a nice family, Mrs. Farber. Thanks for letting me be a part of it. You’ve made an old man very happy.”

  Eleanor drove home feeling content, not so much from relief that the Seder had gone smoothly. Or from the wine. But from Izzy’s judgment that somehow, she and Mitch were doing all right with the kids. The last few months had been difficult. Amy was nervous to the point of being terrified of standing up on the bima in front of her peers for her Bat Mitzvah in May. She was stressed out by the extra studying in Hebrew School on top of her regular 7th grade school work, anxious about being invited or not invited to this friend’s party and struggling to find her identity and please her grandmother at the same time. She hoped her mother would overcome her own personal preferences and get Amy a Star of David, which Amy wanted so much from her grandmother.

  Josh, on the other hand, she thought, was maturing. Maybe that was overstating it. At least, he was coming along, she concluded. True, he knew how to irritate his sister, but Ell couldn’t remain mad at him for too long. She deferred to Mitch’s practical perspective on sibling relationships which she lacked, having been an only child. Maybe he wouldn’t think having a sister was so great when Judy told Ell stories of what a rotten brat of a little brother he had been. Whatever pranks he had played on his older sister as a kid, it was clear to Ell that Judy now relied on him for emotional support. Actually, their support, because, as her mother was fond of saying, she and Mitch were a team.