Friday, April 19, 2019

The Passover Seder at the House of a Hundred Grandmothers: Fewer people are here than last year. Some are with family (made easier by the holiday landing on the Sabbath this time), but fewer people live at the House now. There's a natural attrition and few are moving in, perhaps drawn away to the newer, glossier houses that are opening in the area. I sit at the head table with my family, who lead the ceremony. For some reason, only two tables have full seder plates, so I have the task of going from table to table with the bitter herbs and charoset (there's no good English word for charoset) in the moment that they're needed. While we eat, I talk with an old family friend, who had been my nieces' teacher some thirty years ago. I speak my halting Hebrew. She speaks simply, telling me of her arrival here in the 1950s. She knew no Hebrew then. The first words that she learned were "Patience. All will be well." Most people leave before we finish eating, walking off or being wheeled away by their caregivers. Exactly three men remain for the prologue to the Grace after Meals that requires at least three. The third man leaves when that is done. Four of us finish the seder together. I walk home, brandishing my audio recorder. Last year, I had heard families singing the traditional songs as I passed their houses. This year, I don't hear them, recording instead the relative silence, with footsteps, traffic signals, dogs, distant televisions, and occasional cars, of a typical city Sabbath night.