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Shula's kitchen |
“It’s all in the way you look at a situation,”
thought Claudia as she carefully ironed a Shabbos blouse for her daughter.
“I can use the vacation,” was another platitude that had,
in the past, worked like a charm. Today, however, it rang hollow.
The pantry was sparkling and held only the most basic necessities. A can
of tuna. New bag of salt and box of unopened sugar cubes. One box of matzah,
a can of tomato paste and a jar of honey. She’d be the only one
home.
Claudia felt resentment. After all, it was Yehudah’s treat, this
weeklong hotel vacation. Why did she have to empty her bank account to
purchase holiday clothing that, in most likelihood, the children wouldn’t
wear again? After giving in to each “please”, “I promise”
and “I’ll DIE if I don’t have it,” there was nothing
left for her. Another holiday without a beautiful, spirit-lifting dress.
Some days she believed that happiness only hinged on the promise of a
new dress.
Once a year her late mother-in-law was given a new dress. Two days before
Passover, Asher Bezalel would order the children to the living room and
hand his wife a clumsily wrapped package. Blushing, she’d tear it
open with beet-stained fingers and hold up the synthetic, floral-patterned
garment. The only demonstration of physical affection the children were
allowed to witness was the tentative kiss Shula gave Asher’s bearded
cheek after receiving her dress.
Claudia later assumed the responsibility of dressing her mother-in-law.
While the ceremony remained essentially the same, the package now contained
many items including panty hose, two or three ensembles, perfume and a
frost-toned lipstick. Claudia spent many hours shopping before arriving
with gift-laden bags for the entire extended mishpacha.
As honored guests, the master bedroom was set-aside for them, leaving
Shula and Asher to sleep on the threadbare pullout couch in the living
room. In early years, this disturbed Claudia greatly. Later on, though,
she began to understand that, culturally, her in-laws could not do it
differently. Refusing the only solid bed would be unforgivably rude. Two
sons shared a tiny second bedroom and any visiting relatives happily slept
on rubber pallets on the porch.
The early-morning sounds of the neighborhood jarred Claudia awake. Tiptoeing
over suitcases and sleeping children, she crept toward the kitchen. She
wanted a quiet cup of café nes and the chance to look into the
bubbling pots.
On the stove was a rich chelo, bursting with vegetables, chicken, herbs
and spices. Alongside the steaming stew was a pan of parsley-laced meatballs
called gundi and another skillet with golden-crusted Persian rice, each
kernel discernable and glistening. This food would feed the clan throughout
the day while the women worked.
After the birth of Claudia and Yehudah’s seven children,
the cost of bringing Shula and Asher to America for a month was less prohibitive.
They had grown accustomed to their spacious Long Island home. A fortnight
in a cramped, Tel-Aviv slum apartment had lost its appeal.
Claudia’s kashered marble counters were crowded with bowls of beef
cubes, salted zucchini-chunks, soaking white rice and mounds of chopped
parsley, onion, coriander and dill. Piled high in the corner were small
bags filed with turmeric, cumin and cinnamon purchased the week before
in Jerusalem’s Machne Yehudah market. Shelling peas and chopping
garlic were left to the Columbian housekeeper.
The menu was always the same and everyone loved it! Afghani beef stew
called raimeh, date-and-walnut-charoset and grilled eggplant salad. Simple,
familiar and sumptuous! The point of the meal was, after all, to garner
enough strength to continue the long narrative. Until everyone, regardless
of age, understood that they, personally, were redeemed from the jaws
of the oppressor.
Divorced, Claudia now attended Seders in the homes of friends where the
sumptuous menus were elegant, abundant and different from the simple fare
that had emerged from Shula’s Pesach kitchen.
Shutting the iron, she was struck with an idea. What if she instituted
a new tradition? There were still two days until they departed for the
Dead Sea resort and she could start her own ritual – The Have a
Great Time With Your Dad Banquet! She’d make it all, set the table
with her unused Passover finery and, the night before they left she’d
serve everything the way it was meant to be. (Of course, she wouldn’t
serve the matzah because it was forbidden to eat it until the actual Seder.)
Hastily, Claudia reached into the vegetable bin and took out two heavy
onions. Even before she cut into the golden skins, her eyes had begun
to water.
Humming softly to herself, she began chopping.
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