by Sherri Blum (Wading River, NY)
My parents were both born in Brooklyn. They each came from strong Jewish families, and because my parents took lots of home movies I was able to get a glimpse into their past. On these 8mm tapes I watched scenes from my parents’ wedding, which showcased their one-bedroom apartment, and, in addition, scenes of family Passover Seders.
All the relatives were dressed up for the occasion. Men in their suits, ties and hats; women in their finest dresses adorned with broaches and pearls. The movies were silent so I had to interpret their facial expressions as I watched people laughing and kids running around. There was plenty of smiling and waving at the camera. I could almost read their lips as they read the Haggadah and sang “Dayenu,” which brought a warm and loving feeling that made me feel connected to those who have passed on.
The seders that I personally remember took place ten years after the time when I watched the older videos. My relatives on my father’s side would gather at my grandparents’ apartment in Brooklyn. This included my father’s two brothers, their wives and kids (my cousins!). The building was built during World War Two. When you walked in the front door of the apartment building, you needed to be “buzzed” in.
Dressed in my fanciest dress and patent leather Mary Janes, I arrived with my parents and my two older brothers at my grandparents’ Brooklyn apartment and felt transported back to the 1930’s as I entered what felt like a large ballroom. I was immediately struck by the sight of the black-and-white Art Deco tiled floor, the cement walls, and the high ceilings.
The best part of walking into the lobby was the old elevator. There was an older African-American gentleman, small in stature with a kind face and a gentle voice named Bill, who would open the elevator door and allow us to pile in. The elevator door had a small, diamond-shaped window. If I stood on my tippy toes, I could see the elevator climbing past each floor. It was the start of an exciting evening for me. The thought of seeing all my cousins, the laughter, the matzoh balls, my uncles singing off key—it was all about to begin!
Dinner was always delicious and thankfully predictable. You’d find my grandmother dressed in a housecoat with an older Russian woman who she’d pay for the night to help clean. The woman never spoke to us. She stayed by the sink and continuously washed dishes, silverware, and pots and pans. We tried talking to her, but I don’t think she spoke much English. She would nod and smile.
The apartment was small, but a perfect size for my grandparents. The kitchen came complete with a white enamel Hoosier cabinet and a very small round table with four small wooden chairs. The living room was right off the kitchen. My grandmother had her couches covered in plastic. There was a black piano that took up a good part of the room. Oddly enough, neither one of them played.
For Passover, the living room was set up with multiple folding tables lined up next to one another. The tables were adorned with my grandmother’s vintage white tablecloths, which were mildly stained with grape juice and wine from past Seders. Of course, the kid’s table came complete with wine glasses filled with Welch’s grape juice. We weren’t old enough for the Manischewitz just yet. But, boy, we felt so grown up with our “real” glasses. The table was set with matching place settings using my grandmother’s white and gold china. Unfortunately, there were not enough matching wine glasses, but that was ok. We made do.
Upon entering the apartment, you’d find a delicious platter of chopped liver and crackers to help tide you over until the start of the Seder. Stacked next to the platter was a pile of Haggadot for everyone to take for the readings. In addition, my grandmother’s matzah cover was proudly displayed, and, after the day was over, would be carefully and reverently stored until next year.
The kitchen was very small and full of the smells of the Passover dinner, and, like a clown car at the circus, people would pile in one-by-one to take their turn sampling Grandmother’s famous matzo balls, which sat in a large stock pot filled with broth and an endless supply of matzo balls, while she stood off in a small corner of the kitchen, lovingly and proudly watching her family enjoy all the hard work she’d put in. She had cooked for weeks before the holiday and froze whatever she could to save time.
The Mah Nishtanah served as a way to engage all of us, both adults and kids. Although it was my father and my uncles who would do the singing, the tradition of asking the questions was given to the kids who were old enough to read. To this day, I remember the pride I felt when my brother would answer the question “Why is this night different than all other nights?” And although I was very young at the time, I can still feel the weight of the answer. I knew there was something very special in being a young Jewish girl and being a part of a group of people who endured hardships and triumphs. It was a humbling experience.
During dinner, I felt so grown up “sipping my wine,” but the traditions during the Seder were a lot of fun, too, because they only happened once a year. The small china plates, which had two pieces of gefilte fish, would be passed around and, of course, there were the two traditional bottles of Gold’s horseradish. (I would always choose the red one.) From a kid’s perspective, the first part of the Seder may have taken a while but doing it each year instilled the lesson of patience.
Towards the end of the seder meal, my grandfather would play a game with us kids called “find the matzoh.” If you won, you’d get a $5.00 bill. I knew where it was every year because he would hide it in the same place. The piano bench! I’m not sure if that was him forgetting or if I was his favorite and he wanted me to win.
After eating my share of chocolate matzoh and macaroons, it was time for the kids to have fun! As younger children, after dinner, we would congregate outside of the apartment in the hallway and run up and down the stairs.
Thanks to the holiday, I got to see my cousins every year without fail. Ordinarily, I would see my cousins at a family party, but it was only a few times a year at most, so seeing them was very exciting.
It’s so funny looking back, how an old hallway and a bunch of kids provided memories that I would forever remember with so much fondness.
Sherri Blum lives in Wading River, NY and enjoys writing, antiquing, baking and animal rescue volunteering.
The Jewish Writing Project 