“Harry, please, don’t curse at the seder table,” said Mrs. Morgenstern, smiling pathetically at the judge and his wife.
“Perfectly natural, nothing to get excited about,” the judge said, craning his neck and watching the flailing Neville in the other room with some alarm.
“Neville’s exceptionally aggressive,” his father said. “It’s the normal pattern of the only child, especially the insecure male.”
“It’s not that at all,” his mother shouted angrily. She was squatting, trying to hold Neville still while she straightened his clothing. “It’s all this primitive magic and symbolism and Hebrew he’s being exposed to. It upsets his nerves. He’s been brought up rationally, and he’s at a stage where all this poppycock disturbs him deeply!”
Morris Sapersteen, fumbling at the open suitcase on his lap, glanced around at Mr. and Mrs. Morgenstern. “All right, Millie, there are other people here besides us, who think a little differently—”
“Oh, it’s all right. He’s got to be exposed to all these folkways sooner or later, I guess, but we might have waited a couple of years, that’s all.”
The Family meantime, with all the excitement, had become a little livelier. There was chatter around the table, instead of stiff gloom. Harry Morgenstern, Susan’s brawny father, sneaked himself a couple of drinks of the Palestinian plum brandy to calm his nerves. He immediately became very red in the face, and began to pound the table with his fists. “What the hell, people, is this a seder or a funeral? Come on, put some life into it! The judge here is going to think he’s in an old folks’ home!” And he started to bawl a song, and several of the Family joined in.
Judge Ehrmann waved at him and laughed. “Don’t worry about me. I’m thoroughly enjoying myself, I assure you.”
“This is nothing, Your Honor,” Harry shouted. “We warm up a little, we’ll show you what a seder is all about! Come on, Dora, come on, Leon—sing!”
Mr. Morgenstern said, “That’s the spirit, Harry, that’s what we need. You sound like the Uncle.” He beat time on a glass with a fork, and after a moment broke into the song himself. Everybody sang. Mr. Morgenstern returned to the Hebrew chanting with more zest and heart, and the Family’s responses became stronger, too.
Noel turned to Marjorie, his eyes lively. “Well, I begin to get the idea.”
“Oh, this is nothing,” Marjorie said. Her spirits were rising. “This is a ghost of what it used to be. We used to have Samson-Aaron.”
“I can imagine,” Noel said. “I’m really beginning to understand him, a little bit—and you too, for that matter.”
The seder continued to pick up momentum and gaiety, and soon it was more or less in the old swing. Harry the butcher showed some promise of leadership, bellowing and pounding with energy equal to the Uncle’s, if with less charm and flavor. Marjorie felt the familiar old warmth enveloping her. The sweet grape taste of the wine woke childhood recollections. She began to care less what Noel and his parents were thinking, and she joined in the songs with abandon. She noticed that both Noel and his father had taken to reading the English translations in their Hagadas, watching the others to see when pages were turned. Noel looked to her at one point and said, “Do you understand all this Hebrew?”
“Well, fortunately, yes, we’ve gone over and over it for so many years—otherwise my Hebrew is pretty rusty—”
Noel said, “The English is absolutely atrocious, at least this translation furnished by the matzo company is. But I do get a dim idea of what it’s all about. It has terrific charm and pathos, actually—and power, too. I rather envy you.”
The ritual had arrived at another song, and as the family burst into it with gusto, Judge Ehrmann glanced up from the book, his high bald brow wrinkled. “Why, I believe I know that one,” he said to Uncle Shmulka. He hummed a few bars with the others, and Shmulka nodded with delight. “Well!” the judge said. “I guess that’s one that percolated through to the German Jews. My mother used to hum it to me when I was a baby. I remember it distinctly, though I haven’t heard it in fifty years.” Waving a stiff extended finger high in the air, Judge Ehrmann joined in the song. The effect on the Family was tremendous. When the song ended Harry bawled, “Three cheers for the Judge!” And the Family cheered, and gave him a round of applause. He bowed here and there with pleased dignity, his long face flushed, his gray fringe of hair a little disordered, a pulse throbbing in his neck.
A crash of crockery from the living room now indicated that Neville Sapersteen was emerging from his doldrums. Marjorie looked over her shoulder, and saw Mildred Sapersteen on her hands and knees, picking up the pieces. Mildred caught her look and said angrily, “Well, there’s just so much I can do. Susan is impossible. She keeps calling Neville ‘Neville the Devil.’ No child with any brains would stand for that—”
Harry Morgenstern shouted into the living room, “Susan, you stop that, do you hear? No more calling Neville ‘Neville the Devil.’ Understand me?”
“Yes, Daddy,” piped Susan, and added, “Just one last time, all right, Daddy? Neville the Devil!”
Now that it was officially forbidden, all the children took up the cry and bayed rhythmically, “Ne-ville the De-vil! Ne-ville the De-vil! Ne-ville the De-vil!”
Neville left his chair and catapulted into the dining room, yelling, “Daddy, I want my airplanes! Give me my airplanes!”
Morris jumped up, forgetting that the suitcase was open on his lap; the suitcase slipped, he clutched at it and upset it, and the forty-seven airplanes went clanking and tinkling all over the floor under the table. There was a moment of silence after the crash; even Neville shut up, staring pop-eyed at his father.
“All right,” Mildred Sapersteen said in an icy tone. “Nice going, Morris. Now pick them all up.”
“No, no,” screeched Neville, “I don’t want them picked up. Leave them there. I’ve got to make a parade!” He dived under the table and could be heard crawling, and sliding airplanes along the floor.
“What’s he going to make?” Mrs. Morgenstern said nervously to Mildred. “Get him out from under the table, please.”
“A parade,” Mildred said. “He won’t harm anything. He just lines them up three abreast. In perfect formation.”
“Mildred dear,” said Mrs. Morgenstern, “not under the table, please, with people’s feet and everything—”
Morris said, “Aunt Rose, if you want some peace and quiet, believe me this is the best idea. A parade absolutely absorbs him. You won’t know he’s there. Take my word for it. Just ignore him and—”
At that moment Judge Ehrmann leaped to his feet with an incredibly loud snarl, upsetting his chair, clutching at his leg. “Aaarh! MY GOD!”
“My parade! You kicked my parade!” Neville squealed from under the table.
“Good heavens,” the judge choked, “the little monster has really bitten my ankle to the bone!” He pulled up his trouser leg, peering anxiously at his thin bluish shank.
Morris Sapersteen plunged under the table and pulled Neville out, thrashing and howling. “My airplanes! My parade! I want my parade!”
The whole table was in an uproar. The judge said to Morris, “Good Lord, man, forgive me for being blunt, but what that child needs is the whipping of his life. He needs it desperately.”
“Morris!” shrilled Mildred, glaring at the judge. “Let’s go home.”
“Take it easy, Mildred, for God’s sake,” Morris said.
“We’re going home, I say! Pick up the airplanes!”
“I’ve got him, Millie,” Morris panted, still struggling with Neville, as with a large live salmon.
Uncle Shmulka said, “Mildred, dolling, don’t go home, it’s a seder. You didn’t eat nothing yet.” He held out his arms to Neville. “Come to Grandpa, sveetheart.” Neville with astonishing readiness stopped writhing, slid from his father’s arms into little Shmulka’s lap, and nestled. The judge edged slightly away. “There, Mildred, everything’s fine,” Shmulka said. “He’ll sit vit me an
d be good. For Grandpa, he’s alvays good.”
“Oh no, I’m not going to have that again.” Mildred’s mouth was a black line, her brows were pulled in a scowl. “That lulling is all wrong, and that grandfather-fixation business is really sick, and I’m not having it in my family. Get the airplanes, Morris, and let’s go.” She folded her arms and leaned in the doorway. The children behind her were still.
Morris looked around with a smile, his eyes big and sad. “Sorry, folks, I think it’s best, maybe.” He dropped on his hands and knees, and knocked and shuffled under the table.
Mildred was standing almost directly behind Marjorie. Impulsively getting out of her chair, Marjorie put her arm around Mildred’s waist. “Millie, you’re right to be upset. But I think you’ll be more upset, and Morris certainly will be, if you walk out now. It’s only another hour—” she faltered. Mildred Sapersteen’s eyes, curiously flat and shiny as they looked into hers, horrified her.
Mildred said, “Marjorie dear, you’re very sweet and pretty, and you’ve got everything in the world, I know, but I’ve just got a son, and I’ve got to do what’s best for him.”
Harry said to Marjorie, “Give up. She’s just a goddamned pill. She’s enjoying this.”
Mildred whirled, glared at Harry, then looked around at the table. “Well! Thank God we live in a time when you can pick and choose your own culture. Nobody can say I haven’t tried to cooperate, but this mumbo-jumbo is impossible, and Neville senses it, and I’ve always said so. If I have anything to say, we’ll wind up joining the Unitarian Church. They have all the answers, anyway.” There was a horrid silence. “All right, Morris. Get the baby and let’s go.”
Uncle Shmulka said in a small tired voice, “He fell asleep.” Neville indeed, the storm center of the wrangle, was curled in a ball in his grandfather’s lap, eyes closed, breathing peacefully.
The last thing Morris said after fumbling goodbyes, as he carried the slumbering boy out of the room, was, “Papa, she didn’t mean that about the church. We’re not joining any church.”
“I know, Morris, I know you’re not. She’s a good girl, she’s upset. Be vell,” said Uncle Shmulka.
As Morris trudged out of sight one of the children called out half-heartedly, “Neville the Devil.”
Mrs. Morgenstern said to the Ehrmanns, “I don’t know what you must think of us.”
Judge Ehrmann smiled, and his voice was deep and soothing. “You should see our family get-togethers, Rose. When blood doesn’t flow, it’s considered dull. Now I know you’ve got a big happy family.”
He had not used her first name before. Mrs. Morgenstern glowed, and the drawn countenances all around the table relaxed. Harry Morgenstern said, “By God, Judge, you’re right. We do have a big happy family. There’s one of those in every family, and to hell with her. Come on, Aunt Rose, we’re through with the Hagada, aren’t we? Where’s the eats?”
It was a heavy delicious feast: chopped chicken liver, stuffed fish, fat beet soup, matzo balls, chicken fricassee, potato pancakes, fried chicken and fried steaks. Judge Ehrmann went at the food with startling enthusiasm, saying there was nothing in the world that he loved like Jewish cooking. The relatives, who had been fearing that they would have to eat daintily in the judge’s presence, fell to joyously. Soon everybody was very merry except Aunt Dvosha, who sat nibbling at a platter of dry chopped-up carrots, lettuce, tomatoes, raw potatoes, and apples. She had recently given up cooked vegetables, on the grounds that vitamins were destroyed by heat. As she looked around at seventeen people stuffing themselves with vast quantities of fried meat, her face became long and gloomy, and she grumbled to herself, and to whoever would listen to her, about stomach linings, amino acids, protein poisoning, and sudden death.
The judge began glancing at his watch when the dessert came. After finishing his second cup of tea, he deliberately removed his skullcap, folded it on top of his napkin, and cleared his throat. The gesture and the single sound were enough to make all the guests stop eating and drinking, and turn their faces toward him.
“My dear Rose and Arnold, Mrs. Ehrmann and I certainly regret that we have to leave this warm and lovely family circle, and these beautiful ceremonies, and this marvelous food, and go to a dull political dinner, the kind of thing I have to do almost every night in the week, but I can’t—”
“It’s perfectly all right, Judge,” Mrs. Morgenstern said, not quite realizing that this was a preamble rather than conversation.
The judge rolled over her smoothly with a smile, “—but I can’t, I say, leave this sumptuous, and may I say sacred, table without a word of appreciation.” Noel slumped. His eyes dulled, and his face was so morose that Marjorie was afraid others would notice. But all eyes were on the judge. “Come what may tonight,” Judge Ehrmann said, “I’ve eaten Rose Morgenstern’s food. And I’m even more grateful for the spiritual food I’ve received tonight. Mrs. Ehrmann and I aren’t religious people in any formal sense, I’m afraid, but I trust in all our actions we’ve always showed ourselves good Jews at heart. You see, we’re both descended from the old German families who have pretty well dropped all that. Sitting here tonight, I asked myself, were my grandfathers really so wise? Twentieth-century psychology has some very complimentary things to say, you know, about the power of symbol and ceremony over the conduct of men. And I wonder whether it isn’t going to turn out that these old-time rabbis knew best. The marvelous warmth and intimacy of your ceremonies tonight! Even the little family quarrel only made things more lively. It gave the evening—well, tang. I was going to say bite, but I’d better not.” He paused skillfully for the laugh. “The little Hagada, with its awkward English and quaint old woodcuts, has been a revelation to me. I’ve suddenly realized, all over again, that I’m part of a tradition and culture that go back four thousand years. I’ve realized that it was we Jews, after all, with the immortal story of the Exodus from Egypt, who gave the world the concept of the holiness of freedom—”
“Oh lawks a mercy me,” Noel muttered.
“Shut up,” Marjorie whispered angrily.
“But somehow,” the judge said, “your seder has done more than even that for me. Somehow I’ve almost seen the Exodus come alive tonight. While you’ve chanted the Hebrew, which regrettably I don’t understand, I’ve closed my eyes and seen the great hordes of Israel, with the majestic gray-bearded giant, Moses, at their head, marching forth from the granite gates of Rameses into desert sands by the light of the full moon….” Judge Ehrmann proceeded in this vein for perhaps ten minutes, drawing a vivid picture of the Exodus and then the revelation on Sinai. The relatives sat spellbound. Marjorie, for all of Noel’s sarcastic mutterings, was thrilled and amazed. Noel had described his father as a ridiculous windbag; but actually, though his language was flowery and his manner magisterial, the judge had eloquence and humor. Describing the Israelites heaping their ornaments before Aaron for the making of the golden calf, he said, “Earrings, finger rings, ankle rings, nose rings, gold, gold, in a clinking, tumbling, mounting pile! Just picture it! They stripped themselves bare! They gave away their last treasures for this folly, this golden calf, these impoverished Israelites with the light of Sinai still on their faces!—And to this day, my friends, a Jew, no matter how poor, will always dig up ten dollars for a pinochle game.” The relatives roared, and the older men nudged each other and winked. The judge sat quietly, waiting for the laugh to die, his eyes alert, his face serious, the pulse in his neck throbbing, and Marjorie was forcibly struck by his resemblance to his son. Noel, too, never laughed at his own jokes, but sat solemnly, timing his pauses to the laughter of his hearers. The deep-set clever blue eyes were identical in the two men, now that the judge’s were roused into vigor. The gap of age, and Noel’s smooth handsomeness and mass of blond hair, could not hide the fact that he was, after all, his father’s son.
And as Noel sat sunk low in his chair, staring at a wine stain on the tablecloth, and slowly crumbling a hill of matzo crumbs over it while his father
talked, Marjorie could see him sitting so at his father’s table from perhaps his thirteenth year onward, sullenly enduring eclipse. One thing was obvious: at a table where Judge Ehrmann dominated, there were no other attractions.
When he rose to go, after finishing his talk with, “—and now goodbye, God bless you, and happy Pesakh,” everybody at the table stood, crowding toward him, offering their hands, chorusing compliments. He had a handshake and a word for everybody. He remembered which children belonged to which parents, and mentioned them by name in making his farewells, a feat which stunned all with delight. Mr. and Mrs. Morgenstern accompanied the Ehrmanns to the foyer, and several of the guests followed, still exchanging jokes with the judge. Noel’s mother, a richly dressed small wraith of a woman, with makeup a little too pink, stopped to kiss Noel on the forehead, and then she kissed Marjorie. “You have a lovely family, Marjorie dear, really lovely. You’re a girl to be envied. Good night. I wish we could stay.”
Marjorie said, when she was gone, “I think your mother’s a darling. And your father’s charming, too. Why did you paint him to me as such an idiot?”
He glanced briefly at her with a dip of the head, and a smile that was not pleasant. “Did you believe any of that speech, by some chance?”
“I thought it was moving, I don’t care what you say.”
“Really? Just remember, dear, he’s a politician, and your house is in his district. When will this thing be over? Can I take this off?” He reached for the skullcap.