My First Seder: An Evening With Family

Three #2 express trains passed before the #1 local arrived at the platform. I texted Marcy as the minutes ticked away - was I going to be late?! I hate being late! Especially to dinner! "Don't worry!", she replied, "It's crappy out! We understand". But I was still nervous.

I ran out of the train completely turned around (I've never really understood lower Manhattan) but with the help of a bouncer found my way across the West Side Highway and to Rector Place. As I got out of the elevator I was greeted by the adorable Marcy wearing one of her mother's fading, yet lively aprons.

"Thank you so much for having me, I am SO excited!", I said trying to pull my disheveled self together.

We walked down the hallway and entered a cozy three room apartment where the aroma (which was plowing it's way down the hallway) made it hard for me to concentrate on anything but the meal we were about to consume. Roasted chicken, matzo ball soup, vegetables, and gravy were all being prepared by the generous hostess (with the mostess), Ruthie Brafman (a gorgeous shoe model in her youth). She took a brief moment from reorganizing her humble space to greet me - I was filled with love immediately.

Marcy walked me around the apartment introducing me to her husband, son and son's friend. I couldn't help but ask what the numerous heirlooms were that adorned the walls from top to bottom and she did so obligingly.


As we took our seats, the elegant place settings and dainty wine glasses transported me back to the 30's or 40's. Shaun read the holiday's meaning to us while Michael and Marcy choreographed the Seder plate accordingly. Then something almost magical happened. Marcy requested the prayers be read in Hebrew. Shaun read them and it somehow made me feel really connected even though I did not recognize the language.


Next we had a little wine and the matzo ball soup. "The balls are too hard", Ruthie proclaimed, but I had to disagree. It was perfect! You could taste the exchange of this recipe. Being passed down from her mother's mother to her mother to her... and to Marcy. Decades of a full proof soup that doesn't require anything extra or anything subtracted.

Roasted chicken, mashed potato pie (an experiment gone right!), and veggies joined the table that was already holding three generations. As we feasted, stories of wonderful relatives and friends from the past and present were shared. After all, this was a meal about giving thanks.

Around 9pm, once dessert and tea were cleaned up, I thought it be best for me to start my journey back to Brooklyn. Unwillingly I had to leave for the evening but the warmth I experienced followed me home and tucked me into bed.