By DAVID IZRAELEVITZ
Los Alamos
Family gatherings at the Ellis household were a symphony of activity, conversation, and food, with my mother-in-law, Faith, serving as both conductor and principal violinist. Like any esteemed musician, she had her favorite pieces. She was famous for her pepper-infused boiled fish balls, or gefilte fish, a dish as much a part of the Passover season as a recital of Handel’s Messiah is to Christmas observance.
Having grown up without the benefit of extended family nearby, I found those multigenerational gatherings of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins both exciting and overwhelming. Every year, I had to be reminded of which side of the family this or that cousin belonged to, with waves of Kopolows and Kusmers visiting for the afternoon before going off to their other Passover Seder dinner or staying to populate the ping-pong table set out in the basement. Intrigued by this large family, I would try to keep straight my wife’s family tree, but like a prodigious tree that has produced so much fruit that it has overwhelmed the gardener’s loppers, I would find multiple relationship strands crossing over the close-knit, intermarried Jewish community in Saint Louis.
My wife has inherited her mother’s recipes, culinary skills, and work ethic, but our children are now scattered across the country, so it is unlikely that we will be able to reconstruct one of those large family dinners. Terry and I could not remember the last time we had all of them together for Passover. Now that there are grandchildren in the mix, multiple spring break schedules, work commitments, and crazy airline schedules, I feel that the likelihood of getting together for a family meal will have to wait for the next wedding.
The next best thing is to visit one of them so we can at least have part of the family together. Our oldest, Joseph, has hosted us in Boulder for several years. This Passover, we decided to stay home, and for the first time in some years, we laid out our dinner table with all the accoutrements of the Seder meal. Buffed is the central Seder plate that I bought in Israel 45 years ago. Pressed is the matzah cover that my mother embroidered for us when we were just married, anointed by the wine stains it accumulated during some long-ago mishap. At the ready is a vintage 1910’s prayer book Terry inherited from her great-uncle. A silver cup we once shared our first drink together as husband and wife, is now filled with kosher wine and reserved for Elijah’s mysterious visit to every Seder table.
But central to it all, suffused with the memories of those bustling Passover meals, warm, happy, and noisy, is Faith’s china dinnerware. Every time a plate chimes or a glass clinks, I will remember that ping-pong table, Faith scurrying between the kitchen and the basement, bringing second helpings of gefilte fish appetizer while admonishing us to leave room for the main meal.
Passover is a celebration of both tradition and a story of freedom, the ritual observance of the ancient Israelites’ release from bondage in Egypt. Modern scholars have raised doubts, and some have even concluded decisively that the biblical Exodus is not a historical fact as related in the Scriptures, but rather a narrative transmitted over centuries that has become part of the glue that keeps the Jewish people together.
That is good enough for me. I will still ponder the meaning of those bonds that both bind and release us, of tradition and freedom, whether we are ever really free, or whether some bondage to tradition is what fortifies us in times of joy or tragedy; the value of those ancient recipes passed down for how to celebrate or strengthen in special times.
To me, tradition is like that beautiful china set that Faith passed on to us, one that we seek to touch at special times. Like that china, it is a gift carefully wrapped and stored so we can bring it out at times of need or desire. Once we have taken part in its comfort and joy, let us make sure to rewrap it carefully, so that it remains for us the next time we seek to connect with those people and those memories we care so much about.