Damn, how could I forget it? Zip is going to be furious. Everything she’s taken care of, and I forget the matzoth. And it’s almost sundown. Well, I’ll grab a box and hopefully they’ll have the express checkout working.

Moses Cohen’s mind was racing, but that was nothing new. “Occupational hazard,” he always rationalized. “Lawyers do a lot of thinking.” Maybe it was all that thinking that made him absentminded. It seemed like things were always last minute.

But the matzoth for the Seder, how the devil did I forget the matzoth? And Zip’s parents; they know I’m not observant, but…

He walked as quickly as he could towards the back of the grocery, where the ethnic foods were shelved, where he was sure there would be a Passover display.

I won’t tell her father it’s from the grocery. He’d make a stink. Just like him. Every rule something to yell about. Like he’s fooling me. Some people. If we lived back then, he’d be one of the Pharisees. Yeah, I can see him now.

 Even in his stress, Moses smiled at the thought of his father-in-law cloaked in priestly robes.

Shit. One box, one box left.

He reached for it. At the same moment the blonde woman reached for it, too. They stood for a moment in a tableau.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “This seems to—“

“Be the last box,” Moses finished for her. Another moment of silence.

He continued. “Tonight’s the first night, and I need the matzoth for the Seder.”

 “I understand, but we need it, too.”

“Really, you don’t look Jewish.” It was a silly thing to say. What Moses was really thinking was that she didn’t look wealthy enough to be shopping in this part of town. That was true, her ill-fitting clothes were so threadbare that Zip wouldn’t have worn them to clean the house let alone be seen in public.

 “I’m sorry,” he stammered; “that was a stupid…”

 “No, actually you’re right. I’m not, we’re not Jewish. Our friends, Abe and Sarah. Every year they’d invite us for dinner. Sarah would always say, “It’s nothing big, Mary. Just friends having dinner.”

 “We’d eat chicken, and she make some of that sweet corrosit stuff.”

 “Charoset,” Moses corrected.

“That’s it, charoset. And of course there was matzoth. And we’d read a bit of that book—“

“The haggadah.” He supplied the word for her.

 “Yes. That one. We’d read a little. Maybe sing a song. Nothing much, but it was us, good friends. This last year, Abe died; and Sarah, well she went to live with their daughter Merriam, outside Orlando. What Sarah will do in Disney World--?” But that’s where she is.

 “So, Joseph—that’s my husband—he said we should do something like to remember. So I figured if I came over to this part of town I might find some good matzoth. I mean, I don’t know the difference; good, bad: it all tastes like cardboard.”

 Moses laughed. Meanwhile his mind was working overtime. “I have an idea,” he said. “Why don’t you come to our Seder? It’s just us and my wife’s parents. It would be good to have company. Maybe my father-in-law can explain some of the fine points; he loves to do that. Thinks of himself as an expert. Always wants to teach somebody.”

 “That would be lovely, but are you sure?”

 “Yes, yes, I am.”

 Zip won’t like it. She’ll try to tell me there isn’t enough food. That will be the day. She’s cooked enough for an army. And it will get Dad off my back for the evening.

“Well, that would be nice. I’m sure Joe would love it. But…there is one thing.”

 “What’s that? I’m sure we can solve it, whatev…”

 “Our son. He’s thirteen, and we’d have…”

 “Bring him. By all means, bring the boy. I’m sure he’ll learn something.”

 “That’s wonderful. Thank you. Jesus is a good boy; he loves to meet people. I’m sure your father-in-law will enjoy discussing religion with him.”

 

A short story by Kenneth Weene