We’re about to eat when Babby says, “Uh-uh, not so fast”
The thing about older brothers is that one second they’re doing something totally gross, like licking mayonnaise off all ten of their fingers, and the next minute, they don hats and jackets and become bnei Torah that you actually respect. It’s confusing.
I think this as I watch Benny tie his kittel and Yehuda stack his Haggadohs, yes that’s plural, and Aharon plump the pillow on Ma’s chair. They all look so respectable, who would’ve thought that a mere 24 hours ago, the lot of them were finishing the contents of Ma’s chometz with gusto, heaping hamantaschen on top of blintzes and dousing the whole concoction in ice cream and chocolate syrup?
Yech. I shudder at the memory.
But as we all settle down at the Seder table, I can’t help feeling proud of the whole crazy bunch. Even though I hardly get to hear myself think most days, there’s something so special about being part of a large family. My gaze travels from Zeidy, who is busy fussing with Babby’s chair, to Daddy, his head already buried in his Haggadah, to Ma, who is bustling in from the kitchen with bowls of karpas. I find the matzah place card someone must have spent painstaking hours on, and am pleased to see that I’m between Chemia and Goldie.
Since I’m usually tucked in between Ma and Babby, this is a very refreshing turn of events.
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