“Did I ever tell you about the esrogim and the weddings?” he asks
A scent can take you back to the past like nothing else can. I stand in the succah, hold up the esrog, inhale. I’m a kid of seven again, frolicking in the basement of my grandparents’ apartment building, where my grandfather sold esrogim.
I recall a semi-dark space, crates of esrogim, and those ubiquitous hairy nests they came in. Piles of passul lulavim to fan ourselves with. My big, strong grandfather deftly weaving koisheklach, examining esrogim behind double-bridged glasses.
What did I know then — a kid in a citrus-scented candy store — of dollars and cents? Of shipping costs, profit margins, gross and net?
To me, this was where the magic happened, where Succos happened….
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