“I’m sorry about my mother,” Pessie told him later that night, after the kids were in bed. “It… it wasn’t fair. And in front of everyone… I’m sorry”
Seder night was Zeidy Monosov’s opportunity to shine, but the kids didn’t seem to notice his singing. They saw the performance as an afikomen-stealing opportunity.
With Zeidy’s eyes tightly shut as he attempted a coloratura passage, Miri and Nechama crept under the table toward him, together with their cousins, Sara, Danny, and Tali. They knew their grandfather’s hiding places. The bag was either stuffed into his pillowcase or tucked into his kittel.
Their whispers were drowned by Zeidy’s trilling voice. Deena fidgeted. She’d always thought her father’s singing was okay — she still didn’t think it was bad — but… she cringed — Zev… the way Zev used to go on about the “famous Chazzan Monosov…”
The kids pounced on Deena’s father. Mr. Monosov stopped singing abruptly. His eyes widened and he grabbed his pillow protectively. A spirited tug of war followed, five kids against one pantomiming grandfather, until Elisheva’s daughter Sara triumphantly waved the afikomen bag in the air.
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