Come Pour the Wine Read Online Free PDF Page A

spoken an old lady hobbled into the room with the aid of a cane. The resemblance to Fayge was unmistakable. The old lady was Fayge’s mother, Rivke. Her shoulders were bent, her face was etched with deep furrows. Her hands were arthritic and her legs swollen. Fayge hurried over to help her, saying, “You couldn’t have waited, momma? I was just going to get you.”
    “When I need you, I’ll call you. In the meantime, on my two legs I can still stand.”
    Fayge and her mother spoke in Yiddish, but Janet could tell the old woman resented being fussed over. Still, as though Fayge hadn’t heard, she helped her to a straight-backed wooden chair.
    “Janet, this is my mother.”
    Janet was surprised when the old lady responded in broken English, “You brought the cake? It was very good.”
    Before Janet could answer, the doorbell rang and Fayge went quickly down the hall. Janet could hear profuse greetings from the doorway and when Fayge reappeared it was with her two uncles, Itzik and Yussel. This was Fayge’s entire family; the rest had perished in the Holocaust.
    After the introductions were made, Fayge asked everyone to be seated and she began the ritual of Shabbes which had been performed for centuries. Putting a white lace shawl over her head, she struck a match and lit her candles. They gleamed like jewels in the evening shadows. Fayge put her hands over her eyes and swayed back and forth, silently reciting the prayer. Janet felt herself responding. It was somehow more personal than being in a cathedral. When the prayers were concluded Fayge took off the lace mantle, folded it carefully, then cut the challah, handing each member a piece to be eaten after the motzi, the prayer led by Uncle Itzik, who, being the oldest, was given the honor. Holding the bread in his hand, he blessed it and in Hebrew recited the benediction. “Blessed art Thou, Oh Lord our God, King of the Universe, who brings forth bread from the earth.”
    The others bit into the bread, and Janet followed their lead. The wine was blessed by the younger brother, Yussel, and then Fayge poured it into the small glasses. The red horseradish was passed and the meal began.
    As Fayge was removing the fish plates Janet said, “Please let me help you, Mrs. Kowalski.”
    “You call me Fayge. And if you feel like, it would be my pleasure.”
    Janet helped Fayge clear the table and then set out the next course—bowls of yellow chicken soup, each containing three succulent matzoh balls. When she and Fayge were seated again, the conversation began, all of it in Yiddish. Itzik inquired how his sister Rivke’s rheumatism was. She answered him with a shrug. “How should it be?”
    The question having been answered with a question, Yussel asked Fayge, who was swallowing her last matzoh ball, “Where did you find the little shiksa?”
    “She came to the store last Sunday.”
    “So every shiksa who comes into the store you invite home? What, you’re so rich you can afford to invite everybody home for dinner?”
    “Never mind. She’s a very lonesome little girl. Goyim get lonesome too. And try to speak English so she shouldn’t feel left out.” Fayge glanced at Janet, taking in the untouched bowl of soup in front of her. “You don’t like it?”
    Janet had been so caught up in all that was going on that she hadn’t even tried the soup, but she said. “It’s very good.”
    “How would you know? You didn’t even taste it.”
    “I’m sorry …” She took a large mouthful, then another, and found that she enjoyed it very much indeed.
    The rest of the meal passed with little conversation, everyone turning their attention to the steaming platter of chicken, the bowl of tsimmes and the compote of stewed fruit that Janet helped Fayge to serve. After the dessert of tea, sponge cake and Janet’s fresh fruit was eaten, Fayge passed a bottle of seltzer water and they all helped themselves.
    Now the questioning began, and Yussel’s frank curiosity about