Reminisces Passover With My Family
Passover as a child was a happy break from my usual life with my family. We would take the ride to Aunt Rose and Uncle Aaron's house. Once in awhile my Dad drove us in one of his milk trucks. Sitting on a milk case, in the back as we rattled along. The trip seemed to go on but it was about 35 minutes through Brooklyn streets. Aunt Rose's kitchen was bustling with my mother and my cousins slipping in and out.
I am small. Everyone is busy. I remember the door and I descend the stairs into the basement. It is hard to see. There is a dusty smell. At the bottom there are large pipes and different tools. A vice in one corner. A small window in the bathroom. A container on the sink. It's open. It is gritty. LAVA SOAP.
A big barrel by the stairs as I hear the voices and the their steps. Upstairs Lenny, my two year older brother is running through with Paul our fun cousin. Aunt Rose comes to me. She has a chicken sandwich. Its rye bread with an extra piece of fat. It is so good. I tear through living room, people everywhere My cousin Stevie and I play outside.
We're hushed inside for dinner. It is a long table. All is quiet. My brother begins reading the Passover four questions. Uncle Aaron has hidden the symbolic matzoh. The silver dollar reward is for whoever finds the matzoh. I spot the bulge in the tablecloth. I want the reward. I hear laughter as I disrupt the table.
After dinner my brother, my partner and I tackle Uncle Aaron. He is our compatriot. Lucky for me I had Uncle Aaron. In his dark basement I would continually explore. The mystery of pipes, his tools, and his casks of fermenting pickles and wine. A particular favorite was his brandy soaked cherries. I was five and Uncle Aaron paid attention to me.
Uncle Aaron would call us to play. Can you remove the silver dollar between his fingers? Lenny and I would try to wrench it free. We crawled over our foe. Two hands were not enough. Even with my brother holding on, no luck. He was big Uncle Aaron, a plumber. The struggle went on. Wrenching our bodies over his body, twisting everyway. Uncle Aaron just composed and finally he would let go.
Can you tell how much I loved my Uncle Aaron. A man who held me in his arms without saying a word.
All seems normal. Beneath the activity of family lies many secrets that are forgotten in the rush of togetherness. Afterwards we all go back to our typical patterns. I would continue to be ignored. I would find myself alone after school, and then in my bed. Boredom would overtake me and I would force myself to go out and play. My friends filled in for my missing family.
Puberty was fun with a few rubs with girls. There was one special girl that was overwhelming and unhappily I ran from intimacy.The secrets, isolation, misconceptions with everyone leads to wondering, addictions and if lucky Orgone Therapy.
My mother was speaking Yiddish on the phone. I wasn't sure why. It annoyed me. I wanted to understand. I was maybe seven. Soon the family was off to Aunt Rose and Uncle Aaron's, for Passover celebration. I would sit next to my Mother resting my head on her huge arms. I was still the baby. Later my brother told me how that annoyed him as he had sat in the back. Brooklyn streets were filled with trees and houses. The trip took about thirty minutes but seemed too long.
Aunt Rose's house was a single structure with plenty of room to play. Our cousins were already there talking loudly. Aunt Rose's stocking's were rolled down. There was a kind seriousness in her presence. I could feel her; she was alert to my little self. I was given the run of their home. I tore through the living room, through Cousin Frankie's ophthalmologist's office and into Brooklyn streets. I was the youngest and my mother, a difficult refugee from an old European country, got her way through a strong will, and the threat of my lurking, powerful father. She was a large woman. She paid little attention to me. As an adult I asked her why? "Your fathers job is to take care of you." Thankfully my father was born here and had good qualities. He would, every night, scratch my back which felt so perfect.
Passover was a big table with Uncle Aaron holding court. He was not loud, it was just his good will that reigned. At other times when my mother was in the hospital he took my brother and me to synagogue.
My favorite uncle was Uncle Aaron. He was big. He was a plumber. He smoked, he drank and he ate big.He had a fabulous car, Old Smoky, a 1950's Dodge. My Uncle Aaron let me press the starter button. He was religious. He took me to Schule and never had to say a word except there was a a peaceful satisfaction that I could relate to even at five maybe seven,. He let me hang with him in his basement where all the tools were, and the big pipes, and barrels of pickles and fermenting cherries that we would share. Though I never became a plumber I wished I had. My uncle died carrying a bathtub by himself up till the sixth floor. His presence and faith inhabit me.
"When the heart weeps for what it has lost, the spirit laughs at what has gained."- Sufi aphorism
