Happy New Year! and Other Stories by Sholom Aleichem

Author:Sholom Aleichem [Sholom Aleichem]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dover Publications
Published: 1995-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

THE PASSOVER EVE VAGABONDS

1. Kicked out of Paradise

“THANK GOD PURIM’S over and done with. Now we can start planning for Passover.”

That’s what Mama said the morning after Purim as she carefully inspected the four corners of the parlor like a chicken about to lay an egg. There, a few days later, we saw some hay and two boxes, upon which stood a little barrel covered by a coarse, white piece of cloth. Father and I were called into the parlor and warned about three dozen times that I not dare enter that room again, look at it from a distance, or even breathe in the general area. Immediately thereafter, the parlor door was shut, and, with all due respect, we were told to bid a hearty goodbye to the room and not set foot into it until Passover.

From that moment on, the parlor had a magnetic charm for me and I was strongly tempted to peep into that forbidden corner, if even from afar. While munching on my afternoon snack—a piece of bread smeared with chicken fat—I joyfully looked into the bright parlor. There stood the red sofa, made of the same tawny wood used for violins, the three-slegged, semi-circular table, the oval, well cut mirror, and the magnificent, hand-decorated picture hanging on the east wall which faced Jerusalem. It was a work of art which Father had made when still a young man. Oh my, what didn’t appear on it? Bears and lions, wildcats and eagles, birds and ram’s horns, citrons and candelabras, the Passover plate with stars of David on it, leaves and buttons, circles, loops, and an infinite number of curlicues and dots. It was hard to believe that a human hand could have drawn all that. How talented he is, I thought. Father is perfect.

“May the devil not take you! Standing with bread at the Passover door. May you not burn in hell,” Mama shouted, and with two sharp pinching fingers led me by my left ear to Father.

“Go ahead. Take a good look at your son and heir. With bread in his hands, he looked into the parlor where the Passover borscht is.”

Father faked a solemn expression, shook his head, pursed his lips and clucked:

“Tsk, tsk. Off with you, you little brat.”

When Mama turned to go, I noticed a sly little smile on Father’s lips. As Mama faced him again, the serious look returned. He took me by the hand, put me in the adjoining chair, and told me not to look into the parlor again. It was forbidden.

“Not even from far away?” I asked.

But Father didn’t hear me. He had returned to his book, deep in thought and silent study. Again I sneaked up to the parlor and peeked through a crack in the door. Before me was a Paradise of fine things: a set of brand-new crockery, shiny pots, a meat cleaver, a salting board. In addition, two ropes of onions were strung on the wall, adding charm to the room. The parlor was all set for Passover! Passover! Passover!

2.

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