Forty years ago, two days after Pesach ended in Israel, the day after it was over in Arizona where I was living, and forty-nine days before my wedding, I broke my arm. It is amazing how things can change in just a matter of seconds. First, I was standing in line at the kosher bakery eagerly asking for bread and other baked goodies. Then, I needed to write a check for my delicious smelling purchases. Not knowing how to spell the name of the bakery I walked backwards into the parking lot to check its sign. Instead of seeing the sign I fell backwards, hard. I caught my fall with my left hand and immediately knew something was not right.
Friday, April 11, 2014
Years ago I found the following story in a women’s magazine, Redbook, Ladies’ Home Journal, or Good Housekeeping. Charmed with the tale, I clipped it and packed it away with my Pesach things to come out and be reread year after year.
Unfortunately, I never found another work of fiction by Joan Koehler. Recently I tried, unsuccessfully, to learn about her life on the internet. If anyone does have any information about her I would be happy to receive it.
In the meantime, please enjoy this story and accept my warm wishes for a happy holiday.
The Passover Guest
by Joan Koehler
Spring had come to Vislovitz. Under the pale sunlight the last sooty lumps of snow melted into puddles. But just looking at the calendar was enough to make any Jewish housewife faint-April already-and only a few days till Passover. Even the rich women who wore satins and pearls on the Sabbath were down on their hands and knees scrubbing.
Friday, April 4, 2014
As the month of Nissan begins my thoughts turn to Seders past. So many years I have carefully set the Seder table with a stiff, white tablecloth, sparkling wines glasses just waiting for their wine, stacks of three matzos covered with the hand-made, embroidered cloths, and time-worn haggadot next to each place. The Seder always begins with a surge of excitement and anticipation. Once it ends, though, there is little to resemble to the beginning either physically or spiritually. The tablecloth is no longer white, rather stained red, green, and brown from wine lettuce, and chorosis. Matza crumbs adorn the table, the chairs, and the once shining floor. The children who have stayed awake are tired and irritable and the adults are not much better. When I stumble off to bed I can only hope that despite the mess and exhaustion we have managed to add precious memories, ideals, and attitudes to remember throughout the coming year.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
I killed my daughter-in-law. I didn't mean to and it wasn't because I didn't like her. I loved her. We were never one of those mother and daughter-in-law cliches. In fact, whenever I listened to Megillah Rut I always thought my relationship with Bracha was very similar to the one Naomi had with Rut. I guess, like they say in the stories, I should begin at the beginning.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Perhaps I should be embarrassed to admit it but I was one of those goody-goody students, the kind likely to be a teacher’s pet. I liked learning and since I had no brothers or sisters I liked the socializing in school. All through grammar school I had an integral place in my class of thirty students. Junior high school was a rude awakening for me in many ways. Since a number of grammar schools fed into the junior high we became a class of over four hundred. Of course, we never learned together in one classroom but every hour had us moving from one room to another. None of us moved uniformly and each hour we had a whole new group of classmates and a different teacher. Between bells I hurried from science class to sport, from sport to social studies, from social studies to art or music, from art or music to math and from math to English. It was in English I met my Waterloo.
Monday, March 17, 2014
After having made Pesach thirty-seven times and never once being late for Bedikat Chometz, I think I can say with full confidence that I am somewhat of an expert on Pesach preparations. It would be well worth your while to read my pointers.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
When I was a teenager the rabbi at our Reform temple said something in his pre-Purim talk that I have never forgotten. He stated that one of his colleagues always told over the Purim story with a slight twist to the ending. This other rabbi’s conclusion had Mordechai and Haman making up, sitting under a tree together, and becoming the best of friends.