The only way to describe Grandma’s house in Brooklyn is by wonderful aromas. There’s her chicken soup warming on the stove, the egg noodles and kreplach – all made by hand, the gefilte fish she ground up from whole carp and pike and then poached, the challah still steamy and warm from the oven. And then there is the noise – the chatter of all my aunts, uncles, and cousins. The house is Bridgeport is so quiet, except when Rikki-Tikki-Tavi barks or Mommy plays the piano. Here it’s non-stop talking and laughing. There was some crying too as everyone hugged Daddy and was so glad to see him. Everyone hugged me too but I wriggled away as quickly as I could and ran off with my cousins to play.
Light the Sabbath candles.