Free The Last Song by Eva Wiseman

long cloaks with the red and white badges on them. Both of us were dressed in white boys’ garments underneath. Again, I hid my hair under the pointed hood.
    The shutters were closed tight over the shop windows, and the narrow streets of the Juderia were almost empty. We crossed in front of the El Transito Synagogue. The sound of praying wafted out through its open door. We turned down a street of narrow two-storey buildings, some of which had balconies decorated with six-pointed stars outlined in mosaic. The delicious odor of cooking food came through the windows we passed.
    “People are at home, preparing for the first seder,” Yonah said.
    He stopped in front of a narrow house at the end of the street. When he rang the bell, the door was immediately opened by a small woman swathed from head to toe in voluminous clothing. Her plump face was wreathed in smiles.
    “Come in,” she said, pulling us inside.
    I pulled off the hood of my cloak and curtsied.
    “Good evening, Rebbetzin Abenbilla. It’s so kind of you to invite me and Isabel to your home for Pesach,” Yonah said.
    The Rabbi’s wife looked around the hall in an exaggerated manner. “I don’t see an Isabel here, but both you and your friend Yaacov are welcome to join us to remember the exodus of our people from slavery in Egypt.” She walked over to the window. “The sun is setting! Follow me.”
    She led us into a small chamber full of people. A rough-hewn table was covered by an embroidered white cloth and set with pretty pottery dishes. Seven unlit candles stood on the table.
    Rabbi Abenbilla sat at the head of the table. Seated to his left was his son Shmuel, who couldn’t have been more than ten years of age. I recognized the others as the anusim from our study group. Everybody was dressed in white.
    “Hello, Isabel,” said a familiar voice behind me.
    It was Yehudit. I hugged her. Alberto followed her in, the hated sambenito flung over his arm. He dropped it onto the back of a chair.
    “I was afraid that I wouldn’t get here before the sun set. My mother asked me to run errands, and I couldn’t get away earlier,” Yehudit said.
    “I had to tell my mama that I was visiting my friend Brianda and that Sofia, my slave, was chaperoning me.”
    The rabbi’s wife invited us to sit down and we crowded around the table.
    She carried in from the kitchen the Passover plate of traditional foods with great ceremony and set it down on the table in front of her husband. Then she lit the seven candles and her husband began reading the Passover service from a beautiful illustrated Haggadah that tells the story of Passover. He stroked the colorful pages with gentle fingers.
    We named the plagues by which God forced Pharaoh to allow his Jewish slaves to leave Egypt. We broke the matzo in its center and dipped it twice into wine. Every person around the seder table whipped the wrist of his neighbor with the stems of green onions while we sang “Dayenu,” a song that gives thanks to God for leading the Jewish people out of slavery in Egypt. The sound made by the onion stems remindedus of the whipping our ancestors received in Egypt at Pharaoh’s cruel hands. Yonah was chosen to represent Pharaoh and he walked around the table wearing a crown of clay to witness the whipping of his “slaves.”
    Rabbi Abenbilla tied the
afikomen
, a piece of broken matzo, into a large napkin and gave it to young Smuel. The boy slung the napkin over his shoulder and left the room. When he knocked on the door, requesting entry, the rabbi addressed him.
    “From where do you come?”
    “I come from Egypt,” Shmuel said.
    “Where are you going?” the rabbi asked.
    “To Jerusalem.”
    “What are you taking with you?” asked his father.
    Smuel pointed to the matzo in his napkin.
    Then all of us began to chant. “Why is this night different from all other nights?”
    I looked around the table. The flickering candlelight lit the smiles on the faces of my new friends. Yonah’s