Free A Pocket Full of Seeds by Marilyn Sachs Page A

with gold embroidery.
    “It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Dr. Rosten said to Papa. “I never knew I was a Jew until Hitler surfaced, and my wife’s family was even more remote. Her great-great-great - grandfather was an adviser to Napoleon, a colonel in his army, and one of the first to be killed in the Russian campaign. We have always been sure of being French but not at all sure of being Jewish. Now, suddenly, we are sure of being Jewish, and not at all sure of being French.”
    “And I,” said Papa, “was trained as a Jew, and tried to forget it, but that too was impossible.”
    Even though Mme. Rosten had a cook—a Jewish one now—most of the women guests were busy in the kitchen, helping to arrange the food in large bowls and platters. The smells of these and the roasting chickens were overpowering. I had not seen so much food in one place for a long, long time.
    “Carrots,” one of the guests was saying to Mme. Rosten, “are so expensive, I don’t think I’ve eaten any for ages ... and leeks! ... where did you ever find leeks?”
    Françoise and I helped carry the food out to the table, but it was difficult with all the younger children underfoot.
    It was time to begin. The candles were lit, and my father recited the kiddush in Hebrew, blessing the wine. Then he at his table and Dr. Rosten at ours divided up the symbolic food so that each of us had a taste—the bitter with the sweet.
    At first, everybody was quiet as my father began the long service which told the story of Passover. After a while, the younger children began squirming and then giggling, and even I found myself waiting for the talking to end and the eating to begin. I think my father skipped some portions because it wasn’t too long before all of us were singing the Had Gadyah.
     
    “The one kid, the one kid, that my father bought for two zuzim, the one kid
    And the cat came and ate the kid that my father bought for two zuzim, the one kid
    And the dog came, and bit the cat that ate the kid that my father bought for two zuzim, the one kid
    And the stick came and beat the dog that bit the cat that ate the kid, etc.
    And the fire came and burned the stick that beat the dog, etc.
    And the water came and put out the fire that burned the stick, etc.
    And the ox came and drank up the water that put out the fire, etc. And the butcher came and butchered the ox that drank up the water, etc.
    And the Angel of Death came and slaughtered the butcher who butchered the ox, etc.
    And the Holy One, blessed be He, came and slaughtered the Angel of Death, who slaughtered the butcher, who butchered the ox, who drank up the water that put out the fire, that burned the stick, that beat the dog, that bit the cat, that ate the kid, that my father bought for two zuzim, the one kid, the one kid.”
     
    The food was so good, I didn’t start talking until the soup when I said to Françoise, “You know that song we sang, the Had Gadyah? My father said that the kid stood for the Jewish people, and all the animals and people and things that hurt the kid are the countries like Assyria and Babylonia and Persia who used to persecute the Jews in the ancient world. At the end, all of them are destroyed.”
    Françoise blew on a spoonful of soup. She put it into her mouth and swallowed, then she turned toward me. “Yes,” she said, “but the kid is destroyed too, so what good is it?”
    “No, no,” I said. “You are wrong. The kid is not destroyed. It can’t be, otherwise we wouldn’t all be sitting around here arguing about it.”
    “Don’t be silly,” Françoise said. “Of course it’s destroyed. The cat eats the kid, isn’t that right?”
    “Yes.”
    “So that’s the end of the kid, no?”
    “No. Because maybe the cat swallows the kid whole, and somehow or other, when they’re all busy killing one another, the kid manages to come out of it alive. I think he is maybe a little bit weak at first, and probably he doesn’t stand up straight for a while, and