Marjorie could sense the disturbance in the women’s gallery before she was seated. A certain twitching of skirts, a clucking of tongues with no real words that said everything and nothing. They had been running late to synagogue because Daniel had taken longer than usual to get out of bed. Despite thirty years of him telling her to hurry, she still didn’t know how to rush her husband in return. She’d worn her nice brown hat with a slight peak to hide under — more from the glances than the rain — and was surprised to find the stir already in progress.
That close to Passover the benches were fuller than usual, with attendees coming out of the woodwork to moan or boast about their preparations, but there was a clear space on the second row, so Marjorie kept her head down and her pace steady as she headed for it. It became clear when she sat down, adjusting her skirt so the pleats wouldn’t scrunch during the service, why the seat was free and the stir it caused.
“Gut shabbos!” said the woman next to her with a thick accent, turning to beam at Marjorie in her large fuchsia hat. “What a lovely ark this schul has, I cannot wait to see the scrolls! Though I do wish the rebbe would speak up.” She finished, as if the rabbi wasn’t glaring at her from the bimah below.
“Shabbat shalom,” murmured Marjorie under her breath, pulling her prayer book out of her handbag.
In the row behind her Cecilia Lebitz subtly leaned forward, flashing her own book at eye level so Marjorie could see the page number, and she gave the other woman a small nod, flicking to it in her own book. The woman in the fuchsia hat saw her.
“Do you know what prayer we are on?” she asked, still too loudly. “I got lost coming from the bus stop and also arrived late but the service is so different from at home and I am lost again. But you have found it so quickly!”
Feeling a twinge, Marjorie showed her where they were in her own prayer book, keeping her head down so the rabbi wouldn’t notice.
The other woman nodded and fumbled through the prayer book she had clearly borrowed from the synagogue’s shelves till she found the page, and Marjorie thought that would be the end of it. But she kept prattling on, commenting on the differences from the type of service she was used to. How she missed the chazan from back home, what her Bubbe would have thought of it if she’d been able to come on the boat too like planned. Marjorie nodded along, feeling the other women around them tense up, coughing delicately into their handkerchiefs when the stranger spoke over the rabbi.
When the other woman was done rambling she looked at Marjorie, clearly expecting a reply. Not wanting to be rude, Marjorie got the little notebook and attached pen she kept with her at all times, flicking past the pages of neat notes on dosages and appointments and scribbling a reply on the first blank page. The other woman gaped at her.
After the service Marjorie hung back as everyone filed into the hall for kiddush, letting the other women go ahead of her, ignoring Cecilia’s less than subtle attempts to catch her attention until the other woman had to give up and go. There were a few yahrtzeit today and as the Chair of the Burial Society, Cecilia would feel obligated to be there.
The fuchsia hat appeared in her peripheral vision. “Marjorie Krintz,” she said as she turned, holding out her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“I am Chasha,” the other woman said, clutching her hand and goggling at her, “and you are very bold, Mrs Krintz, to write on shabbos.”
For the first time in a long time Marjorie felt the urge to laugh. “I hadn’t thought about it that way,” she murmured. “If you can forgive me for my heresy, Chasha, might I introduce you to some people? I’ve been attending this synagogue since before I was married and they have yet to kick me out.”
Chasha beamed, and kept beaming through the kiddush prayers until Marjorie was able to successfully hand her off to Carl Kohn-Scheff, the chair of the synagogue’s board, who was always pleased to welcome new members. Chasha would likely receive a Passover invitation as well, if she was able to drop in that she didn’t have one, and Marjorie didn’t think subtlety was a fault the other woman possessed. She went in search of Daniel, keeping towards the edges of the hall to avoid Cecilia, who would no doubt ask why she hadn’t attended the last few meetings of the Burial Society, and that wasn’t a question she was ready to answer.
She was less successful at the Shiva a few days later as she murmured her respects to the Kohn-Scheff family sitting on their low stalls.
“Marjorie, good to see you here,” said Cecilia from behind her, somehow looking sombre and dapper in her monochrome houndstooth skirt and jacket combination and matching fascinator. Considering they had both been Carl’s friends for decades Marjorie was unsure where else Cecilia expected her to be today, but she nodded back anyway, her heart sinking.
“What a tragedy, I still can’t quite believe Carl is gone,” Cecilia continued.
Less time than it took to make a cup of tea and Marjorie had already heard the T-word multiple times. Carl had been leyning at the Shabbat service a few days ago, and now less than a week later he was a tragedy.
“It’s always a shock, we’ve both seen that enough times, Cece.”
Cecilia nodded, tapping her perfectly manicured finger against the subtle rouge on her cheek and looking around the room.
“Very true. Still it must be worse when there’s no lead up, you can’t even prepare yourself for it. And so close to Passover too.”
Marjorie felt her throat tighten, and reached for her still-stewing Earl Grey to take a sip, choking on it. Cecilia looked at her in alarm, grabbing a napkin and holding her arm out to slap her back before she was waved away.
“Don’t worry, Cece, I don’t think you’ll have to organise another burial before the festival,” She said, her throat scratchy and harsh. Cecilia frowned and handed her the napkin.
“I certainly hope not, the family would likely have to wait till after Passover at this stage. But I’d at least know I had you to rely on, Marj,” she said, gently squeezing her shoulder through the dark tweed.
“Unlike some people,” she muttered as she eyed a pink hat across the room. “Sobbing through the psalms like she was the chief mourner.” Then, straightening her back she waved and started picking her way through the room.
“Mrs Krintz!” she called out, louder than the low conversations happening around her, as she spotted Marjorie and hurried over.
Her arms were ladened with oven trays covered in crinkled pre-used tin foil, which crackled loudly as she moved, and Marjorie went to usher her over to a countertop that could be easily emptied. With the plates moved away, the dishes were unceremoniously dumped in their place and quickly rebalanced, before the women stepped away to admire their handiwork.
“That’s quite a feast you’ve brought with you, Chasha, you didn’t have to be so generous.”
Despite her still-red eyes, Chasha beamed at Marjorie. “Thank you! I’m sorry I seem late, the bus was so slow, but I brought cholent, chicken soup with kneidl, borscht, and kugel. Mr Kohn-Scheff was so kind, and I couldn’t even think about his wife having to cook for the shiva. I said to her, I said ‘Mrs Kohn-Scheff I will come and cook your Pesach meal if I have to’ but she said they are going to cousins.”
“Ah,” said Marjorie, always slightly taken aback when the other woman opened her mouth.
“Which is funny, because Mr Kohn-Scheff invited me to come to theirs for Pesach at schul last week and he didn’t mention that. And by funny you know I don’t mean amusing funny, Mrs Krintz, I am still working on these many meaning English words, just that it is strange, but also not that strange because after such a loss of course plans would have changed, and I thought to myself, Chasha it is clearly your turn to cook for this family, that is what Hashem wanted, not the other way round.”
“Ah,” said Marjorie again, with understanding dawning. She very much hoped that Hannah Kohn-Scheff’s plans had changed, and that she hadn’t uninvited a Passover guest.
Said guest was looking around the kitchen, her brow furrowed as she took in the neatly laid out trays of finger food the guests had brought to compliment the local deli’s catering.
“But have I been wrong?” Chasha asked, under her breath but still louder than anyone else in the room. “It is only that my understanding is we make sure the mourners are taken care of in their time and I am worried they will not make it to their cousin’s Pesach meal with just these little sandwich things.”
Looking between Chasha’s towering pile of offerings and all the other nibbles laid out, Marjorie could see why she was concerned.
“Yes, that is my interpretation of the texts too. I suppose it’s a matter of interpretation and tradition.”
Marjorie could hear the murmurs from the people around her and feel their eyes on Chasha and her pink hat. She looked up and caught Cecilia’s eye, who gave her a sympathetic grimace as she looked between Marjorie and Chasha.
The press of the bodies, the clicking of heels on tiles, the dark tones of all the stiff clothing, it all now seemed too much. Most of these people had simply bought their dish pre-made and stashed it in their car during the funeral so they could drive straight here, and they were judging Chasha, a woman who had clearly spent hours cooking for this family that had shown her a modicum of kindness, and taken multiple buses to and from the funeral in order to pick them up and then bring them here.
“Excuse me,” she muttered, her hand slightly shaking as she tried to open the stiff door to the garden. A warm hand came over hers, and with a push the cool April air rushed towards her.
Breathing the cold into her lungs, Marjorie let herself feel for the first time that day. Her feet hurt from her heels, and she wanted to kick them off and feel the manicured grass.
“It is a very hard day, such a loss for the community,” said Chasha, closing the door behind her.
Marjorie took in another lungful of air, unsure of if she wanted to be alone or not, but knowing she wouldn’t ask Chasha to leave.
“You seemed very upset at the funeral,” she finally replied. It was an understatement; Chasha had been tearing up as the mourners gathered, and wailing with grief by the concluding El Malei Rachamim, drowning out even the chief mourners.
Chasha nodded, biting her lip and looking up at the slowly pinkening sky. “He was a good man, he deserved my tears. And no one else was making noise, so I felt it was my responsibility. It was the same but different to back home, just like how Shabbas services are the same but different, and just like this shiva is the same but different. Now, I am thinking perhaps I was not meant to, but we are the burial society so, if not us, then who?”
“What do you mean?” Marjorie asked, too tired to parse this latest monologue.
“At home the mourning women wail and cry as hard as we can to help the mourners. We are there to help prepare the body and burial of the dead, and to help the tears flow for the living. If the family cannot be heard then they can let themselves feel the loss, because it is just between them and God. And who cannot cry in front of God?”
Marjorie blinked, startled by how blurry her eyes had become.
She opened her mouth, tempted for the first time to try and explain.
“We’d be honoured to have you for Passover next week if you are free,” she said instead.
Chasha beamed at her. “I shall wear my good shabbos hat.”
The door creaked open, and Cecilia popped her head out.
“Marjy, Daniel is asking for you. He looks tired; I think he wants to head off.”
Pulling her small notebook out of her bag, Marjorie flicked past the pages and pages of appointments and dosages till she found a clean page to scribble her landline number and address, then ripped it out to hand to Chasha.
“We look forward to hosting you, dinner will begin at 7pm,” she said, giving the other woman a small smile and a stiff nod.
On the way home, as Daniel slumped in the passenger seat, the topic of Chasha came up again.
“No one could believe how much noise that woman was making, I mean what a hullaballoo.”
Marjorie didn’t take her eyes off the road. “It’s a funeral, Dan, you’re meant to cry.”
“Promise me it won’t be a big song and dance, Marj.”
She rolled down the window as they paused at the traffic lights and breathed.
“I’ve invited Chasha to our seder night,” she replied.
“What? But my entire family will be there,” he said, turning towards her for the first time since they’d got in the car, eyes wide.
“I’m aware.”
He leaned back in his seat. “It needs to be perfect, Marj, nothing wrong.”
“I know,” she said, as they turned off the main road into the suburban darkness.
When the day arrived, Marjorie felt less confident, after the endless family phone calls to coordinate arrival times and who would be coming in what car and if they were staying over. Then there was setting up the dining room,opening the connecting living room to make more space, running to the kitchen to stir, prep, and check on various dishes, consulting her notebook to see when everything needed to go in and out of the oven.
Daniel was still trying to get ready, but she was not checking on him because the third time she had he’d refused to make eye contact and told her to stop fussing.
The door rang, and she rushed to open it, hoping it was the catering Daniel promised to order when it was clear he’d been generous with his invitations. She breathes a sigh of relief when she sees the stacked trays and mutters a thank you, making a mental note to call the company after the festival to complain about the presentation.
“You are most welcome!” says a voice from behind the food, and a familiar bright pink hat revealed itself..
“Chasha, you didn’t have to bring food,” she says weakly, clutching the trays like she can hide her old stained apron with them. Her hair wasn’t brushed, she was still wearing her house slippers. She had never been more aware that she needed blush not to look wan. “And dinner doesn’t start till 7pm.”
“I was talking to Mrs Lebitz at the shiva to ask what I should bring to your seder, as I didn’t think I’d quite brought the correct dishes for poor Mrs Kohn-Scheff, and she told me you had been such a mensch and had invited so many people, and so I thought I would bring as many things as I could,” she said, hanging up her coat and revealing her own apron underneath. “We shall put these in the kitchen, yes, and then you will tell me what you need help with.”
Everything within Marjorie told her to offer this woman a cup of tea and put her in the living room, but when she opened her mouth she found herself agreeing.
“I’m so grateful, I’ve got everything that needs doing written in my notebook. But let me make you a cup of tea first.”
But then phone rang once again, so she thrust the little leather notebook into Chasha’s hands as she dashed back to the hall to pick it up.
When Marjorie got back to the kitchen she found Chasha frowning down at her notebook, and as she got closer she could see the table she’d created to keep track of medication with the times and dates filled in with her chicken scratch handwriting.
Chasha bit her lip. “I was trying to see what to do next, but I do not think this is part of your seder preparations.”
Marjorie turned the page so quickly she ripped it slightly. “Basting the chicken next,” was all she said, before looking away. “Excuse me, I just need to ask Daniel something.”
Her legs seemed extra heavy as she made her way upstairs and knocked on their bedroom door.
“Daniel, when did the catering company say they were coming to drop off the food?” she asked without opening the door.
There was a pause from within. “I thought you were sorting out the food,” he said finally.
She swallowed. “Never mind, never mind, we’ll sort it out.”
“It’s the last time we’ll be together in a normal way, Marj,” he said, voice rising, “Jeremy is bringing our future daughter-in-law rather than going to her crazy mother’s place for once.”
“It will be fine, darling,” she soothed, even as she leaned her head against the door and closed her eyes. “Rivka and Jeremy will have a lovely time meeting the rest of your family. Everyone will have a lovely time. I’ll work it out.”
The doorbell rang again. God doesn’t deserve your tears, she heard her mother say, only your rage. She took a deep breath and made her way down the stairs to the door.
“Marjy, I didn’t know if you had enough tables so I stopped by the synagogue and borrowed two of those nifty folding ones the cheder classes use. They’re ugly as sin, I know, but don’t worry we’ll cover them with the nice table clothes and no one will know.”
Behind Cecilia a black cab driver had somehow been convinced to not only transport the folding tables, but to heave them out the back and bring them in unaided. Marjorie stood numbly to one side as he heaved them up to the door, and then inside once he realised neither of the women planned to help.
“Chasha mentioned she might bring some dishes so I also thought I’d bring some extra silverware along, as I couldn’t remember the exact number you said Daniel had invited but it seemed tremendous.” She continued, as the cab driver came back and she gave him some notes from her purse with a smile and a small wave with her still perfectly manicured hand.
The front door closed behind him, and the entryway immediately began to feel too stuffy, like there wasn’t enough air. She opened her mouth and realised she didn’t know what to say. A familiar arm slipped around her waist and sat her down on the staircase.
“Marjy, what’s wrong?” murmured Cecilia, sitting next to her on the step and leaning in, like they had as girls.
“Daniel was meant to order catering and he forgot. This Passover has to be perfect, the whole family will be here, and Jeremy is bringing his fiancé, and…” she trailed off, as she felt the hand around her waist rubbing circles on her back.
The floorboards creaked. “My Bubbe told me every Pesach has to be perfect, in case it is the one Elijah finally comes. Do not worry, Mrs Krintz, this one shall be perfect too,” Chasha said from the kitchen entryway, holding a mixing bowl and biting her lip.
Cecilia looked at the other woman as though she was seeing her for the first time, and slowly nodded.
“Yes, what Chasha said, don’t worry Marjy, we can fix the seder at least.” Nodding to herself, she stood up and dragged Marjorie up with her.
“Alright,” said the Chair of the Burial Society, “this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to sort out the dining room and call the deli for some extra platters, Chasha will finish up the kitchen, and you go get yourself ready for the family, Marjy.”
“The deli won’t deliver, not this close to the first night coming in.” Marjorie protested.
“They will if I call them,” said Cece, already reaching for the phone. “And Mrs Kohn-Scheff says she’s never tasted better cholent than Chasha’s, so I’m sure she can manage better than we could.”
Chasha smiled, blinking too fast. “We know that the seder must happen, no matter what, Mrs Krintz,” she said.
Upstairs Daniel had at least made it to the bathroom. Picking through her wardrobe she found the dress she had chosen when she’d heard her eldest child was to be married, a grey silk with some bright detailing around the hem lines. She tried to feel as excited as she had when she’d selected it months ago, thinking about grandchildren and mazel tovs from the women’s gallery at schul. But sitting at her vanity all she could think is how old and worn she looked, and how little she cared.
Cecilia knocked and then slipped in without waiting for an answer. “Daniel said he’d be in his study going through the haggadah so I thought I’d come help. It’s been decades since we played dress-up.”
She picked up the mother of pearl inlaid paddle-brush and started on Marjorie’s hair, and Marjory suddenly remembered how she’d insisted on re-doing it before hers and Daniel’s wedding. Even the brush was the same, a gift for Marjorie’s Bat Mitzvah.
“He’s got liver cancer.” Marjorie said for the first time out loud. “He hasn’t got long. But he doesn’t want anyone to know until it can’t be helped.”
Cecilia nodded, looking tired but not pausing her brush strokes. Silence descended for a moment, filled with old grief and even older friendship.
“I don’t think Elijah is coming this year.” Marjy said, as Cece pulled her hair into a neat french twist.
“One should never discount the prophet Elijah before Passover has even begun, darling.” Cece muttered, pins in her mouth, “The world to come will arrive on its own schedule. It’s our job to leave out the wine.” She deftly secured the twist, her other hand rifling through the jewelry box on that vanity and pulling out a tarnished but still magnificent broach and slid that in as well.
“That was another Bat Mitzvah present,” Marjorie said, touching it lightly so it wouldn’t fall out. It had seemed like it should have been made for royalty and not little twelve-year-old Marjy when it was presented to her by her Israeli aunt.
Cecilia had moved on to other parts of the vanity, lightly dusting power over her friend’s face and then dabbing rouge on with a bit more force. “I know, Marjy, my parents let me stay over so we could unwrap our presents together, remember?” she replied, “Now pop a bit of that lipstick I gave you last year on, there’s a girl, and come join Chasha and I downstairs.”
A lifetime had passed since that Bat Mitzvah, standing red faced next to Cece and hoping she didn’t stutter on the prayers. Now she needed rouge. But at least Cecilia had made sure she looked like the sort of matron you might want as a future mother-in-law. She smeared the lipstick on, a dark plum that had sat at the back of her vanity since it had been gifted, but she should have trusted the other woman. She lightly touched the wedding portrait that had been sitting on her desk for thirty years, then went downstairs.
The dining room had been transformed with extra tables, best linens and silverware, and in the kitchen Chasha was marching from pot to pot, wielding a wooden spoon like a sword. Cecilia was plating the results like a Hatton Garden jeweler laying out his finest diamonds and muttering an order of courses under her breathe.
“Marjy you look lovely, I love what you’ve done with your hair. The deli has kindly agreed to drop off some cold plates, and Chasha has amply taken care of the main course. I’ve seen some ice cream in your freezer, naughty thing, and if we put them in the nice dessert bowls with some fruit that should take care of that too, especially as Daniel has made it clear we are to go to town on the good wine under the stairs.” Cece rattled off, not even looking at her as she continued to plate up.
“I have never seen such a wine collection,” declared Chasha as she sweated over the stove, taking a ladle from Cece. “I could not believe it when Mr Krintz said we should use as much as we needed.”
Marjorie swallowed, then patted her lips to make sure her lipstick hadn’t smudged. “Well I suppose we’ve been saving it for a special occasion, and are we going to get a better one?” she said.
“We will toast to Elijah when he arrives!” said Chasha, as Cece muttered about needing a drink, and the telephone started ringing again.
By the time Marjorie was done running the very many trays the deli had brought over through to the kitchen, trying not to consider what sort of sway Cecilia might have over the poor people, and had directed all the relatives’ cars to parking spaces she’d made a note of nearby, greeting people, fetching drinks, and taking coats, there was mounds of food already on the table and wine bottles lined up like soldiers.
Daniel was beaming, clasping hands and patting the backs of his family, and though Marjorie had a moment of worry about him still being able to lead the seder, he didn’t falter. Years of practice and carefully marked pages allowing an easy flow of Hebrew, even though his hands shook slightly as he held the haggadah in his lap, with only Marjorie and Jeremy on his other side able to see that.
Jeremy shot her a look when his father almost dropped the book, but Marjorie shook her head slightly and Rivka, who caught the small exchange, put a hand on his shoulder and asked for a top up before the next cup of wine was called for. She would make a good wife for him, and Marjorie didn’t let her smile slip when they were asked when Daniel’s cousins asked they were going to present a new youngest child to ask their grandfather the four questions, though Daniel looked slightly pained.
Chasha and Cece didn’t seem to have stopped bringing out dishes, but when it came time to check for Elijah, Chasha shot out of her seat and made for the front door, banging it open and calling out as though she expected the prophet to be just down the street.
“Marjorie for heaven’s sake stop her before the neighbours ask what the racket is about.” Dan muttered at her, but Cece was already on her way to the door.
“Chasha I believe the Krintz’s usually leave the garden gate open for Elijah. For some reason Daniel seems to think the announcement of the messiah requires a garden stroll.” She said, tinkling laughter softening her words.
Looking at her husband, Marjorie opened her mouth and found she didn’t know what to say. That these women had sweated for hours so his family could have this lovely seder night, probably, that she couldn’t remember the last time they had invited any of her relatives, perhaps. But the towering figure from her wedding day was hunched over, his shoulders folding in on themselves and his shaking hands starting to show liver spots. The doctor had asked at their last appointment if they were going to hire a nurse or look for a hospice.
“I’ll go unlock the gate,” she said instead, “you continue the service.”
She grabbed the keys and let the cold night air unpick her hair from its twist, enjoying the way it blew up her skirt and raised the hairs on her legs as she marched across the grass. Jeremy and Judith had enjoyed running around here as children, but since they’d left, all their toys and games long since packed away, Marjorie had been trying desperately not to picture herself alone here.
The keys rattled in the dark, but she knew this lock like Daniel knew the seder service. She threw it open and screamed.
“Elijah! Elijah are you there?”
“Marjorie,” Cecilia said, hand on her shoulder.
Chasha joined them, screaming “Elijah we are waiting!”
“He’s not coming,” Cecilia said, voice hitching. “He never comes.”
“We’re still waiting, Elijah!” Marjorie cried, wetness on her cheeks.
“We’re always waiting, Elijah! We have been waiting and waiting!” Chasha kept screaming.
“Come out, come out wherever you are, Elijah!” Marjorie laughed, tears pouring down her face, as she grabbed Cecilia’s hand from her shoulder and held it in her own.
“Next year,” Cecilia said, voice wobbling, “Next year.”
“You are a coward, Elijah, and we are tired of waiting!” Chasha screeched. “Where is the world you promised to bring us?”
“Not everyone has until next year, Elijah!” Marjorie sobbed, “We put out the best wine for you.”
Cecilia pulled her in by the waist and tucked her face into her shoulder. “Jerusalem seems awful anyway,” she declared, as Marjorie soaked her collar with tears.
“Elijah!” Chasha screamed, throat tearing with the roar of it. “Elijah!”