Chapter 4 Don’t underestimate a muffin
The following weekend Leah and Gabe headed straight to Penn Station after work. They shared a small suitcase with just enough clothes to last them the weekend upstate with Leah’s family.
“You’re in for a surprise!” Savannah exclaimed when Leah called her to tell her they were on their way. “Shira showed up!”
Shira, Leah’s older sister, was living in Los Angeles to pursue her passion as an independent filmmaker. She’d made one film that was shown at some indie theaters and covered in some local papers, but it hadn’t made the splash Shira and her team had hoped for. But they were still working on it and brainstorming their next project, all the while Shira worked at a call center to pay her rent.
Shira and Leah were close. They texted often and talked on the phone every week or so. Shira had been cautiously supportive of Leah’s relationship with Gabe, but she hadn’t told Leah that she would be coming home that weekend. It was indeed a surprise, especially when Shira had threatened not to come home for Passover unless their parents paid for her plane ticket. For Shira to simply show up without notice, well, something had to be going on.
Leah and Gabe sat on the train together and pulled out their books. Gabe dove into his, while Leah looked at the words on the page, reading with her eyes, but not with her mind. She kept reading the same page over again, realizing she wasn’t really paying attention. Her mind was elsewhere.
“I wonder why Shira came home,” Leah said to Gabe. He looked up at her with a smile.
“She’s here for the intervention,” Gabe responded.
“Intervention?” Leah repeated.
“You don’t think your mom asked us to come to start looking at table linens, do you?” Gabe said.
“Well, no, but maybe to talk about our plans,” Leah said optimistically. “My mom likes you.”
“She might like me the way she likes a muffin or a blanket. It’s nice and enjoyable, but not worth changing your value system for.”
“Don’t underestimate a muffin,” Leah responded. “My mom isn’t that shallow. She married a goy once, remember?”
“And you remember how that ended for her,” Gabe reasoned. “I say there is no way she wants this wedding to go through. But you’ll have to decide if that’s OK with you.”
“It is,” Leah said firmly. She was sure she wanted to marry Gabe. But she was equally sure she wanted her mother’s approval and she was determined to get it.
Leah pretended to read for the rest of the train ride and closed her book on the exact same page she had opened to when the train pulled away from Penn Station. She and Gabe deboarded and found Savannah waiting for them in her car in the parking lot.
Savannah greeted Gabe with a quick hug and pat on the shoulder and then pulled Leah in for a much tighter embrace while Gabe put their suitcase in the trunk. She looked at Leah’s ring and pursed her lips while raising her eyebrows. Leah hoped it was a look of approval.
“I made matzah ball soup and kugel,” Savannah stated on the drive home. “Gabe, you remember what matzah ball soup is? Did you try it during Passover?”
Gabe had joined Leah’s family for the Passover Seder earlier that year. He read the transliterations in the Haggadah, asked questions about the rituals, and enjoyed the dinner, especially the matzah ball soup. Leah loved matzah ball soup, but it always reminded her of Asher. Maybe because he used to bring it to her from a Manhattan deli weekly while they were dating and engaged or maybe it was because he had proposed by hiding the ring in the afikomen bag that everyone had been instructed to let Leah find. Leah couldn’t help but wonder if her mother had made matzah ball soup on purpose on this fall Shabbat, half a year after Passover, to remind her of her nice Jewish ex.
“How could I forget those fluffy matzah balls!” Gabe responded with a wink at Leah, who looked back at him from the front seat. “I also remember your kugel!”
“Oh, this is a different kugel!” Savannah went on to explain that the potato kugel she had made at Passover was not the same kugel she made that evening. When it wasn’t Passover, kugel included noodles and was a completely different dish.
“So kugel is basically a casserole,” Gabe commented. “It can be anything baked in the kugel dish.”
Savannah sighed. “Right,” she said but without masking her annoyance that kugel was so simply compared to a casserole. Leah knew her mother probably wanted to explain that the dish for the Passover kugel couldn’t possibly be the same dish for the non-Passover kugel for kosher reasons, but Savannah bit her lips closed—literally, Leah noticed.
They arrived at Leah’s parents’ house—the home Leah grew up in—and Gabe brought their suitcase in, setting it down by the bottom of the stairs with such familiarity. Shira then came barreling down the stairs and hugged her sister.
“What are you doing here?” Leah asked her through the suffocating hug.
“I just needed a break from LA! All that sunshine is exhausting sometimes!” Shira responded. When she released her hug, she grabbed Leah’s hand to stare at her ring. “It’s beautiful!”
She then greeted Gabe with a short embrace. “Great to see you!”
“Who’s hungry?” Savannah asked before anyone could say anymore. She shuffled everyone into their dining room where the table was already set for Kabbalat Shabbat. Two silver candlesticks hoisted bright blue candles made of rolled beeswax waiting to be lit. A large silver and gold kiddush cup with the Jerusalem skyline emboldened around it sat filled with Manischewitz wine and a challah was hidden under a shiny white cover embroidered with Hebrew letters that Leah knew said Shabbat Shalom thanks to her years in Hebrew school.
Growing up, Leah’s family had marked Shabbat with the blessings every Friday evening. She’d often invite friends over who enjoyed the ritual and Savannah would let them take a sip of wine, no matter their age.
Leah, Gabe, Shira, and Leah’s father stood around the table as Savannah lit the candles and then made three circular motions with her hands around the candles to cover her eyes before reciting the blessing.
Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu, Melekh ha'olam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Shabbat.
“Amen,” everyone, including Gabe, chanted when Savannah finished. Next, Leah’s father lifted the kiddush cup and the large prayer book that he used every Friday for as long as Leah could remember. The thick blue book looked tattered and old even though it was only used for a few minutes every week. They never used it for any other occasion, so it easily fell open to the right page. When they were younger, Leah and Shira used to joke about their father needing to read the blessing every week. How could he not know it by heart by then? They did! But now Leah understood it was more about the ritual; holding the book in his hand while he said the blessing.
Leah listened to the blessing and chanted along in the parts she was supposed to, glancing quickly at Gabe who stood respectfully with his hands clasped in front of him. After the “amen,” everyone sipped the wine in their own kiddush cup and sat down.
Next, Savannah lifted the challah cover to reveal the shiny braided bread. The family sang the hamotzi , the challah blessing, and then each broke off a piece of the bread to taste. Once they finished, Savannah stood up to start serving the soup.
“Don’t fill up on the challah!” she warned as she watched Shira and Leah pull bigger pieces from the bread.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Shira exclaimed. “There’s no such thing as eating too much challah. Right, Gabe?”
Gabe chuckled and also grabbed himself another piece. “It’s definitely the best bread I’ve ever had!”
Savannah placed steaming bowls of soup in front of everyone and Leah tried to dig in without burning her mouth.
“How do you make them so fluffy?” Gabe asked as he broke a small piece of matzah ball with his spoon.
Savannah leaned forward and spoke quietly. “The secret is that you don’t roll the balls. First, you want the batter to be really cold and then you use wet hands to gently scoop like you’re scooping ice cream. You never try to roll the batter into balls! If you do, you will get baseballs.” She leaned back and smiled as she blew gently on her own bite waiting on her spoon.
“Interesting,” Gabe responded.
“It is! The first time anyone makes matzah balls, they always turn out hard,” Savannah continued. “It takes practice to make them fluffy.”
Gabe turned to Leah. “Have you ever tried to make them?” he asked.
Leah shook her head. She wasn’t really into cooking. She was more of a sous chef, someone who could help peel and chop in the kitchen. Not someone who knew how to scoop correctly instead of roll.
“One day Leah will learn! If she wants her children to grow up eating fluffy matzah balls she will have to! I won’t be here forever!” Savannah laughed.
Leah rolled her eyes and looked at Gabe. She hated when her mom made these types of comments, like about when she would die or how Leah had so much to learn.
Next, Savannah served the kugel, a brisket, and roasted green beans. Everyone tasted the food, but it seemed that even if it was impossible to eat too much challah, it was possible to fill up on matzah ball soup.
During dinner, Leah’s parents asked Leah about work. They asked Shira about the movie she was working on. They asked Gabe about his job. No one mentioned the ring or any wedding plans, which half annoyed Leah, but also half relieved her. The absence of questions made her think they didn’t believe this engagement would last, but on the other hand, questions would force her to face the facts she hadn’t thought about yet.
Everyone reclined as Savannah told them about the recent board meeting at the temple, where a lively debate took place about whether they needed to supply gluten-free sufganiot for this year’s Hanukkah party.
“Gluten-free donuts are twice the price!” Savannah said. “It significantly increases our budget for the holiday party, but on the other hand, we have an obligation to ensure our celiac and gluten-free congregants feel included!”
“Quite a conundrum,” Gabe agreed.
“Speaking of which,” Savannah jumped up. “I bought a babka for dessert.” She quickly cleared the table and brought out the marble chocolate cake. “Anyone want some tea?”
Without waiting for an answer, she brewed a pot and brought mugs to the table.
“I hope you enjoyed dinner,” Savannah said while watching Gabe sip his tea and pick at the babka.
“I did, thank you,” he responded politely.
“Good, because I don’t know if this is something you could get used to,” Savannah said. There it was, Leah thought. Gabe had been right. “We want to talk to you about conversion.”
Leah had just brought her mug to her lips and accidentally poured a little too much into her mouth. She might have avoided burning herself on the soup, but now her mouth was scorched. She spit her tea back in the cup.
“Mom!” she screamed.
“Well, it’s something we need to discuss,” Savannah insisted.