This Passover Seder is not just any Passover Seder. Yes, there will be a quick service and then a festive meal afterwards, but this night is different from all other nights. This will be the night the Golds of Greenwich meet the Rothschilds of New York City.
The Rothschilds are the stuff of legends. They control banks, own vineyards in Napa, diamond mines in Africa, and even an organic farm somewhere in the Midwest that produces the most popular Romaine lettuce consumed in this country. And now, Sylvia Gold's daughter is dating one of them.
When Sylvia finds out that her youngest of three is going to bring her new boyfriend to the Seder, she's giddy. When she finds out that his parents are coming, too, she darn near faints. Making a good impression is all she thinks about. Well, almost. She still has to consider her other daughter, Sarah, who'll be coming with her less than appropriate beau and his overly dramatic Italian mother. But the drama won't stop there. Because despite the food and the wine, despite the new linen and the fresh flowers, the holidays are about family. Long forgotten memories come to the surface. Old grievances play out. And Sylvia Gold has to learn how to let her family go.
Release date:
April 12, 2016
Publisher:
St. Martin's Publishing Group
Print pages:
288
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This Passover Seder is not just any Passover Seder. Yes, there will be a quick service followed by a festive meal, but this night is different from all other nights. This will be the night that the Golds of Greenwich meet the Rothschilds of New York City.
You may know the Rothschilds as the most famous Jewish family that ever lived. You may know them as the people who control banking. (When people say the Jews control banking, they are almost always talking about the Rothschilds.) And the Rothschilds have, for the last two hundred years, controlled banking in this country. They also own vineyards in Napa, diamond mines in Africa, and an organic farm somewhere in the Midwest that produces the most popular romaine lettuce consumed in this country.
The Rothschilds are the stuff of legends. Hollywood has made movies about them; historians have attempted to write books about them. And now, Sylvia’s daughter is dating one of them.
Sylvia began planning for this Seder a month ago, when she discovered that her youngest of three had a new beau and planned to bring him. Sylvia was pleased that even during the insanity of medical school, Becca had made time for a social life. (Her middle child, Sarah, had no social life and an inappropriate beau.) Sylvia’s pulse quickened when she discovered that her daughter’s new boyfriend was a Rothschild. When Becca asked if his parents could attend the Seder, too, Sylvia all but fainted.
The first thing Sylvia did was have the gutters emptied. It was something she’d been planning to do (something she planned to do after every winter), but this time she actually did it. She couldn’t risk any stray leaves falling on a Rothschild.
Next, she had the painter come in to freshen things up. Sylvia pointed out tiny cracks in the molding, little dings in the walls. She had the kitchen and powder room repainted. A fresh coat of paint on the front door.
Sylvia arranged to have a cleaning crew come to dry-clean the draperies. She had the rugs professionally cleaned, the wood floors refinished, the marble polished and resealed. A florist was commissioned to create a piece for the entryway table. (“The importance of a first impression cannot be overstated,” the florist advised. Sylvia couldn’t help but agree.)
Her husband had come home in the middle of all this. “How much is this Seder costing me, exactly?” he asked.
Alan didn’t understand.
Sylvia wanted to present her home, her family, in a certain way. She looked at the house differently now that the Rothschilds were coming. She was very good at taking care of her home, but now she could only see what was wrong with it. Where before she saw in Becca’s baby blanket, tenderly strewn across her childhood bed, a beautiful reminder of a time long past, now it was a remnant, threadbare and worn. The piano where Gideon learned to play, which she had always regarded as evidence of his happy childhood, was a rickety artifact in need of tuning. Sarah’s old artwork, lovingly tacked to the back of her bedroom door, was childish and out of place.
Sylvia examined the guest bathroom with a diligent eye. Those towels on the wall—how long had she had them? She couldn’t recall. They would need to be replaced. She made a trip into Manhattan to pick up new bath towels: white linen with a subtle silver pattern and a monogram. She also bought guest napkins and cocktail napkins for the bar in the same pattern.
She went back a week later when she decided that her tablecloth, the one she inherited from her Aunt Miriam, simply wouldn’t do.
Four nights before her guests were to arrive, Sylvia set the table. She polished her old set of silver, the set she hadn’t used since her mother was alive. It positively gleamed against the newly purchased napkins. Her old set of china—the set that was a wedding gift from Alan’s parents—still looked modern and fresh. She would wait until the day of the Seder to buy fresh flowers for the table. She would arrange them in tiny vessels—five luscious red roses in each small vase—and place them all along the inside of the table. Everyone would have a view of the flowers, but they wouldn’t be so high that you couldn’t see the person sitting across from you. Sylvia imagined her finished table and silently complimented herself on her good taste. She’d always had an eye for the finer things.
Alan came downstairs to see when Sylvia was planning to turn in for the night.
“The table looks beautiful,” he said. “What about the Seder plate?”
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