“Ari?” That was unexpected. Ari was the youngest in the family by a long shot, born when Tova was already almost ten, and he checks off every stereotype to a T. He’s the chilled one, the one who everyone takes care of while he does his own thing. Learned in Israel for two years on his father-in-law’s credit card, then came back, started a couple of business gig things which still seemed to leave plenty of time for relaxing. That type. They bought a small house recently, which was impressive, but I was under the impression that her parents had contributed heavily. Whatever; I was happy for him, I just hadn’t expected him to join the rotation of hosting Ma and Tatty. Weren’t he and Avigail still at the being-hosted stage? They were just a young couple with one toddler, after all. And my sister-in-law is cute and fun but also, like, young, and pretty attached to her own family. I’d assumed they would move in with her parents for Yom Tov; they usually did that.

“That’s really nice,” I said to Ma after a pause. “So sweet of them.”

“Yes, isn’t it? I was so touched,” Ma said happily, and I could tell she was really excited at the chance to get to know Avigail a little better.

But….

I shook my head. Ari and Avigail had every right to invite whoever they wanted to a Yom Tov meal, didn’t they? Even though I invited Ma and Tatty for this meal every year. They’ve been away, they have no idea. And hey, I didn’t have a monopoly on hosting. It was just… unexpected.

I could host my parents anytime, I reminded myself. And I could totally still invite Yocheved and the family. We’d have a great Yom Tov either way.

Y

ocheved was delighted with the invitation. She was up to her eyeballs in finals and report cards and whatever high school teachers are busy with at this time of year, and with she and Yossi being so stretched financially, I knew she’d appreciate being hosted for part of Yom Tov.

“Come hungry, my daughters are going crazy here with the kiddush,” I told her, laughing.

“I’m drooling,” she informed me.

I put down the phone and went to check on the progress in the kitchen. Flour, sugar, and empty tubs of whipped cream cheese were everywhere. Michal was pulsing Oreos in the food processor, snacking on cookies from the jumbo pack next to her, and Leah was busy measuring pretzel cream into a saucepan.

“Hi, girls. Have you left any milchig pots clean? I want to start on the lasagna.”

Simi motioned to a pot that had just been rinsed, and I start sautéing veggies. Someone turned up the music and I listened to my girls banter as we worked.

“No, you are not piping anything onto my beautiful cheesecake!”

“Let me try, it’s going to look stunning!”

“Go experiment on your own cheesecake.”

“But mine has that topping….”

The oven beeped and the argument abruptly halted. “My miniatures!” Leah shrieked, and they all darted to the oven to check out the results.

I layered lasagna noodles, cheese, and the veggie-filled sauce in a pan. “How’s the oven, girls? Can we make some space for lasagna?”

“Wait, Ma, my cheesecake is going in next, and then Michal has some cheese pastries….”

I noticed the line of aluminum pans and muffin trays, waiting patiently like cars in a traffic jam along the milchig side.

“Oh, boy. Okay, girlies, listen up, I know if it was up to you we’d have cheesecake for appetizer, mains, sides, and dessert, but I really must get the lasagna in here also tonight, so let’s keep that in mind, all right?”

“Lasagna for kiddush?”

“Nopes, believe it or not, we’ll be eating actual meals over Yom Tov also.” I winked.

“Oh, right, meals. Is everyone coming to us then?” Michal asked.

“No, Mr. Gluck in the night, Yocheved’s family first day. Bubby and Zaidy are going to Ari’s, and Tova mentioned that they invited her, too, so I guess they’re making a big meal. But maybe I should invite Malky over for kiddush along with Yocheved….”

“Invite everyone for kiddush! We always do. And we’re making so much stuff,” Simi said, pointing at the array of baked, waiting-to-bake, and half finished goodies filling the kitchen.

That was a good idea, actually. Why skip the family tradition kiddush just because my parents were going to Ari for the seudah? It actually made so much sense — we live right near shul, so they could stop by for kiddush, see the rest of the family, and then continue on to Ari a little later.

And Ma always tells me how much it means to her to have the entire family together for part of Yom Tov. This would be the only opportunity this Shavuos to do that.

I put the lasagna at the end of the line — it was going to be a late night — and went to dial Ma.

“W

ow, Shosh, this looks amazing.” My sister Malky stopped short, admiring the kiddush setup.

“Don’t tell me, tell the girls. I had nothing to do with it.” I surveyed the room with not a little pride. Simi, Leah, and Michal had really outdone themselves. There was a huge array of milchig delicacies, along with some pareve cakes and cookies, too, because Simi had decided that the whole heavy-creamy-milk thing could only get everyone so far. And Leah had put together a couple salads, and Michal had replated the lasagna and salmon leftovers from the night before, so there was really something for everyone, health-conscious sisters included.

“This is faaaancy,” Yocheved gushed. “Girls, can you come bake by your aunt someday?”

“When Ma kicks us out of the kitchen, sure,” Leah said.

“Not happening,” I trilled. “I can’t tell you what a help these girls were for Yom Tov, can you imagine, I didn’t make a single cheesecake and look at this!”

“It really is something. Well done, girls,” my mother said fondly, patting Michal — who happened to be nearest — on the shoulder.

I noticed Ari’s wife Avigail standing off to one side. They’d been married a few years already, but I guess she didn’t feel so comfortable yet. Ari was younger than us sisters by a good few years, and he was the only boy; we tried to make her feel included in the sisters, but there was a natural divide that made it less natural.

“Avigail, come taste something,” I invited her. “Can I get you a drink? A piece of cheesecake?”

She waved a hand. “No, I’m good,” she said, a little stiffly.

O-kaaay?

“I really need to get going. Set the meal up, you know….”

The meal?

“Ah, it’s no rush, Shavuos lunch always starts late, no? It’s part of the fun.”

Avigail shrugged, avoiding my eyes. “I have food that needs to be warmed up.”

“At least taste something?”

“I’m really not that hungry.” She pasted on a smile. “But thanks anyway. Nice to see you all.”

Ari appeared near her. “Yeah, okay, let’s go.” He didn’t say thank you or anything, which was a little weird, but like I said, youngest kid, I can’t say he’s always been particularly, well, particular, about paying attention to who hosted, who provided, who served what.

“Bye, Yossi, Meir, everyone. Shimmy, c’mon, we’re going, little guy.”

Ma looked up. “Ari, you’re going already? What time is lunch called for? We’re looking forward.”

Tova stopped short. “Oh, lunch is now? Not later?”

Ari looked at Avigail, who shrugged and looked at him pointedly.

“I mean, I guess, when you’re ready?”

Ma looked confused. “Should we come with you now? We don’t want to keep you waiting.”

Avigail spoke up. “No, it’s fine, I have stuff to prepare. The appetizers and, y’know, salad dressings and whatever. Just… when you’re ready.”

“Wow, sounds like some meal you’re going to get, Ma,” I said, testing the waters.

Avigail didn’t even look in my direction.

I

was a little uneasy about what had been going on with Ari and Avigail, a feeling that intensified when Ari’s number showed up on my caller ID after Yom Tov. Since when did Ari call me? We communicated mostly by text, or with me calling him up about something or other.

“I just wanted to tell you about Yom Tov. The first day, when you hosted that kiddush?”

“Yeesss?” I asked. Was I about to find out what the problem was?

“So Avigail’s been really upset actually. Because she worked really hard for that meal, and no one was hungry. Half the food wasn’t touched.”

“And?”

“And what? The kiddush. Your kiddush. It was like… pretty much a whole meal, salmon and salads and that quiche thing or whatever. You knew we were hosting a meal, why did you do that?”

Okay, deep breath, this was a classic the world doesn’t revolve around you moment, I was used to this. Oldest, youngest, here goes.

“Ari,” I said, as patiently as I could. “I make a kiddush every single year. We always invite whoever wants to come. It wasn’t a meal, we weren’t trying to stop anyone going to you, it was kiddush and cheesecake, that’s what everyone does.”

“It was cheesecake and cheesecake and cheesecake, and mousses and cookies and cakes and chips and all that salad and salmon and stuff as well. No one touched Avigail’s sweet potato pies or fruit crumbles, a ton went into the freezer or the garbage.”

Okay, well. Sweet potato pies and fruit crumbles, those were carb-heavy side dishes, not exactly Shavuos lunch crowd pleasers. Everyone knows that no one has much appetite after a heavy milchig kiddush, you had to keep it light.

And isn’t that what hosting was all about? You win some, you lose some. I remember one memorable Yom Tov meal that I slaved over and it turned out that half the guests were on the keto diet and couldn’t touch a thing, not even the meat, which had been marinated in a sweet sauce. There have been times when dishes flopped miserably and other times when they really hit the spot. You host and learn, it’s all part of it.

“Right, people aren’t so hungry for lunch on Shavuos. We did something light, a buffet style meal. That’s what people want, I find.”

“They want that because you served a whole meal earlier!” Ari exclaimed.

I sighed. Why were we belaboring this? “Okay, Ari, I don’t really get this, okay? I know it’s frustrating, I’m sorry, but you know we always do a kiddush, Ma and Tatty love it, all the siblings together… It was nothing to do with lunch, it was a separate thing. Did it bother you that they came later than planned or what?”

“Oh, please, Shosh, don’t do this whole Ari-is-being-unreasonable thing. I’m telling you that your kiddush blindsided our lunch, and you knew that when you invited everyone.”

“I’m not saying anything about being unreasonable,” I said, sighing again. “I just didn’t think this was such a… big deal, you know?”

“Maybe it’s not a big deal to you,” Ari said tightly. “But Avigail worked so hard, and everyone showed up full. Tova and co. nibbled on challah and that was it. They didn’t stop talking about how stuffed they were and how they just needed to get home to sleep off all that heavy cheesecake. How would you feel if that happened to you?”

He was hurt, and worse, he was hurt because Avigail was hurt, so there really wasn’t much I could say. And yeah, maybe Tova and the others could have been a little more sensitive with their comments, especially since this was Ari and Avigail’s debut hosting event and it clearly meant so much to them. But then again, I hadn’t been there, and couldn’t be sure that no one was overreacting.

And what did he want, for no one to get together for a family kiddush in order to protect his precious meal?

I wanted to tell Ari that the world didn’t revolve around the two of them. Ma and Tatty deserved nachas, everyone in the family wanted to enjoy a get-together, and part of hosting was being flexible about the needs of your guests.

Why couldn’t he see that this was part of family life?

If I could tell Ari and Avigail one thing it would be: I get that you wanted to host this year, but our family kiddush is a yearly tradition. Why couldn’t you make your plans so both could be accommodated?

Ari

“MA called, she wants to invite us for Shavuos,” Avigail told me.

I didn’t ask her who was Ma; that obviously meant her mother.

“Like, meals? Or moving in?” I frowned a little. “I dunno if I want to move in again, we were there for most of Pesach. It would be nice to stay home, no?”

We’d only recently moved into our newly purchased home, and Avigail was doing a great job setting it up. The thrill of having our own place had not worn off, and I kind of wanted to spend Yom Tov in our own space for a change.

“Yeah, I know,” Avigail said. “So we could stay home, and go for meals, but I was thinking, we used to host in Israel all the time, right? Your friends in yeshivah and my cousin Shira and her family… and those seminary girls… but like, since we moved back I don’t know if we’ve hosted even once — we’re always going to your family or mine.”

“And we lived in a tiny basement apartment with no room to breathe until now,” I reminded her.

“Yeah, that, too.” She shook her head. “Boy, am I grateful those days are behind us…. Anyway, so I was thinking. How about we invite my family for a night meal, and your parents for a day seudah?”

“My parents?” I was taken aback for a moment. It wasn’t that my parents made their own Yom Tov seudos; they were almost always hosted these days. But it was by my sisters. Shosh, Yocheved, Malky, Tova, years older than me and forces to be reckoned with. And they seemed to have some sort of unspoken agreement between them who has Ma and Tatty when.

“Yeah, your parents. Why shouldn’t we invite them? I’m sure they’d love to come.” Avigail had that determined look on her face, the one that meant that she wasn’t giving up on an idea so fast.

I considered it for a moment. She was right; no one had a monopoly on hosting. And I could simply ask my mother if they were free for a meal or if they’d already accepted an invitation anywhere. “True, why shouldn’t we?” I echoed Avigail. “I’ll call my mother later. I’m sure she’ll be really touched that you thought of it.”

MA

was touched. And excited, too. “Have we ever eaten by you, Ari? No, I don’t think so… this is really exciting. It’s not too much for Avigail?”

“Ma, it was Avigail’s idea. And she’s happy to do it. You know we used to host big meals in Israel… It’s not like she hasn’t cooked before.”

The comment seemed to fly right over her head. “Well, let me know if I can bring anything, I’m happy to help out.”

Help out. I put down the phone mildly annoyed, but it took a while until I figured out why.

It was the vibe, the Ari is still a kid undertone that took the joy out of any conversation with my family members.

Are you sure you got this, can I help out, did you remember xyz…

It wasn’t their fault, I knew that, it was simply the reality of being the ben zekunim, and only son, after four daughters and 20 years. And yes, Shosh is old enough to be my mother, and she kind of thinks she is, sometimes.

But. I wasn’t a little kid, I was a married man, a father. Avigail and I were perfectly capable of hosting a meal, for goodness’ sake, and hopefully a lot more, too. And maybe this was my chance to show my sisters that we were players in the game, too, not the cute little baby couple who were dutifully invited along with my parents whenever my sisters hosted them. (We often said no, mostly because Avigail wanted to go to her parents. But they didn’t need to know that…)

Avigail was waiting expectantly to hear about the invitation.

“We’re on!” I told her, pumping a fist in the air.

She smiled. “Great! And I was thinking, should we invite any of your sisters, too? Some company for Shimmy… make it more of a vibe, you know?”

“So let’s do Tova. She has a kid Shimmy’s age.”

And she’s the youngest of the girls. I couldn’t imagine inviting Shosh or Malky, they would think it was adoooorable and then turn it down, we’re a big family, it’s too much work. But you’re so sweet. Hey, maybe you want to come to us instead?

Nope. No, no, and no again.

“Tova’s good. Can you text her?”

“Sure.”

A

day later, we were confirmed: We’d be having Ma, Tatty, and Tova and her family. “That’s four adults, five kids, plus us and Shimmy. You up for it?” I asked Avigail.

“You bet! I have my menu all planned out,” she said, laughing.

“Shouldn’t have doubted you.”

For the next few days, I was the sounding board as Avigail rehashed and revised the menu. Dessert transformed from passion fruit mousse to a berry crumble with ice cream and some sort of sauce; the appetizer went from meat to fish to meat again; and several salad recipes were bookmarked in magazines as Avigail went back and forth deciding if and what and how many.

I knew this wasn’t just a meal. For Avigail, it was her first opportunity to host my family, show them what she could do, impress the in-laws and maybe even get a little ‘in’ with my sisters, who are kind of an intimidating club to outsiders, especially outsiders who are an average of 15 years younger than them. For me, it was a similar opportunity. A chance to let my family see us where we were now, instead of keeping me stuck in that baby of the family role, hasn’t quite grown up yet role that I don’t seem to be able to shake off.

“Whatever you make,” I told Avigail, “I’m sure they’re going to love it so much that they’ll all be begging to come again.”

A

nd then I got the text from Shosh.

Hi Ari, how are you doing? Just wanted to invite you all to kiddush on Shavuos morning. Everyone’s coming! Hope to see you there!

Wait. Everyone?

Did that mean Ma and Tova, too?

Thanks, I wrote back. We’re hosting lunch though… Ta and Ma and Tova and co…

Testing the waters.

Yeah, I know! So cute. I think they’re going to come by for cheesecake also, on the way from shul. Please come too! Really want everyone there.

Cheesecake. And salads and fruit and drinks and cookies and and and…

Were our guests really going to go for brunch at Shosh right before our meal? And why was Shosh even inviting them, knowing that we had worked out plans weeks ago?

I texted Ma, hey, did we confirm a time for lunch?

Testing the waters.

A few minutes later, she replied. Not yet, but we’ll probably stop by Shosh’s kiddush on the way, so it’s no rush.

Stop by Shosh’s kiddush? Like it was a little kugel and cake affair, take a slice, wish good Yom Tov, move on?

I knew what Shosh’s Shavuos morning spreads were like. It was pretty much lunch with another name. We were there last year; we’d all come for kiddush and stayed through lunch, which was pretty much nonexistent after the enormous kiddush situation.

Why was she doing this? She knew we were hosting half the family for the meal. It was like she didn’t trust us to pull it off, so she was making sure everyone ate first.

Okay, okay, maybe that was a bit paranoid, but….

I told Avigail about the kiddush, careful to keep my tone neutral. I wanted to see her reaction.

“Kiddush? But what about lunch?” she asked immediately. “I mean, like, last year she served quiche and salads and stuff at the kiddush and we ended up having challah and like, some pastrami, at three in the afternoon for the Yom Tov meal. Is she planning to do that again? Because I have a whole meal planned. And shopped for. And half of it’s cooked and in the freezer….”

“Hey, we’re still on for the meal. It just… well, we might have to do it a little later in the day.”

Avigail frowned. “That’s really annoying, it’s like turning our seudah into the afterthought. And everyone just wants to sleep Shavuos afternoon, they’ll be watching the time and desperate to get going…”

“I know. But I guess we hadn’t told Ma and Tova what time we wanted to start… and they just figured they’d get both invites in….”

Avigail didn’t look happy. “Do we need to go?” she asked. “Maybe I’ll just use the time to set up the meal.”

I made a face. “I don’t know, I feel like Shosh makes these things and expects everyone to be there, it’s like, she’s hosting the Full Family Kiddush Get Together,” I said, putting an emphasis on the words. “She’d probably be really insulted if we don’t come.”

“Well, maybe I’m insulted about this whole kiddush before our meal.” Avigail crossed her arms.

“I don’t mean insulted, I mean, like, it’ll be a whole deal. You know my sisters. They’ll be all like why didn’t Ari come, maybe Avigail didn’t want to, blah blah blah. I think we should rather just come for a little while and then leave.”

“Yeah, I guess.” But somehow, the joy seemed to have fizzled out of the Yom Tov prep experience.

A

nd so we went. Along with Ma and Tatty, and Yocheved and Malky and Tova and their families. Because that’s what happened when Shosh planned something. She made the plans and everyone just kind of followed along like little pussycats. How? Was it just an ‘oldest’ thing?

Avigail trailed behind a little, and I slowed my pace to match hers. We ended up walking in when the kiddush was already in full swing. And by full swing I mean tables groaning under a dozen types of cheesecake, cookies, and cakes, and a drinks station, and to one side, several salads and enough salmon and side dishes to serve as a very respectable full-scale lunch.

Avigail pressed her lips together. I knew what she was thinking of: the roast she’d carefully seared, the charred corn summer salad she’d prepared the components for with such care, the pies and pilafs and crumbles and chicken steaks and appetizers and whatnot.

Who was even going to eat after this lavish spread?

The cheesecake looked good, but Avigail’s face made me instantly lose my appetite. How could Shosh do this to her? To us?

We left early, and of course, the whole family was on the case, you’re going already? Why don’t you stay a bit….

Avigail said something about needing to prepare for the meal. And Ma was all sweet, we’re looking forward and all that, but seriously? They were all getting their meal here.

A

nd I wasn’t wrong.

By the time we started the meal, it was late, Shimmy was cranky, and Avigail was frazzled because the appetizer was getting overdone and the hot plate was set to go off soon, so how would she warm up the mains?

We rushed to wash and get started, and Ma and Tova exclaimed over the appetizer, Tatty took a second slice of challah, and I couldn’t help but notice that despite the compliments and warm words, no one ate more than a couple bites of the gnocchi.

“It’s wonderful, really wonderful,” Ma said, smiling, as she helped Avigail to clear the far-from-empty plates. My wife stretched her lips into a smile, but I could tell how disappointed she was.

Main course was much of the same. The salad went down nicely, but I was the only one to taste the sweet potato (swirled with silan and some other exotic ingredient, I lost track) pie, and the tricolor carrots. We were left with half the roast, most of the pargiyot, and almost-untouched sides. And by the time we reached dessert, Tova and her husband were begging off.

“The kids are so cranky. I’m so sorry. I’m stuffed, we’re going to skip dessert….”

Kids are cranky. Right.

Because they’d spent two hours at another party before they came to ours.

Dessert was a sad finale to a disappointing meal; Tatty passed on the crumble and just had ice cream, Ma had a bite or two just to taste, and I forced the sweetness past the bad taste in my mouth and tried to overcompensate by complimenting Avigail several times on the dessert, the meal, the tablescape, the food.

“Thanks, Ari, it’s fine,” she finally muttered to me.

But it wasn’t fine. It wasn’t fine at all.

If I could tell Shosh one thing it would be: It wasn’t “just cheesecake”; it was a huge family party that blindsided our seudah. 

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1063)