Chedva: Why are you turning a family simchah into a family feud?

Rina: I know you don’t like it, but I just can’t host the sheva brachos

CHEDVA

W

hen I got married, Rina made sheva brachos for us. She was always the typical oldest — a take-charge, super-organized, coper type. It was spring; she did green burlap tablecloths with aluminum watering cans holding purple hydrangeas and calla lilies (“kallah lilies,” I’d whispered to Yitzy and giggled like it was hilarious). She set up a salad bar like a farmer’s market. The terra cotta chargers were the perfect touch.

It was our last sheva brachos, and it was also the nicest. Yitzy’s uncles had hosted us the night before in Mannah Steakhouse. It was gorgeous and dim with tinkling crystal and food with ingredients I couldn’t spell. But there’s just something about the siblings’ sheva brachos — nothing compares to the love.

When Ita got married, I was thrilled to recreate that for her. Rina and I had so much fun; it was the dead of the winter and we did everything in white. White-on-white tablecloths, white cloth napkins, white china, white flowers in silver bowls — it was gorgeous. Even the food matched. Rina made creamy cauliflower soup for the first course and these fantastic coconut cream parfaits for dessert.

Mommy’s eyes widened when she arrived. “Shepping nachas?” I’d asked lightly.

“I love seeing you all together.”

By the time Ahuva’s turn came, there were three of us to do the work. It was Purim time, so busy, but Rina found these show-stopping velour leopard-print tablecloths. That sheva brachos was elegant and classy with just the right amount of fun — only Rina could pull that off. She’d suggested doing it in a shul hall — more space, I think — but Ita and I totally disagreed.

“It’s so much nicer in the house,” I’d explained. “It gives it such a close and warm atmosphere. A shul basement is going to look empty and impersonal and it will have that horrible echo during the speeches. And I happen to know that Mommy loves it when we do it in your house.”

Then Esther got engaged — the last of us Reingold sisters. The day after the l’chayim, I ran to Dollar Cave and picked up these fantastic black and gold flippy-sequin runners. I brought them straight to Rina.

“I saw them there three weeks ago but I didn’t want to buy them until it was official,” I told Rina. I waited for her to ooh and aah.

“Great.”

“Let’s do the last one this time,” I said. The last sister, the last sheva brachos; it would be so amazing, I could hardly wait.