“Dini’s shunt? Oh no! What are you going to do?”

Menachem frowned. Something was wrong with Dini, his adorable little cousin. She was three years old, with curly, golden hair and a glowing smile. She’d been born with a medical condition, though; she had too much fluid in her brain. When she was just a tiny baby, she’d had an operation, and the doctors had put a tube in her head to drain the fluid. Luckily, they’d caught the problem very early, and Menachem was glad that Dini didn’t seem the worse for it. The only problem was that the tube, called a shunt, had to stay in to allow the fluid to drain continually, and now, it sounded like there was a problem with it. Menachem bit his lip and thought of his cousin and good friend, Sruly, Dini’s big brother. What was going to happen?

Mrs. Schiff was already on her feet. “Don’t worry, Chana,” her mother was saying. “I’m on my way, and we’ll take her in to the ER together. You’re not alone.” Menachem’s eyes widened. His mother was leaving? But it was Erev Pesach! And Tatty was going to be out all day! His mother quickly hung up and turned to face Menachem. “Tzaddik,” she said, her eyes soft, “I’m going with Tanta Chana to the hospital with Dini. There seems to be a blockage in her shunt, and Dini’s doctor said to go directly to the emergency room so they can take care of it there. Tanta Chana can’t go alone.” Menachem stared. “Tanta Chana is going to bring the others here,” his mother said. She glanced around the kitchen quickly, looking a little dizzy. “Everything is… mostly under control,” Mrs. Schiff said. “But if… if you and Sruly can manage to do the rest of the things on today’s list, that would be a huge help. And of course, watch the little ones!”

Before Menachem knew it, he was holding his mother’s blue Pesach notebook, his younger siblings were clamoring for bagels, and his mother was dashing upstairs to get ready to leave. Just a few minutes later, the Leibowitz clan piled into the house, and the noise level rose to a deafening crescendo. Mrs. Schiff ran out the door into Tanta Chana’s car. Menachem hardly caught a glimpse of little Dini as the car sped off. His heart pinched with worry for his cousin, but there was no time to focus on that. Not when there were ten children age ten and under in the house, who all needed to be taken care of! And the list!

“Hi, Menachem.” Sruly tried to smile.

“Hey, Sruly.” Menachem tried to think of something comforting to say. He couldn’t come up with anything. “Upsetting, huh?” he finally managed.

“Yeah. I hope Dini is okay. She was super sleepy. Every time she woke up, she started vomiting.”

Menachem wanted to reply, but the two littlest ones, his brother Yudi and Sruly’s sister Atara, were both screaming. “Mammma! Mammmma!” Yudi yelled. Atara held tightly to her fuzzy pink blankie and sobbed.

Sruly looked at them helplessly and Menachem realized he had to do something.

“Here, Atara. Here, Yudi,” he said. He reached for them, but they continued screaming. The older kids all stood around in varying stages of bewilderment and fear. It’s up to me, Menachem thought, and frantically tried to think of something to do. “I know!” he said. “Pesach macaroons!” He turned to the sea of bewildered faces. “Let’s have a yummy snack and then say some Tehillim for Dini. Hashem will take care of her!” With more confidence than he felt, he led everyone into the kitchen, which suddenly felt very cramped. He found the box of chocolate macaroons in the pantry and ripped it open. Soon everyone had one macaroon in their mouth and another in their hand, and no one was screaming anymore. Menachem mentally patted himself on the back. Sruly, too, was looking less sad. “These are yummy,” he said. “Yeah,” Menachem said distractedly. “When they’re done that, and after the Tehillim, let’s go finish the bagels  — they’re more filling, and the zeman must be soon. We gotta eat them. Then let’s ask Tehilla to take them down to the basement to play with Magna-Tiles while we get ready for Pesach!”

Sruly looked dubious. “Tehilla can manage them all?” he asked.

Menachem made an impatient noise. “Never mind,” he said. “She has Eliezer and Efrayim and even Malky to help her. We have to get ready.” He glanced at the clock worriedly. The kids were already finishing their macaroons and clamoring for more. “Come, guys,” he said, raising his voice above the fray, “To the porch! BAGELS!”

There was a stampede to the front door, and Menachem quickly hoisted Yudi up on his hip. “We’ll have to share,” he muttered to Sruly. “I don’t think my mother got an extra six bagels….”

“We’ll each have half,” Sruly suggested. “I’m sure there are Pesachdig crackers and stuff in the kitchen if anyone’s hungry.”

On the porch, the older children said Tehillim and then everyone had bagels. Menachem remembered his mother’s request to sweep up the chometz and he did so, grateful that bagels were not very crumbly. When he finished, he turned to his cousin, nine-year-old Tehilla. “Tehilla,” he said, “you’re the head counselor in our camp.” Then he turned to Eliezer, Efrayim, and Malky. “And you,” he said, “are the junior counselors. These are very important jobs. Do you think you can manage?”

Tehilla smiled shyly and nodded. Eliezer cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered: “Races in the backyard!” The kids all went running after him, even Yudi, but Atara stuck her thumb in her mouth and held her blankie closer. Sruly picked her up and the two boys headed into the suddenly, blessedly quiet house.

Menachem picked up the notebook and read out loud.

“Empty vacuum canister. Make Seder plate items. Set Seder table. Finish cooking for Seder — knaidlach and dessert. Open matzah boxes. Make charoses. Open wine/grape juice bottles. Set lights and timers.” Menachem felt an overwhelming pressure building in his chest. How would they ever do it all? He was glad that his mother was organized. At least the Seder was mostly cooked, and everything was already clean and covered. Otherwise, he didn’t know how they would have managed. This was overwhelming enough!

Sruly licked his lips. “Let’s start,” he said.

“What do we need for the Seder plate?” Menachem asked.

“Look it up in the Haggadah,” Sruly advised. “I’ll go empty the vacuum canister. Your father will be home any minute to take it to bi’ur chometz.”

Sruly came back to find Menachem scribbling in the notebook. “Salt water. Karpas. Zeroa. Roasted egg. Marror. Wash pre-checked lettuce. Grate horseradish.” He looked up at Sruly with a wild look in his eyes. “How’re we going to do it all?” he wailed.

Just then there was a crash. Atara had pulled all the Pesach pots out of the cupboard and one of the heavy ones had fallen onto her foot. She started crying loudly, just as the rest of the clan trooped in. “We’re thiiiiiiirrrrrrssssstyyyyy!”

Menachem and Sruly exchanged a glance, and then Menachem squared his shoulders. Calm. Confident. Take care of the kids. Work quickly but carefully. Hashem will help us. We can do this.

It felt like climbing onto a new bike: bigger, stronger, but less comfortable, less practiced. Like wearing new, stiff shoes. Like slipping on a new, stronger, bigger personage. When Menachem wanted to scream at the little ones for getting in the way, for spilling milk on the floor, for crying, he turned his face away from them, closed his eyes, and forced himself to breathe through his nose. When nothing was going right, there was so much to do, and he didn’t really know how to do it, he remembered his mantra: Calm. Confident. Work quickly but carefully. Hashem will help us. We can do this. And then he took another deep breath and tried once more. When he felt like all he wanted to do was run, far away, and never see anyone ever again, he forced himself to breathe yet again and reapplied himself in a way he’d never known he could.

As the day wore on, he felt himself growing more and more tired, but he also felt more and more in control. Like he was growing into the new bike, the new shoes. It was becoming more comfortable, somehow. And when he slipped up and found himself snapping at Efrayim, he bit his lip, apologized, and started over.

They were ready in the nick of time. Just half an hour before it was time to light candles, Mrs. Schiff called. Rabbi Leibowitz was going to the hospital to be with Tanta Chana and Dini as she recovered from her emergency surgery. And Mrs. Schiff was coming home. Rabbi Schiff was due home any minute. And as Menachem looked around the house — not very tidy, but ready for the big day — he felt the joy swelling up in his heart. It was almost Seder night, and he felt like he was riding his great new bike right into the great big night, more ready than he’d ever been before.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 907)