“So Mama, we got to talking with Marjorie on the subway,” he began, “and would you believe she doesn’t have a place for the Sedorim?”

March 1964

IF baking without flour was strange, if searching for crumbs in children’s pockets was weird, things in the Levine house now seemed to be just plain crazy.

First, there was Ruchele. The little girl walked into the kitchen holding a bright-red plastic bucket and a green shovel. “It’s for Pesach,” she confided to Marjorie, who was putting the final touches on some interestingly shaped coconut confections called macaroons.

What now? she thought. Do these people dump the bread into buckets?

Mutty wandered in, looking for a cup of coffee. Moments later Artie followed him, hugging a large brown bag to his chest. “I got the stuff, Mut,” he said.

“Be careful with it,” Mutty answered.

“Of course.”

Marjorie had had enough. She turned away from the oven. “What in the world is going on?” she demanded.

Mutty, drinking from his favorite Pesach cup, looked at her curiously. “What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about? What’s the big secret in the bag? And what’s with the bucket that Ruchele keeps showing me?”

“Bucket?”

“Plastic red bucket that she said is for Pesach. What’s Jewish law have to say about that?”

The two young men looked at each and burst out laughing. “It’s not Jewish law,” Artie said.

“More like Levine family law,” Mutty added.

Puzzlement and curiosity mixed with a flash of anger: Are they laughing at me?

“Would someone please tell me what is going on?” Her voice came out strident and edgy.