Miri glowered as Deena dragged her out of the dining room. In the kitchen, Deena stared into Miri’s eyes. “Sweetheart, I know you wanted to steal the afikomen, and you’re very upset now.” Three points for validation. “I would also be upset if that happened to me.”

“She’s a liar!” Miri cried. “I had it first and—”

Deena’s mother walked in, holding out a bar of chocolate. “Here, sweetie, stop crying, we’re going to—”

Miri threw the chocolate bar onto the floor.

“Miri!” Deena said sharply. “Calm down! You’re a big girl. If you don’t act your age, you’re going to have to go to sleep right now.”

So much for validation. She was turning into her mother. She was making every mistake in every single parenting book.

Miri scowled.

Ugh. This drove Deena nuts. Screaming, then sulking. Her mother left the kitchen. Deena filled her lungs slowly. What now? They couldn’t return to the Seder this way. She had to get Miri into a good mood, quick.

“Look, Miri, there’s another Seder tomorrow night. I’m sure you’ll manage to steal the afikomen then. And then you’ll ask Zeidy for…”

As she wracked her brain trying to remember the latest afikomen decision Miri had made — a slime kit? hoverboard? — Deena heard low voices coming from her father’s study. Her mother. She was talking to the kids who must have hid Zeidy’s afikomen.

“I know you got it first,” Kaila Monosov was saying. “But Sara, you know that Miri is a yesomah. She doesn’t have a Tatty! You’re going to get an afikomen gift from your father, but Miri can’t have that, so let me see you be mevater and give her Zeidy’s afikomen. It’s a huge mitzvah.”

A moment later, the kids tumbled out of the study. Sara tossed the bag in Miri’s direction.

“Here,” she muttered. “You can have it.”

Deena’s throat tightened. She was definitely — definitely — joining the tour for Succos.

The game was a Hartstein Pesach tradition. Gently crack a piece of matzah, deftly reattach the two, and challenge everyone around the table to find the crack.

As a matzah-crack champion, Yochi was surrounded by his nieces and nephews, who clambered around their favorite uncle, holding out their matzah pieces and yelling, “Look at mine! Look at mine!”

“Hey,” Yochi called to Pessie’s brother Berel. “Let’s see if you can find the crack on this one.”

Berel pulled the matzah apart. He held up the two pieces and said, “I got it, huh?”

“Cheater!” all the kids yelled.

“So, where’s the tour guide taking the oilem tomorrow?” Berel asked Yochi. “Scuba diving in the Great Barrier Reef?”

Yochi fidgeted. He cast a swift glance at his father-in-law sitting at the head of the table. His shver’s face was expressionless.

Humor, Yochi decided. Humor always worked best. “Chol Hamoed,” he declared, “means Coney Island together with all of Klal Yisrael. Tradition is tradition, don’t mess with that.”

“And next Chol Hamoed?”

Yochi turned. His mother-in-law was standing behind him, balancing a tray of some crepe and liver concoction. She put a plate in front of him.

“Next Chol Hamoed tradition goes out the window?” she asked.

Yochi picked up a fork. “Delicious,” he said. “Wow, Shvigger, this is really good.”

“Not as good as your fancy caterer in Oslo, I’m sure.”

Yochi gripped his fork. Could she stop? Could she please stop?

“Ma…” Pessie muttered.

Yochi threw her a grateful glance.

The room was awkwardly silent, everyone pretending to concentrate on their food. Yochi couldn’t stand it.

“Psst.” He grabbed Fishy, Berel’s six-year-old son. “If you find the crack in this matzah before I count to ten, I’ll play a round of String with you.”

Fishy’s eyes scanned the matzah.

“Seven, eight, eight-and-a-half…”

“I got it!”

“Let’s see,” Yochi sang. He pulled at the matzah but it didn’t come apart.

“Heeeeey!” Fishy yelled. “There was no crack! Cheater! I win!” He pulled matzah box string out of his pocket, nimbly twisted it around his fingers and held the “board” up. “Take it.”

Yochi laughed. The kids crowded around him again, watching as Yochi wove his fingers through the string. The women stood up to collect the plates. The murmurs of conversations started up again. The awkwardness was over.

Humor. It always worked.

“I’m sorry about my mother,” Pessie told him later that night, after the kids were in bed. “It… it wasn’t fair. And in front of everyone… I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Yochi said. “She’s my shvigger, gotta live with it.”

“How are you so cool about these things? I was cringing for you.”

“Whatever,” Yochi said. “And I guess she’s right. We won’t be able to go to Coney Island next Chol Hamoed.” He chuckled. “I hope the kids won’t be disappointed.”

He was hoping Pessie would smile at that, but she just eyed him coolly. “I’m going to do some laundry for the kids for second days.”

Yochi shrugged. He was happy she wasn’t complaining, even if she wasn’t exactly dancing for joy.

In any case, he needed to print those tickets to the aquarium for tomorrow. If they were destined to do Coney Island, at least they would avoid the line.

He went to his study and turned on his computer. While waiting for his filter to grant access to the aquarium’s site, he scrolled through his inbox and saw an email from Deena Lizman.

I gave your offer more thought and I’m happy to say that my answer is yes. I’m excited to join your tour on Succos! Let’s talk after Yom Tov to discuss details.

Nice! His idea was taking off. This was going to be great, he just knew it.

He texted Binick quickly. Food blogger is a yes!

Then he hit reply and started typing a response to Lizman. Wow, that’s amazing! We’re so excited about this. I’ll call you after—

He heard the door open and turned around. Pessie walked in and peered at his screen.

“Yochi?” she asked. “Are you working now? On Chol Hamoed?”

to be continued…

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 746)