As the twelfth daughter-in-law, I feel like I’ve entered the scene in the middle of Act 6

I come back from my in-laws after Yom Tov with my mind filled with stories. Not the sort of stories that have a neat beginning, middle, and end. A setting, climax, and resolution that have you climb the story mountain to its exhilarating peak and then sigh with either relief or sadness at its culmination.

Rather, as the twelfth daughter-in-law, I feel like I’ve entered the scene in the middle of Act 6 and I’m trying to figure out the characters and plot as the play continues to unfold.

There’s the complex relationship between my mother-in-law and her mother. The frantic dusting of the already clean sideboards before Bubby arrives, the tasting and re-tasting of the food, and the setting out of elegant crystal and china before she joins the seudah.

Everyone knows to be on their best behavior during the meals – not so much for Bubby who, at this age, doesn’t see and hear it all, but for her daughter.

And I wonder, how did this story unfold when my mother-in-law was a young mother of 26? A teenager of 16? A little girl of 6? Is this the story of a once-young mother, forever trying to fulfill her mother’s high Hungarian expectations? Or the story of an insecure little girl growing up between many sisters? I don’t know, and probably never will.