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with her to the fish store to buy a live carp, which we would dump into the filled bathtub as soon as we got home. When Grandma was ready to cook it, we began the difficult job of capturing the lively fish — no easy task for a young boy and an elderly lady. By the time we succeeded, the floor and our clothes were soaked from the many times the slippery fish slid out of our hands and splashed back into the water.
    I would not stay in the kitchen to watch my grandmother kill the fish but came back in time to see her slit it open and clean the inside. The thin outer skin she placed to one side. The bones she discarded, while the flesh she mixed with vegetables and passed through a hand grinder. After cooking it, she put it back into the fish's skin. I looked in awe as she recreated the fish she had killed and taken apart.
    But that was only a small part of the Seder. Grandma also prepared matzo balls for the chicken soup, boiled chicken, and boiled flanken with horseradish, vegetables, and desserts.
    Before enjoying the Seder meal, we had to observe the religious traditions. First we washed our hands, then said the prayers, ate bitter herbs, and rinsed our hands once more. All this while my stomach rumbled and grumbled from hunger.
    Soon my turn came. My knees were shaking. I was not quite seven. Rising in place at the table, I recited the traditional four questions in fluent Hebrew. “ Mah Nishtanah … Why is this night …” begins the traditional prayer. Not one error. Not a hesitation. My knees were still trembling, clapping against one another, but I was beaming from ear to ear. I had done it! My parents' faces glowed. They were proud of me, I could tell.
    Then Opapa called me to his side. In his hand he held a small tissue-wrapped package. His eyes had a warm glimmer and in a voice like a soft caress, he said, “Here! This is for you.” I ripped the paper, lifted the lid of the small white box and there it was, shining brightly a silver pocket watch.
    After overcoming my surprise, I flung myself at him almost knocking him off the chair. “Oh, Opapa ! I've always wanted a pocket watch.”
    With a gentleness all his own, he placed one hand on the back of my head and held me against his face while I buried mine into his beard. How I loved my Opapa ! I loved him so much that even kissing his coarse beard did not feel coarse to me at all.
    “You did great credit to your parents. I'm proud of you,” he said in Yiddish. The tone of his voice made me realize how much my recital meant to him.
    Holding up the watch, I asked, “Is it silver?”
    “Of course it's silver. Here!” With his hand he motioned for the watch. His smile radiated through the thick gray beard. “You see this? This is all engraved by hand.”
    I got the impression he had done the engraving himself. “Did you do it?” I asked.
    His quiet laughter slid through the air. “No, no! But I know the man who did it. He is one of the finest in our community. Now, look here.” He pushed the small button on the crown and the cover popped open. “Read this.”
    Engraved in Hebrew on the inside cover was my Jewish name and the date: “To David Mendel — Pesach 5697.” From the corner of my eye I could see Mutti , Papa, and Grandmother quietly enjoying the scene.
    As I had promised my mother, right after dessert I went to my room. That night I wanted to sleep with my new gift.
    “You can't sleep with it,” my father said. “You'll break it if you roll on it. Why not hang it on the wall?”
    That was a good suggestion, I thought. Papa brought a hammer and a long nail and helped me hang the watch over the headboard. Three times I took it off the wall before falling asleep. For four days the watch remained on the wall while I stayed in bed waiting to shake off whatever was ailing me.
     

Milan
     
    N early a year after that celebration in Lwow, my precious silver watch was gone, abandoned in Vienna with Teddy and almost everything else I owned. The