The Devil's Arithmetic Read Free

anger at the injustice continued.
    â€œOf course it isn’t fair,” whispered Aunt Eva to her, “but what has fair to do with it?” She smiled and, to break the tension, started singing “Dayenu” in her strong, musical voice. The rousing repetitive song carried them all along, even Hannah’s mother, who was tone deaf.
    Da-da-yaynu
    Da-da-yaynu
    Da-yaynu, Da-yaynu
.
    Hannah knew it meant “it would have been enough,” but she suddenly felt that nothing was enough except to get out of that room and that Seder in which nothing fair or fun was happening.
    And then she remembered the wine. That, at least, was new. When the Seder began again, she would get another glass of watered wine. For the first time, she was being allowed to drink along with the grown-ups.
    â€œLet Hannahleh join in the toasts for real,” Grandpa Will had said before the Seder had begun.
    â€œNow, Poppy,” Hannah’s mother protested, “she’s only twelve.”
    â€œThirteen,” Hannah said.
    Eva had patted her hand.
    â€œAnd when my sister Eva was thirteen, what she would have given for a little glass of watered wine . . . ,” Grandpa Will had begun. It was the same kind of argument he used for everything. He never had to finish the sentence, for no one could withstand the promise of guilt.
    â€œAll right, Poppy.”
    Grandpa Will had smiled, turning to Eva. “See, they can’t keep her a baby forever.”
    Babies, like Aaron, had to make do with grape juice. Hannah had been grateful to her grandfather for that. And she had discovered, with the very first toast, that she liked the sweet, cloying taste of the wine, even though it made her head buzz.
    â€œHannah!” Aaron tugged on her sleeve and his eyes were full of mischief. “It’s time.”
    â€œTime?” For a moment she thought he meant time for the next toast, and then she realized he meant time to steal the
afikoman
, the matzoh wrapped in the blue embroidered cloth. Looking around the table, she saw that the adults were all suddenly very busy talking to one another. She remembered when, as the only child, she’d been the one to take the
afikoman;
she’d thought herself terribly clever when she found it under Grandpa Will’s chair. Of course, now she knew that he always hid it there for easy discovery. She smiled at Aaron, suddenly feeling very adult. “You go look for it. I’ll keep watch here.”
    â€œOkay.” He slipped from his chair and crawled around to the head of the table. Then he leaped to his feet, holding the blue cloth and its crumbling contents highover his head. “I found it, Poppy! Now I get to hide it.” He ran from the room, but no one leaped up to follow.
    â€œHe’s going to hide it in the bathroom,” Hannah said to no one in particular. “He always does.”
    â€œHush, Hannahleh, don’t spoil things,” Aunt Rose said.
    â€œYou always hid the
afikoman
under Grandma Belle’s pillow,” Aunt Eva said.
    â€œYou knew?”
    Uncle Sam guffawed. “You left enough crumbs.”
    â€œKnowing and not-knowing,” her mother said and sighed. “It’s all part of the game. And the game is to uncover the hidden order of the universe. Seder means ‘order.’ I read that in a book.”
    â€œWhat hidden order?” Grandpa Will said. “Do you think there was order back in the camps? Do you think . . .”
    Eva interrupted smoothly. “Lily, Lily, you are much too serious about these things. Let the children play. They are children for such a short time. And it’s not as if we keep kosher or do things as a rabbi would. We do it
for
the children. Isn’t that right, Belle?”
    Grandma Belle nodded. “So they can have fun
and
remember their history.”
    Brushing the stray wisps of white hair from her broad forehead, Eva rose. “Here we come, Aaron,