Just before Grace After Meals, Mr. Wine asks Naomi Dayan to offer some words—a dvar Torah—about the holiday. She smiles, seemingly unfazed by being put on the spot like that.

I nudge Aunty Steph and whisper, “You’ll see, she’s good.” Aunty Steph nods and turns to face her at the end of the table. Naomi Dayan thinks for a minute and then clears her throat.

“In order to perform the unique Succot mitzvah of lulav and etrog, where we take three plants bound together with a fruit and shake them in every direction to remind us that God surrounds us, we need all four of the items to make the blessing,” she begins in her impeccable English accent. She sounds like the Queen. “It says in the Mishnah that the lulav—a frond from the date palm tree—has taste but no smell, symbolizing those who study Torah but do not possess good deeds. The hadass—myrtle—has a good smell but no taste, symbolizing those who possess good deeds but do not study Torah. The aravah—willow—has neither taste nor smell, symbolizing those who lack both Torah and good deeds. And of course, the etrog—the citron—has both a good taste and a good smell, symbolizing those who have both Torah and good deeds.”

She pauses and looks around the table, her gaze resting on Honey, who, as dessert was being served, brought a plate of crumbly apple crisp to her father and then plopped herself down in Aaron’s abandoned seat, right next to Naomi. Naomi gives her a warm smile. I shift in my seat, pulling my coat closer around me.

“Perhaps I am influenced by being a newlywed, but I cannot help but think that this is what makes a good marriage.” Naomi Dayan turns to beam at her husband. He looks back adoringly. Miriam nudges me and mimes sticking her finger down her throat. I laugh despite myself. I turn to see Aunty Steph’s reaction, but I’m not sure she’s heard a word. She and Shmuel Yosef are having a silent conversation across the table, their eyes fixed on each other.

“We need friends and partners who complement us. Even if we think we have much to offer, or if we think we have nothing to offer. The etrog has both smell and taste—it has everything to offer—but you still cannot make the blessing on it alone.”

I look at Honey sitting right next to Naomi Dayan. I look at Aunty Steph and Shmuel Yosef looking at each other. I swallow. Am I a willow with no smell and no taste—tied to the myrtle and palm, waved with the etrog—with nothing to offer beyond my presence?

After lunch the next day, Aunty Steph and my mom are busy talking on the couch in the den. Max is at their feet wearing his space ranger costume, absorbed in an elaborate Lego Minifigure battle, and my dad is napping. Something tells me Honey won’t be coming over today. So I head over to the Wines’.