Grandma's Matzoh Ball Soup

A short story by Rachel E. Simon

I want to share a beautiful story written by my daughter this past winter for our town’s annual writing competition. A fourth grader, Rachel won the USR Women’s Club’s Short Story and Poetry contest for her age group. She went on to win at the state and now at the national and international level.

I present to you the 2024 International General Federation of Women’s Clubs Youth Creative Writing Contest winning entry for Grades 3, 4, and 5 by nascent author, Rachel E. Simon:

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As I followed my nose into Grandma's kitchen on the first night of Passover, I realized that the wonderful aroma coming from it was the delightful smell of homemade matzoh ball soup.  When I stepped into the kitchen, I saw my Grandma standing near the stove, cutting carrots and celery. 

At that time, my mom walked in and asked if she could help make matzoh balls when it was time.  "Can I help, too?" I chimed in. "Of course you can, Rachel," Grandma responded.

As I left the  kitchen, I began to jump up and down!  I had always loved making matzoh balls with my family.  When it was finally time to make the matzoh balls, I could barely contain myself from screaming.  After I washed my hands and made sure they were dry, I stuck my fingers into the gooey mixture.  It felt like sticky slime.  But I knew it was going to be delicious after it was cooked.

We made little balls of the wet, cement-like mush and plopped them into a pot full of boiling, hot soup. When the last matzoh ball was finished, the three of us went to the bathroom and washed our hands.  We waited as patiently as we could for the matzoh balls to cook.  The anticipation was killing me!  I could hardly wait for it to be ready.

Soon, the delicious smell of matzoh ball soup began to waft through the house, making my mouth water.  I could not wait to have just one little taste and to feel the warm liquid slide down my throat and into my belly.

Finally, Grandma called us in for dinner.  We took our places around the old dining room table and waited for the soup to be placed in front of us.  The walls of the room were covered with family pictures.  I liked being surrounded by all of the lovely memories of past holidays.

On this holiday, which was Passover, I sat between my mom and Grandma.  Soon, my mom placed the steaming, hot bowl of soup in front of me.  It was swimming with bits of vegetables - my favorite - and the matzoh balls looked fluffy and soft.  The steam curled into the air around me and made my nose wet.

As I lifted my spoon to take the first bite, I paused and thought about all of the generations who had come before me, and how they had eaten the same soup as I was about to eat.  And as I opened my mouth for my first bite, I thought about how I would do the same with my children and grandchildren one day.

Finally, I took a bite. The soup tasted of memory, future, and love.