I knew Ezra was a thumb-sucker before he was born. Somehow I sensed him enjoying it in the womb. Once he was born, he found his thumb pretty quickly. Despite my efforts at trying to get him to choose the pacifier over the thumb (and let’s be frank, I didn’t try that hard at 3 in the morning) he became a full-on thumb junkie. Right thumb, left thumb, day, night, dirty, clean, didn’t matter. Those thumbs had a mouth to call home.
Learning to Fast on Yom Kippur
The most memorable Yom Kippur for me was 5746, my 15th. After the morning services I went to my friend Karen’s house and prematurely broke the fast with a few Cool Ranch Doritos. When I confessed to my father, he marched me over to Temple Beth Zion-Beth Israel, led me halfway down the aisle and placed me in a seat.
“Don’t come home until after the shofar blows.”
Could Hebrew School Be Fun?
Hebrew School Redux
Hebrew school starts on Sept. 8. Maxon, my oldest, is nine and it’s time for him to start.
Again.
We enrolled him in "Mercaz Limud" at Congregation Rodeph Shalom when he was 4. This did not go well. Every Sunday in the main sanctuary, Maxon exploded in his signature you-are-taking-me-to-my-fiery-death fit. You know what feels louder than your child’s tantrum in synagogue? Perhaps a military fighter jet. If said jet were inside your body.
My Inexhaustible Son
I used to have this Weimaraner, Clay. She was inexhaustible.
At the time, I was training for a marathon and would take her with me on my long runs. Afterward, I lay on the sofa with thighs on fire while she did laps around the apartment, whimpering and demanding that I take her outside for more activity. I did not have the temperament for this type of animal. After a year, I found a nice home for her out in the suburbs with an expansive backyard and a family who could run her out.
Call Me Balabusta Rhymes
The first time my nana called me a balabusta, I thought she was insulting me. I didn’t know what a balabusta was, but it didn’t sound like the kind of woman who puts orange zest in her holiday challah. Balabusta has a closet that smells like a latke. The word itself is thick as overcooked brisket. That, I am not.
But my nana explained that balabusta, Yiddish to describe a good homemaker, is the queen of the house. She is the spiritual guide, the one who gives strength and sustenance to a Jewish family. That, I am.