Dad
Ollie
Gramps gave me a kippah but it keeps
falling off
Mom
Bobby pins!!
come into my room, I have some Ol
Dad
?
fine! gramps is fine! everything is fine!
except I HAVE NO CLOTHES FOR THIS
Mom
Your purple dress. The one with the flowy sleeves? It’s perfect! Wear that.
oh that’s a good idea. thanks!!
Mom
Let us know how it goes!!
Dad
SIX
Temple Beth Shalom is happy. So much happier than I expected.
Every wooden pew is filled with life, with chanting and praying, and I don’t know if I believe in God, but I do believe inthis. In people. Together. I believe in the unity of voices and Hebrew, an ancient language I don’t understand, but I swear tonight it makes perfect sense.
Because though Gramps is quiet beside me, he follows along in the prayer book with his index finger, silently mouthing every word. He may not be as loud and boisterous as some of the other members of the congregation, but he knows this service by heart and his shoulders relax with each new prayer. He flips to the next page before Rabbi Goldman announces the page number and uttersamenafter each recitation.
I spend half of the service watching Gramps love the service.
And another quarter of it trying to ignore Nash and Molly two rows in front of us.
Grams’s necklace twirls between my fingers, calming me. Ahamsawithchaiengraved in the middle.Chaiis Hebrew for life, and ahamsais the shape of a hand. Usually, the evil eye sits in the middle of ahamsa, but I like Grams’s version better. A hand protecting life. It’s comforting, centering. Right now, it keeps my anxiety at bay.
After the sermon is completed and the final prayers are recited, everyone heads downstairs for theoneg. Gramps says theonegis kind of like the after-party. There’s challah and pastries and wine and socializing.
I’d really love to skip the socializing part. Ollie and I don’t know how to socialize here, how we’re supposed tobehere. Ollie downs the grape juice before the prayer and Gramps gives him major side-eye.
“I know nothing,” Ollie whispers.
“Clearly,” I whisper back.
In all fairness, neither do I. I tug at the hem of my purple dress, wondering why Mom suggested I wear something so short. Okay, it’s notshort. It falls just above my kneecaps—but everyone else is in longer skirts. My knees feel so exposed. I completed the look with matching lavender lipstick that I am now itching once again to wipe away.
I didn’t know. Why didn’t Gramps tell me? I have no frame of reference for this kind of thing. Mom’s limited cooking skills feature an exclusively Jewish menu: kugel, cholent, brisket, and lots of challah. We have a plug-in menorah that travels around the country with us. Dad makes us watch the oldTen Commandmentsfilm on the first night of Passover. And growing up, Ollie and I had two special days off per year for holidays we didn’t really celebrate. But while Mom practiced her religion through food and traditions, and Dad in movies and menorahs, we never celebrated the rites.
