Do you hate me?

Do you hate me?

Husband #1 wears a yarmulka wherever he goes. I can never convince him to wear a baseball cap, ever. And I have gone to great lengths to purchase a few baseball hats for him because he has a very large cranium. I don’t know if I ever wrote about Big Melon Gear — it was a company that supplied hats for the cranially enlarged. Ahh, so many inappropriate jokes,so little time, but Husband #1 loved his BMG hat, because, a friend pointed out, that it also stood for Big Mean Gabbai. He was gabbai of our synagogue at at the time of the hat, but he has never been big or mean. That is what makes it so funny.

Husband #1 has worn his yarmulka to every place, every concert, every voyage, basically everywhere, and never gave it a second thought. Until this past Sunday. I mean, let’s be honest, he always gets looks when he wears it, but no one has ever said anything to him, thank God. And we never really know why people are looking at him. Is it that yarmulka? Is it people wondering if his mother needed a C-section to deliver a kid with a head that size? The only comment he did get, was at a comedy club years ago, when the “delightful” comedian kept referring to him as Anne Frank.

That was quite delightful. But I digress.

As we all know, tensions are running very high, everywhere. It is scary and it is sad and if you don’t know what is going on at any given moment, it becomes even scarier. So on Sunday, we decided to take Strudel to Van Saun Park, because it has become our favorite place to take her.

As we are walking out of the car, I look at Husband #1 and say, “Are you sure you don’t want to wear a baseball hat?” Of course not,” he replies. So that was that. When we got closer to the entrance, we got some funny looks from some suspicious-looking people.

What does that mean? Suspicious-looking people? All of a sudden, I am become a racial profiler? And yet I was never more relieved than when I saw a group of brethren entering the zoo as well. OK, it isn’t just us. We are not alone. I felt just a little bit safer.  Safer? Is that the right word? At this point, who knows?

You can choose not to think about it or you can choose to become an anxious mass of paranoia. Dealer’s choice on any given day. Thank God we walked through the zoo without incident. The stalker in me pointed out a couple of young parents whose parents we know from Englewood… yadda yada yada. Strudel enjoyed the Smelly Cow, who has been there since  I was a young girl and it turned out to be a really lovely day. Because, thank God, every day with Strudel is lovely.

Before going to bed, Husband #1 said, “I don’t know if you actually got into my head, but I did feel that people were looking at me differently.” This comment was both sad, for self-explanatory reasons, and, well, great, because he actually admitted that I was right. I am always right. Doesn’t he know that by now?

You go to sleep at night praying and you wake up and keep praying. Danish’s parents keep sending us delicious pictures, hoping we will book a flight. We cannot even fathom the depths of emotion going on in Israel. But I guess we should all be like Husband #1, put your yarmulka on, and go about your day with a faith so strong it keeps you from breaking.

God should watch over all of us.

Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck is still hoping that DIL #1 will let Strudel live with her because she is the best anti-anxiety med ever.

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