Yom Kippur and sandwiches
Good morning from Jerusalem. I would like to share the following observations that have been spinning around my oh-so-interesting brain. Please be patient. There is a lot of ’80s trivia in there, and it tends to block out most facts.
I flew without husband #1 because he had to “work.” Not sure why I put that in quotes when it was actually the case, but I digress. I was sitting in the airport when I observed a mom and her five kids out in the wild. Not one of the kids said please or thank you to the mom when she offered them food for lunch. And not just, “Here, have this, I made the same thing for all of you.”
No, this mom had offered three different types of sandwiches. THREE!!!! So, right from the beginning, she was a good mom in my book. 1. How did she get her kids to eat a sandwich? 2. How did she get her kids to eat different kinds of sandwiches? and 3. The kids, ranging in age from 5 to 15, were all really well behaved.
In any event, no one said please or thank you to the mom. To the mom who spent the time preparing three different kinds of sandwiches. Tuna, cream cheese, and melted cheese, in case inquiring minds wanted to to know. So I am biting my tongue to keep from saying, “Say please.” Or “Say thank you.” Because who am I? The poor middle-aged housewife flying by herself who looks like she has eaten all of their sandwiches (except the cream cheese. Unless it is on a lightly toasted bagel with lox, I don’t bother. I do have some standards. And, if we are getting technical, I would have preferred the melted cheese on the tuna because who doesn’t love a good tuna melt? But this is totally not the point. I am just hungry, again.)
The 5-year-old goes to bite into her sandwich and the older sister says to her, “Make a bracha.”
Here is my dilemma. Rabbinical comments are welcome. I polled my daughters-in-law on this one, because why not ask them another weird question about the thoughts in my head? Okay, is it more important that these kids learn to say please and thank you to their parents than it is for them to say a bracha? That is my question. Yes, I know when you say a blessing on food, you are thanking God for the food and God comes before parents because He is the ultimate parent. But you see my point here.
The family didn’t sit anywhere near me on the plane or I would have been able to continue stalking them.
Next. Yom Kippur 2025 Ramat Eshkol. From the bottom of my heart, I cannot begin to describe to you what an incredibly beautiful Yom Kippur it was for me. This is the part of me that I share with you — the part of my heart that I feel I have exposed so much before. Matzo Ball, who is named after my dear beloved father, fell asleep on my shoulder for an hour and a half.
Because of this, I wasn’t able to go to say Yizkor. But for that hour and a half, well, you might know where this is going. I told my dad how amazing it was that the man I was supposed to be saying yizkor for, the man I remember all the time and in so many different ways, I told him that his little namesake was sleeping peacefully on the “Babka couch” (which is what I am referred to because I am so comfortable to sleep on, according to my pastries, baruch Hashem).
My dad wasn’t the type who wanted attention and I know, almost for certain, that he didn’t mind that I didn’t get to shul for Yizkor. Of course, my discussion with God was totally different — but that’s another story.
I spent the morning with Matzo Ball and the afternoon with Danish and her sister. Then I brought Danish back so DIL #3 could go to shul and then when she came back, I said havdalah (you read correctly), had some grape juice, brought Danish back to her parents and sister, and then walked back to break my fast. It was a really good day.
May it be a really good year for all of us.
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck is hoping you are all having a beautiful holiday season and that the bees behave themselves in your respective sukkahs!
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