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Rabbi, we have to stop meeting like this

We, the parents of the Hebrew class of Gimel, which means third graders to non-Hebrew readers, were called to temple recently for a teaching moment with the Rabbi.

In theory, this is a very nice thing. We have a friendly, young rabbi and bunch of parents who I have known for years. In reality, putting me anywhere near the Rabbi has in the past proven somewhat problematic. Apparently, Rabbis make me nervous or stupid, possibly both.

That’s why, I have resolved for the past year or so now, to watch my mouth and what comes out of it. I will not tell the rabbi, that my hotness is the reason that the room is warm. I will not swear ‘Jesus Christmas’ when I accidentally spill my coffee that I probably should not have brought into temple in the first place. I will not comment on any part of his appearance, like I did when he grew a beard after the passing of his mother, which, who knew – was connected. Um, every Jewish person but me.

This morning, the Rabbi tells us we were brought together to discuss the Shema. I’ve always been a good girl, but never a good Jewish girl, so I couldn’t really tell you what it means beyond that is a prayer that sounds lovely to ear and speaks to the heart of the covenant between you and God. I think.

It’s probably because when the rabbi started speaking I was too involved with searching for a butterscotch candy deep in my bag. Don’t worry, he waited for me to find it.

And when one of the women asked a question that made me roll my eyes a little, I couldn’t help nudging the friend next to me and giggling like an elementary school idiot.

It’s an informal gathering and thankfully the rabbi is kind and tolerant. I add my two cents here and there, and am my general babbling self, causing one woman to remark that I should possibly just lead the discussion.

Okay, then. I’ll shut up now.

And I did, silently chastising myself until the children all filed in. They were part of this ‘special activity’ with the parents and rabbi. They took their seats around the table and my eyes followed my little third grade boy, so freaking adorable with his new haircut that accentuates his huge, green eyes that are always glittering with mischief.

They all settled in and we turned our attention back to the rabbi. “So we are all here for this….”

The sound of a chair rustling interrupted.

The rabbi starts again.

More rustling.

It is, of course, my son.

We all turned to watch my impish boy as he worked to move his chair in between the two next to him.

When he was finally done, he looked up at me and smiled radiantly. I couldn’t help but smile back, but we’re going to have to have a talk when we get home. He just can’t go around being so distracting.

I have no idea where he gets it.

owen and me

Damn. I know where he gets it.