I guess that's what can happen when you go to an institution of higher learning founded on a religion other than your own.
Middle Daughter has always prided herself on being able to get along with anyone. Now that she's already known by her first name, followed by "The Jew," which gives it a kind of gangland ring (think Joey 'the Clown' Lombardo), I guess she'll find out now whether that's true or not.
Gabe and I have been at home by ourselves since Tuesday. Meals have been generally wordless affairs, punctuated by the occasional sarcastic remark (mine) or punch on the shoulder (exchanged).
Tonight, for the first time in our lives, Shabbat dinner will just be the two of us. Which means that the White Sox v. Red Sox game might be taken in during dessert.
First, however, we will work on his d'var Torah, his explication of the Torah portion that he'll share with us at the Friday night dinner on the eve of his bar mitzvah, three weeks from tomorrow.
For me, Tuesday begins a month-long, intensive excursion into Biblical Hebrew. After that, I begin a trek that puts me on course for an M.A. in Divinity. And perhaps a PhD in my mid 50s.
Hey, my mom did it. So don't laugh.