A birthday message to my dad
Dear Dad:
Every year when the last week of March rolls around, I think about buying you a birthday card. So, needless to say, the past three years, when I start walking to the greeting card section, I get that funny feeling in my stomach when I remember that I no longer have to buy you a card. And there I am, standing in CVS with tears streaming down my face. Good times.
This year, for your birthday, I wanted to tell you where I am and what has been going on. Even though I think you know, but as Nora Ephron said, everything is copy. I am making this letter to you my column. I don’t think you would mind.
This morning at 5:40 am, we had another siren. Next to me, snoring away, was your son-in-law. I lay in bed wondering if I should wake him up to go into the safe room where his mom was peacefully sleeping. I decided not to and stayed next to him, with my eyes wide open, waiting to hear the “booms” of the missiles hopefully being eliminated by the Iron Dome.
Dad, you can actually feel the vibrations. It is quite surreal. Being here, now, during this war is also quite surreal. Why am I here? Why not? I have Danish and her sisters and her parents. Shabbos with them was so nice. Even with the siren. Danish knows to go into the room and wait for the boom. And then we go back into the other room and eat chocolate yogurt.
Even Danish knows that food is love. And who knew how much fun drinking chocolate pudding through a straw was?
Yesterday, Son #2 and I took the three cuties in a double stroller and a single stroller to walk into town to buy a suit. You would have not enjoyed this scene. The sidewalks were packed, and I mean really, really packed. Of course, we were not the only ones with strollers. They were everywhere, and everyone had to get someplace quicker than the person in front of them. You can just imagine the scene. At random corners there were fires burning to get rid of all of the chametz before Pesach. Thick black smoke, thousands of people pushing and shoving, and Hebrew music playing somewhere in the background.
And the people without the strollers? I know how they feel, thinking they could get where they are going faster because they don’t have any strollers or children with them. Sorry, buddy, but you are going nowhere fast.
Dad, you would have just marveled at all of it.
I am finishing this letter to you after going through a three-day yom tov. The first seder, though it lacked your amazing charoset and pretty much any words of Torah, was so beautiful in a different sort of way. Danish and her sisters stayed up until after midnight, so that is what made it meaningful.
Danish sang the songs she learned in gan. She knew all of the plagues; hopefully she didn’t know what they meant. The death of the firstborn one is really gruesome.
We are staying in a hotel that has both hotel rooms and apartments. Husband #1 and I and Danish and her sisters and parents are in an apartment together. Which is probably why they were up past midnight, because of all of the fun the grown-ups were having.
And then there was the second seder.
Apparently, because of the war, there were many, many cancellations. And Husband #1 and I were part of the eight brave “tourists” (which is how we were referred to in the program) who celebrated a second night of Haggadah fun.
It was a sight. And probably the first seder where I read all the words, basically because I felt badly for Husband #1. He was so appreciative that he let me sing the songs in my tunes. The person who joined us for the seder was Chabad and told us that they don’t believe in singing the songs because they end their seders right before.
Is this true? I have no idea. But we were done by 11.
Anyway, Dad, I hope that you had a happy birthday. I hope that they had a Carvel cake wherever you are and that all of the Brooklyn Dodgers sang to you.
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck hopes you all enjoyed your Passover holiday.
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