Story of the Day 10/3/2011 #2

This morning was special. Instead of trudging off to morning services at The Place Across the Street ( this being the official name for the place across the street), Aaron headed off to morning services at our synagogue, Etz Chaim.

This is special because we don’t usually have a daily morning service at Etz if it is not Shabbat, or a holy day or Sunday- and Sunday is a recent instigation by our new, young, enthusiastic rabbi.

And today was Monday.
The reason for services on a Monday morning that isn’t a holy day being that it is a friend’s son’s Bar Mitzvah. Not the Bar Mitzvah where he gets up and make a speech and people throw candy and we all eat a huge lunch, this is the day he first puts on teffilin.

Teffilin is a Hebrew word. In English it is this REALLY weird word that no normal person has any idea how to pronounce or spell. So if you happen to know how to pronounce or spell it, you are definitely not normal.
The English is phylacteries.
I am weird, but even I had to look up how to spell it.

Now that you know the word, I do not recommend using this word in casual conversation, either, because the only thing you will impress people with will be your weirdness. Besides which, the only people who use this word in casual conversation call them teffilin.

I am also not going to go into a long explanation about teffilin, but I will say that the first time a boy ( or girl) puts them on is a really important event and Aaron was looking forward to it…partly because there was a nice breakfast, following services, hosted by the parents.

After service, and during breakfast, Aaron sat with a rabbi who attends our synagogue and with his two sons.
As Aaron said to me, “His sons are really cute,”
They are.

The older son, who is probably 3, but may be pushing 4, expressed surprise when Aaron said the bracha (blessing) over bread before eating.
His father said, “All Jewish people say brachot (blessings).”
“I am not Jewish.” Came the reply from the little boy.

“Yes, you are Jewish.”

“No, I am not. I am a fireman.”

His father calmly explained, “You can be Jewish and be a fireman.”

A moment later, the little boy asked my son what his name was.
“My name is Aaron. What is your name?”

“Fireman.”

I can’t wait to find out what his brother’s name is.