Breaking It With Bubbie

Yom Kippur was the drag I thought it would be, only somehow, with all my friends nearby, bearable. Especially the young visitor who sat in front of me who reeked of perfume - all because a bottle of the stuff opened up in her suitcase and saturated all her clothes.

On Yom Kippur, we don't wear perfume, or eat any food. It's not so bad when you're sleeping, but when you're awake, it's kinda annoying. The lack of food, that is. Although perfume would be nice.

The six hours of prayer consists primarily of confessions - for things you did, might have done, could have done, and probably really did do if they weren't phrased so awkwardly. It was actually an uplifting experience to confess. It really is good for the soul.

But true to form, I started to lose it around the 5th Al Chait (confessional). I started laughing, having overheard a completely ridiculous conversation from someone else's Bubbie behind me. (I probably shouldn't say what I heard so soon after Yom Kippur - it will take another year before I can make it up!) People noticed, people commented. But I couldn't help it. The day was just too long.

But as the shadows crept across the windows, it was getting to be that time again. Eating time. Each year for as far back as I remember, we've broken the fast at my mother-in-law's house. This year was no exception.

And we were not disappointed. White fish, lox, bagels, cream cheese, home-made blintzes, fruit, macaroni and cheese. Yeah, we ate good. In the company of family. Thank you G-d, and thank you Bubbie. I will be sleeping really well tonight.