So whatever the kids wanted to name their little girl, listen, it was fine
with me. They're the parents. I wasn't going to say a word. Me, interfere?
Moi? Never. They could call their baby anything
they liked. (But me, I'm calling her Carolyn!)
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Thursday morning, I was in their synagogue here in Brookline for morning
prayers. Two shifts are required for all the worshippers - one at 6:20, the
next at 7:20 for the late-risers. (Toto, I don't think we're in Arkansas any
more, where Jews are a rare minority.)
The baby's father is called up for the reading of the Law in honor of the
occasion. After he finishes, the men in their phylacteries and prayer shawls
gather around the Torah scroll up front and break out singing "Mazeltov!"
Congratulations!
Oh, yes, the baby will be called Carolyn.
Her middle name? Sara, after my mother.
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And so it goes. Sometimes very well.
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