Another year. Another Rosh Hashanah. And nothing has changed
I stand in front of the mirror in my bedroom. It’s the only room in the house with one bed and such thick walls. You could sit on your bed and chat on the phone with your seminary teacher for hours without anyone hearing, and you could come in late at night and climb under the covers without anyone waking to ask how the date went.
Mirel calls as I rummage through my cosmetics bag. I jam the phone between my ear and shoulder while sorting the lipsticks and looking for the perfect shade. “This time last year,” she reminds me.
I sigh. “I miss so much about seminary. It’s no way near as fun to be an adult — this is the first time I needed to mentally prepare for a Yom Tov all on my own.”
“I just learned something the other day,” Mirel says. “Want a quick summary?”
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