So Many Rugelach

As told to Shoshana Freidman

This is not a happy story. It’s also not an angry story. If you’re the bitter, cynical type, then sure, you can find people to blame. But I’m not sure I would point fingers here. Pain, yes. Blame, not sure.

I don’t know exactly when the story started, but the first time the alarm bells went off were when the principal called. It wasn’t the first time we were hearing from him. Yaakov had had his run-ins with the rebbeim over the years, and we’d been invited to the principal’s office more than once. But there was always the underlying assurance that he was a good kid from a good family, with solid parents and solid values. He’d be fine, he just had a few snags to iron out, like any good kid.

“Mrs. Moskowitz,” the principal said. “I noticed that your Yaakov is getting friendly with Zevy Dadon. How should I say this, how should I put it? Zevy, well, eh… let’s just say he’s not the right friend for your son. I see them together at recess, I see them talking… you don’t want this for your son, he’s a good kid.”

Stupid American immigrant that I am, trying to make sense of the Israeli system, I wasn’t exactly sure what the principal meant.