Yerachmiel’s forehead creases as he thinks. “Is there a mitzvah in the Torah to be a baal korei? To write a sefer Torah, yes. But to learn how to lein? I don’t recall”
Shlomo cradles an imaginary megaphone in both hands, then brings it up to his lips. “Gather round, gather round, today is a momentous occasion as, just three months shy of his thirteenth birthday, Yerachmiel has his very… drumroll… first… trumpet fanfare… bar mitzvah lesson.”
Shlomo looks around and nods, gratified, to the overwhelming applause of little Chani and Sara.
“And in honor of this occasion, Mommy and I… Mommy! Where are you? Ah, here you are… would like to present you with your very own Tikkun.”
With a bow and a flourish, Shlomo stretches out his hand to give the brand-new Tikkun to Yerachmiel. He gives his son a one-armed hug. “Ready?”
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