“Ima, can’t we do something nicer?” Elisheva wailed. “This looks dysfunctional”
“Tamar, Elisheva, it’s time for Shalosh Seudos,” Marissa said.
“Ready to wash?”
“Well, what’s there to eat?” Tamar countered.
Yaakov stole a glance at Marissa. I’m not doing this, she telegraphed in silent but effective spousal sign language. He gave her a sympathetic nod.
“The usual,” she told Tamar. “Shalosh Seudos stuff.”
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