Last year on Purim, the curtains parted for a few hours
Most of my children are talkative, sharing their thoughts easily and frequently. My middle son, though, is quiet. When asked, my lanky teen tells me that yeshivah is fine, his rebbi is fine, his day was fine.
I’m all for things being fine, but I do sometimes wish I could get a deeper glimpse at what he’s thinking and feeling. Last year on Purim, the curtains parted for a few hours.
Our seudah was in full swing, the appetizer consumed, the main course served, and the wine flowing. My son had already had a few cups when he got up to make a siyum. He struggled to stand straight, managing to right himself eventually. As everyone looked on, he finished a masechta, and said the hadran to a shower of mazel tovs. And then he lifted up his gemara and started to cry.
“Eizeh maseches, what a maseches!” he cried out. “Bava Kama, I love you Bava Kama.” He kissed the gemara and clutched it close.
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