I’m not exactly sure, and they can sense that. They sniff out uncertainty like bloodhounds
Actually, I’m sitting at my kitchen table near a sunny window, but it doesn’t matter, it feels like an interrogation room.
The children are asking questions. Again. The curious, curious children. And G-d help me, they expect answers.
I started out a half hour ago, strong, confident. They asked me what Rashi meant here, no problem! What was created in the 18 minutes before Shabbos, easy peasy! Why Daddy always says he’ll be home from Maariv in ten minutes and then doesn’t get back for another hour — I can answer that!
They move on. “Why do we say v’al hakalkalah at the end of Al Hamichyah when no one else does?”
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