Read Online Dreidels on the Brain by Joel ben Izzy - Free Book Online Page A

and there will be people in the smoking section, way on the other side of the restaurant, puffing away. The smoke doesn’t know where the smoking section ends, though, and floats over to us. Then my dad will ask me, really loudly, “Is someone smoking in here?” He can’t turn his body well to see, so he says louder, sniffing, “Joel, I can’t see. What’s that smell? It sure smells like someone’s smoking!”
    It’s kind of embarrassing to me—but much more so to the smokers. One by one, they all end up putting out their cigarettes.
    â€œSo?” said Cantor Grubnitz when he came back. “Why are you just sitting there? You should be studying.”
    â€œI
have
studied. A lot,” I said. That was true.
    â€œWe’ll see. Start from the beginning.”
    â€œOkay. But first, can I ask a question?”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œWell, I was thinking about praying.”
    â€œPraying?
You
were thinking about praying?”
    â€œYes. And wondering, well, if you could . . . um, pray for something.”
    â€œPray for something?” Cantor Grubnitz was getting impatient, which was just a notch away from mad. “And what is it you think is so important that I should bother God?”
    His gorgle was starting to throb and I still wasn’t sure how to ask.
    â€œWell, it’s . . . um . . .” I realized it was kind of hard to explain. “Well, you see, there’s . . . my father is having this . . . uh . . . he’s going to be getting some gold . . .”
    â€œGold? You want me to pray for
gold
? No. You don’t pray for gold or money or diamonds. Those are wasted prayers. It’s selfish, taking up God’s time from all the important work he should be doing. No. You pray for God to accept you for the wretched being you are. Not for gold. Do you understand?”
    â€œWell, um . . . it’s not really . . . you see . . .”
    â€œThis is just your way of stalling, isn’t it?” he said. “Because you haven’t studied, have you?”
    â€œNo, really, I have.”
    â€œLet’s hear.”
    I opened my booklet and began to chant. It was the best I’d ever done, but two lines into it, he stopped me.
    â€œI’ll tell you what your problem is,” he said. “You’re tone deaf.”

    This evening, my dad was in a bad mood. No matter how excited he says he is about the operation, I think he’s worried, and it came out during dinner.
    My dad slurps when he eats. Loudly. Tonight we had turkey soup and his slurping was even louder than usual. It drives my brothers and me crazy—I don’t think my momhears it—but we all react differently. Tonight was classic.
    Kenny, who has really good hearing, was clearly getting irritated, and finally said, “Dad, could you please try not to slurp so loudly?”
    â€œWhat?” said my dad. “You want me to slurp quieter?”
    â€œActually, I don’t want you to slurp at all,” said Kenny.
    There was silence for a minute—except for the slurping, which was no better—so Kenny said, “Can’t you at least try?”
    â€œYou shouldn’t tell Dad how to eat,” said Howard. “It’s disrespectful.”
    That’s what set my dad off. Because even though he doesn’t like Kenny telling him how to eat, there’s something about the way Howard talks—like he’s the boss of everyone—that drives my dad crazy.
    â€œDon’t tell Kenny how to talk to me!” said my dad, slurping more soup. “It’s none of your business.” Then to Kenny he said, “And I can slurp if I want to. It’s how I show I enjoy my food.” He slurped another spoonful.
    â€œI’m trying to help you,” said Howard.
    â€œStop slurping!” shouted Kenny.
    â€œI