I’ve become more spontaneous since moving up here. I’m learning to go with the flow. What I may think will happen on a particular day may not really occur at all if the phone rings and daughter is on the other end.
“Mom, we were wondering … (they wonder a lot) … if you could take Hannah to the crafts fair and lunch while we go to synagogue with Sophie and then get a Christmas tree.” She knew I’d be much more ready for this if they tagged the Christmas tree on.
It’s not that I have anything against interfaith assemblies in the local synagogue, but my own Catholic roots always start to sprout a bit around December and April.
Sophie helped me put up my Nativity Set the other day. It was an easy sell except for the part about Joseph being a step dad. How do you explain that God has custody of Jesus to a five-year-old? So, I concentrated on the frankincense and myrrh and cute little sheep who came to visit instead. I’d already explained that Jesus was a good Jewish boy. What’s not to love? The other grandmom sends books on the Jewish faith and culture and I read them to the girls. I’ve also spun a dreidel or two. I have yet to bake a challah.
I figure God is an equal-opportunity employer in the grand scheme of the universe. My daughter and her hubby want the kids to be raised in a loving home where mitzvahs and beatitudes become a way of life. I will try to graciously stay out of the driver’s seat on this one and support their efforts. It’s harder than I thought. Luckily, I’m quite good at playing White Christmas and Havah Nagilah on the accordion. The ecumenical chameleon.
I think the girls will be okay. In fact, they’ll probably do the whole Zen Buddhist Vegan thing and be chanting “ohm” by the time they’re in their twenties. And then I’ll have to learn a whole new repertoire.