Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Rolling

Stepping over Willie Wonka's inert body sprawled on the floor, I groped in the shadows behind the Christmas tree for the electric cord, felt for the outlet, and plugged it in. Instantly, a glittering fairyland replaced the early morning gloom. Framed neatly by the bay window in the front room of our first-floor apartment, the six-foot fir tree we'd found at Poor Bob's Tree Lot winked and twinkled its multicolored minilights like little blessings. ; Shivering, I pulled Denny's robe tighter around me and drank in the sight. If I had to choose between Christmas presents or a Christmas tree, I'd take the tree any day. Memories hung from every branch. Orange-juice-lid ornaments the kids made when they were in kindergarten bobbed nobly on the front branches. The ornaments we'd given both kids each year had multiplied until they actually filled up the tree. I smiled. That was a tradition I'd brought to our marriage from my family, who had carefully packed up my ornaments as a wedding present when I got married. As we would do when Josh and Amanda-- ; My smile faded. Ack! Didn't want to go there . I dreaded the Christmas our tree would be denuded of our kids' ornaments. ; I heard the coffee gurgling its last gasps as the pot filled. Scurrying back to the kitchen as fast as the stiffness in my left leg would let me, I poured my first mug of the day and then settled into the recliner facing the glittering tree for a few quiet moments before our Saturday began. It had been a nice Christmas--nothing spectacular, but nice. Leslie Stuart, our upstairs neighbor and one of my Yada Yada sisters, had invited her parents to visit her for a few days--a Christmas miracle big enough to warrant a few angels singing, "Glory! Hallelujah!" if you asked me. We'd met the senior Stuarts briefly when they'd arrived at our shared two-flat on Christmas Eve, but we'd officially invited the three of them for supper tonight. ; Which meant I had to get everything ready this morning, since Ruth and Ben Garfield had also asked us and the other Yada Yadas to their house for baby Isaac's brit mila this afternoon. ; "Brit mila? What's that?" I'd blurted when Ruth called me the day before Christmas. ; "Brit mila---the ritual circumcision ceremony. A newborn Jewish male is joined to the Jewish people on the eighth day. Read your Bible, Jodi." ; I had ignored the dig. "Don't they do that in the hospital nowadays? With Josh--" ; "Is your Josh Jewish? Didn't think so. So, are you coming?" ; "Wait a minute. The twins were born almost a month ago. What happened to the eighth day?" ; A long pause. Not like Ruth, who usually filled up gaps in conversation like rainwater flowing into sidewalk cracks. I had immediately regretted my blunt question and started to apologize, but Ruth had just sighed. "Pediatrician said we had to wait. Preemies, you know. But . . ." Her voice had brightened. "All is well. Havah and Isaac came home from the hospital on their due date---last Saturday. So this Saturday is the 'official' eighth day. The eighth day of Hanukkah too. See? God is good." ; "All the time," I'd agreed. "Sure, we'll be there." ; Should have checked with my family first. ; "Mo-om," Amanda had wailed. "That's gross! If they gotta do that circumcision thing, at least do it in private. Not with everybody gawking at that poor naked baby. He'll be so embarrassJackson, Neta is the author of 'Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Rolling ', published 2007 under ISBN 9781591453628 and ISBN 1591453623.