You Know You're a Jew When...

Every once in a while, we have moments we like to call, "You know you're a Jew when," moments.

My Jewish Cheetah

For example, we had one last Chanukah, while on the way to the rabbis' house, we passed other houses (decorated for Xmas) and E asked in disgust, "Why did they hang their socks on their front door?"  In related news, my youngest daughter has a doll named Gut Shabbos. My son, while playing dress up, puts on parts of an animal costume AND a kippah and announces, "Take a picture of me.  I'm a Jewish Cheetah."  My older daughters put a nursing pad on the cat's head and announce, "She's one of us now." Yeah, it's kinda like that.

We had another such moment today.

Picture this scene:  I'm picking up my kippah-sporting kindergartener (wearing a kippah from his very own collection of kippot, mind you, not a rent-a-kippah from the font by the door) from religious school.  In his hands, he has a folder full of aleph bet worksheets apple crafts and shofar coloring pages.  Under that folder is (yet another) book about Chanukah which he has taken out from Sefer Safari.

I can't remember what on earth we were discussing as we walked down the hall, but he turned and asked, "Yeah, what's UP with that?"

Oh. my. stars!  This kid might as well be Yochanan ben Seinfeld.

So, you see, at moments like those, you are absolutely, positively, without a doubt, a Jew.  These are also often the moments when you are, absolutely, positively, without a doubt,  rolling on the floor with laughter.