You're so WHITE

One of the pitfalls of living where I live is the Marshall's store about a minute from my home. Whenever the mood strikes I find myself desperately needing to go there to buy whatever I've been missing that week; a retractable strainer, a throw pillow, a white t-shirt for my daughter, a pair of flats, cuff links for my husband, a tablecloth liner etc. Sometimes I just go there to browse, as sifting through the aisles, even if I don't buy anything, is very therapeutic.

Part of "getting back to myself" after giving birth to my son was making a trip to Marshall's. He was about three months old and I realized he had no pajamas. Needing some urgently I made a trip. Upon coming to the children's section I remember thinking to myself that I would for sure find something as it was the beginning of the fall season and their selection of clothing was plentiful.

After rummaging through the mounds of boy's clothing, I found nothing. How surprising. But at the last second, I grabbed a cute little knitted outfit that would be perfect for synagogue on the High Holidays.

As I wait in line, wondering if there was anything else I could have came for, I am called by the next cashier; a plump, short Indian woman with thinning chin length gray hair and large picture-frame glasses from the 80's. She glances at my baby and asks me "are you Jewish?"

Taken aback I reply, "yes, are you?" She chuckles, obviously she is not Jewish, but hey, it is a humorous thought. She then goes on to tell me that she knew I was Jewish because my baby is so WHITE. Completely astounded by that comment, wondering what she could be getting at and making me wish I had just left without a purchase, she continues her brilliant observation saying that Jews are so WHITE and remain so WHITE because they only marry each other.

My answer to her was precisely this, "mmmhmmm..."

Now that I am reviewing this conversation in my head, I just know that a great reason for Jews to marry each other, and I would share this with anyone that might consider an alternative, is so that their children will remain so WHITE.

The Brisk

It basically was like a bad dream, having conversations in middle of the night, with the uncannily chipper nurses. "What's his name?" one asks. This is at about 4am, while they bring me some pain medication, they feel that it is the opportune time to have a chat. Perhaps I gave off the impression of wanting to have a conversation, although I was bleary eyed, bone tired and could barely sit up in bed. I replied that we didn't know yet, and we'd be naming him on the 8th day. Excited that she knew about this custom, she replies, "OH, You'll be naming him at the BRISK?" I think a for a second that I should let this go, after all it is 4am and I am about to pass out. But the thought of the woman calling a bris, a brisk for the next 20 years beckons me to correct her. After complimenting her on her vast knowledge, I mention that it is actually a BRIS, not BRISK. "Just ending with an S," I say. Oh, she is very excited at her new found knowledge. I imagine her scurrying down the hall with her electronic push cart of drugs back to the nurses station where she will share what she just learned from the lady in 423. The next afternoon, while once again receiving some Motrin 800, the day nurse asks me if I would be waiting to name my son at the BRISK. With no more patience for this matter and convinced that someone must have given a completely screwed up Judaism 101 lesson to the nurses on the maternity floor, I just smile and say "uh huh."