“What’s the thing about the palm frond again?” Katelyn nudges me on our way up the front walk to Muriel’s door. It’s the first night of Sukkot, the Jewish festival of huts, and Muriel is hosting the lot of us – me, Mama, Papa, Rivki, Jamie, and I’ve brought Katelyn. For days, I’ve been preparing her for her first Jewish holiday with my family. How she won’t be allowed to speak after we wash our hands before eating the bread, how many times she’ll be asked to stand for a blessing, how to hold the citron without God forbid dropping it, who doesn’t like when you say what.
“There are a lot of things,” I say. “Do