I was home for some holiday or other and my parents

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Unformatted text preview: er close friends. My mother was there the night the rabbi asked me who I was. I was a senior in college, a real hippie: beard, beads and suede knee-high moccasins with fringe hanging down past my calves. I was home for some holiday or other, and my parents wanted to show off their son who was going to Brown. I had always enjoyed Friday night services.To this day, I don't remember what about the rabbi's sermon outraged me, but there I was, jumping to my feet in the middle of the sermon, arguing some point of social justice. My father was grinning. (He had never been bar mitzvahed, having kicked his rabbi in the shins the first day of Hebrew school.) My mother had her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. She was never very fond of our rabbi, not since the time he refused to make a house call to console my father the night my grandfather died. So there we were, the rabbi and the hippie, arguing rabbinical law and social responsibility. He finally dismissed me with a nod. I dismissed him with a chuckle, and the serv...
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