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Waiting For Hebrew School Class To Let Out This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   I wait for my sister to finish her alphabet. I can hear her - aleph, bet, and, I forget the rest. I graduated three years ago. I sit in the newly-built hall of the newly-built Hebrew school, and I lift my hand from the rug to see its tiny marks imprinted in my palm. In the old Hebrew school room, there were brown and orange checkered tiles and a chalkboard that rolled and flipped, with a caricature of the teacher's face on the opposite side. We were lucky. She erased, and didn't flip the blackboard.

I look at the Jewish mothers waiting, standing in the stairwell, with tight lips and old eyes. I can't imagine that these women could have given birth to anything. They are all skinny. They take aerobics and their sons take karate. I hear from the classroom "You know, that's one thing I just don't like to hear: half Jewish. No you either are or you aren't. You can't be in between."

It is 5: 33 p.m. and I am ready to be let out of Hebrew school. n


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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