When I was young you would hold me in your arms and sing me song after song in Russian or Hebrew. You didn't seem to care which and neither did I. Just seeing your wrinkled pale skin,hearing that creaky laugh,smelling Matzo ball soup and moth balls,and I would feel your scarf in my hands,cotton in spring,silk in summer,and wool in fall and winter. You have always taught me traditions with the same sarcastic humor you have today. At my bat mitzvah you were in the first row beaming up at me and after it was over I heard you whisper in my ear:Mazel tov,Levanake,Mazel tov. But now it is my turn to be your supporter the tables have turned. What now?