B can write about Rabbi's

Something new happened today. B composed a poem and sent it via email while we’re both running the bad race from our office desks, in different buildings in our small maritime city. I present to you a poem inspired by growing up in Winnipeg written by my sweet B.

The Case of the Knish

we are standing in the kitchen and I am staring at the plates. Two
piles. One with flowers and one plain. I am going over the list of
ingredients. Getting caught with the wrong plate will give me heart
palpitations. A snowball effect which could result in the Rabbi
having to be called in to bless the plates.

He is staring at me staring at the plates. His mother is staring at
him, staring at me, staring at the plates.

There is no meat in a yogurt knish.