A few Shabbatot ago I did some last-minute chanting at Jr. Congregation. (I was a couple of decades too old, but they ran out of teenagers. I hadn't been to Jr. Congregation since I was 12. I felt like pounding my chest and saying an "Al chet"--oy, please forgive me for sitting in the back row and giggling every week for all those years, and for making fun of the guy with no thumbs.)
If all services when I was a kid were like this one, I would have paid attention. The week's parasha, Vayikra, was about sacrifices at the tabernacle. The rabbi enlisted one of the fathers in attendance to act as High Priest, and he stood up front with arms raised and fingers in the Mr. Spock position. All the children were invited to come up to the bimah and announce what precious items they might choose to sacrifice (many Game Boys and at least one picture of a pony).
Then it was my turn.
(To be continued.)
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