I'm sitting across from Sherri in her office at the JLC, and it occurs to me, as it always does when I see her, she doesn't like me. It's obvious. I've known it for years. Not that I blame her, I understand, she has the disagreeable job as enforcer of the JLC rules, rules I've tended to gloss over if not outright defy on an ongoing basis; the carpool line (one should wait patiently in the 15 minute snaking line, not drive over the median which I've done as Sherri runs screaming after my car; the tefillin* must-have-by-such-and-such date (where was I for that e-mail?), that Bar and Bat Mitzvah kids must make every effort to attend Friday night and Saturday morning services.

Sherri leans across her desk towards me. "We fit in so much in our Wednesday class, teaching the kids the meaning of good needs, mitzvahs, how to be productive in the community, visiting soup kitchens, nursing homes. Maybe, just maybe, they get thirty minutes of hebrew a week. Things are different now. Not like when we were kids."

She was right. What was I thinking? And the more she talked the more I agreed with her. I mean here was a woman who was devoting her entire life to Judaism, trying to mix it up for these kids, making it more interesting, whereas I was simply pussy-footing around the religion, complaining about his ability to read hebrew. What was wrong with me, why was I so difficult. I wanted to hug her, tell her I was sorry, that from now on things would be different.

". . . and as you know, Lori, Ben doesn't exactly go to all his classes during the week or on Sunday. Not to mention Friday night and Saturday morning services. Of course this could greatly impact his ability to read hebrew. "

I knew it. Ben's not reading hebrew was my fault. What about all the other kids in his class who are in need of a tutor. Are we all to blame, I want to ask? But I keep my mouth shut. I'm jolted back to realty. And the reality is, I'm sitting across from the Rabbi's right hand man, and she could be tough and intimidating. Getting on her wrong side, their wrong side, as I'd seen, could cause some major suffering.

What I certainly don't share is that Ben and I made a bargain a few years back, that if he'd go to "most" of his hebrew school classes he could miss a Sunday or Wednesday here and there. Admittedly it wasn't the best idea, but it did get him down the road a bit, and over the years it did sort of work. At least he didn't drop out like a number of kids in his class. Like my friend Rona's son, Jeremy, who made it so difficult for her that she simply threw up her hands one day and screamed, "Fine, quit." I just made it a bit more palatable is all, obviously a far cry from the pious Jewish mother that Sherri expected. And now, she wanted Ben, like his classmates, to step up to the plate, become a more grown up Jew and actually attend services.

In the words of Laura, my mother-in-law, Sherri and I were in a game of "Gotcha." In Sherri's mind, by violating the carpool line, I could run over a kid. And yet, I had been driving my entire adult life, near schools, parks, food markets, in and around suburbia with balls rolling under my car, and never once had I run over a kid, especially going 2 miles an hour in the temple parking lot looking out for a kid. One day, I walked the line of cars to get signatures for a petition to retain leveling in our middle school. From 30 yards away Sherri called out to me, "Lori whatever you're doing, stop it." But I continued, as this was a tailor-made concerned group of parents who were more than willing to sign. When I got back in my car and pulled up for Ben, Sherri and I avoided eye contact. I wondered, did I really have to invite her to the Bar Mitzvah.

*the leather straps the boys wrap around their heads on their Bar Mitzvah day. I've yet to see one except on their big day. Maybe in the Orthodox community, but the chances of that are nil. Bottom line, $230.00, and in the closet.