From the annals of minor hypocrisy

I know some enterprising young girls who like to set up lemonade stands on warm days.  Lucky for them, they live in a well-to-do neighborhood where folks tend to tip high (“a lot of times,” they tell me breathlessly, “people give us a dollar and say to keep the change” for the 50 cent cups).

It’s also a well-trafficked area.  Among other things, there’s a large synagogue just down the street.  On Saturday, the girls tell me, they made “so much money.”

“Lots of people who were going to services got lemonade and cookies,” they inform me.  “Awesome,” I say, ” glad you did good business”
They repeat what they just said more emphatically, and with raised eyebrows.
I remember that this past saturday was Yom Kippur.
“You mean grownups going to services got stuff? Or just kids?”
“Grownups,” they affirm, eyes wide.

These are some worldly kids.  Goyish as they are, they know that Jewish grownups are supposed to fast on Yom Kippur, not drink lemonade.  And cookies? Oy!

Maybe these sinners just wanted something extra to atone for when they went in to pray?

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