24 PUNCHMAGAZINE.COM {sloane citron} It is a moment when I feel close to God, the stream running, birds chirping and the boldness of nature in front of me, not to mention this pure sweet child by my side. After a few minutes, we spotted dozens of small fish in the water and we pulled out our bag of breadcrumbs, used as physical symbols of sins for casting away. I handed some crumbs to Evan, and he threw them into the water. We did so slowly, giving the tiny fish a chance to find them. We sat there feeling that special connection with nature. Slowly, a warm, surreal envelope encased us, a feeling of spiritual perfection, as this beautiful child and I sat together in our place next to the creek. We spoke little and instead enjoyed the solitude. Sitting quietly, we watched the creek waters tumble and slide among the rocks, spilling, rolling along its path, the water splashing with a fine mist, dancing along from somewhere to someplace else. I asked Evan if he liked the creek. He thought for a moment, turned his head to me and said, “Yes. It’s a playground for water.” A playground for water. I had never heard that phrase before, never considered it, never read it in a poem or heard it in a song. And yet, there it was, from a quiet boy four years old, almost five, a piece of poetic purity from his base of understanding and knowledge (his love of playgrounds) and the innocence of his youth. We sat there then, the two of us, Evan throwing the last of the breadcrumbs toward the tiny fish, the sun slowly fading, a special bond between us. Together watching the pure, pristine water enjoy its magnificent playground. I decided to take my oldest grandchild, Evan Citron, who is almost five, to Yom Kippur services with me this year. His parents go to a synagogue in San Mateo, but I wanted to take him to Beth Jacob in Redwood City, where we have belonged for a generation. Though it is a holiday of contemplation and no work, internet or eating, I had a special day planned. Josh met us at the shul in the morning and handed over my little pal who was excited to join me. I put his kippah on with a special red clip, since red is his favorite color, and we headed straight inside to the children’s service out on the back patio. The chairs were mostly full, but we found a good spot to sit, the day perfect for being outside. There, one of the rabbis led a highly animated service. About 30 to 40 children attended with their parents or grandparents. The liveliness of the stories and songs kept Evan involved, and soon his cousins (Liav, Levi and Noah), my daughter Tali and her husband Sam, showed up and joined us. Following this brief service, I took Evan to the main sanctuary where the traditional service (a mostly all-day affair) was taking place. We went to the front to join my friend Jody, who always sits in the same spot. Almost immediately, the prayers for the United States and then Israel were recited. For the prayer for Israel, the Rabbi asked anyone who had served or had children serve in the Israeli Defense Force to come up to the bimah to join in leading the reading. Although I wanted to honor my youngest son Coby, I was reluctant to go since I didn’t know how Evan would react, but the Rabbi urged us and so we walked up and my grandson, to his credit and my surprise, was a trouper all the way. After a good half-hour in the adult service (without a single complaint or whimper from Evan), we went out to the adjacent play area. I met some younger people there and, as we do, we figured out who knew who and how we were connected (we are always connected). After a while, Evan was hungry and since the rules on fasting do not apply to him, we went outside to my car and there he had a fine lunch of tuna fish and chips. Now in the early afternoon, our next stop was one of my favorite Peninsula parks: Stulsaft Park, just a few blocks from our shul. Our high holidays are a time for self-reflection, and one of my treasured activities is to perform Tashlich, the practice of symbolically casting away your sins into a moving body of water, preferably with fish in it. Evan and I, his hand within my own, walked down the paths to the trickling creek at the bottom of the park. I have a favorite place to go, but this year, the water level was higher than normal, and though I could have made it there (crossing over various points) it was too challenging for a four-year-old, so we went about halfway until we found a lovely, shaded area on the bank of the creek. I told Evan to think about all the good things that he could think of while I contemplated my life, both the good and the bad. a perfect playground
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