A German girl, soon to be three, went a couple of weeks ago for a regular growth check-up. The doctor asked her to draw a shape, and the girl drew a triangle.

What is it, asked the doctor.

Pizza, replied the girl.

The doctor took a red pencil and painted the inside of the triangle-pizza.

And what is this, she asked.

Ketchup, the girl screamed back with joy.

I know the girl’s grandparents. They love to tell this story.

**

I went to Wedding to eat Hummus this morning. I have to keep a memo to myself: “eat hummus only in the morning, every morning if possible, even if it is just a spoon.”

The greatest benefit of eating Hummus in the morning is that after you do that, there is no way you can fight or argue with anybody. Maybe it is just what the chickpeas are making to your stomach or the fact that you just want to sleep. Maybe Hummus brings peace. I don’t know. I just know that eating Hummus at night doesn’t help as much. It just joins the shit you’ve been inserting your to your body all day long.

Anyway, as I was sitting and cleaning my bowl with a pita when an Arabic mother entered the shop with three of her kids. They exchanged pleasantries in Arabic, the mother ordered for herself, and asked the older kid, maybe ten-years-old, what does he want to eat.

“Pizza,” he answered.

The man behind the counter opened his eyes wide. The mother started a rain of curses (in Arabic it sounds much better): “shut up, you son of a donkey, may my house collapse on us.”

Then she signed off with: “thanks God your grandpa is dead, so he doesn’t have to hear it.”

Shabbat Shalom.