Each Friday night
Dressed in blue and white
The family gathers
Round the Sabbath table
We discuss politics
Loud like falling bricks
We hear family gossip
And weekly encounters
Right before we eat
Everyone rises from their seats
To wash their hands
In the kitchen sink
Water comes out drip by drip
Washing our hands and our lips
Silence washes over our mouths
Prohibiting all from speaking
One by one the family files back
Everyone ready to resume with their yack
Until the challah bread is eaten
All voices are silent
We wait in the quiet
As rare a midnight riot
Enjoying the few moments of peace
Something strange in a loud family
I notice my father’s new stubble
And the seltzer bottles’ little air bubbles
Grandma has a brand-new pin
I spot my mother’s new cookie tin
Mother returns to her chair
And gets ready to say the prayer
Over the bread
To break the silence
As soon as she lifts up the loaves of bread
It seems like everyone has risen from the dead
Slices of challah are passed around
And conversation resumes
I take a bite of my mother’s bread so sweet
A bread that is truly a treat
I savor the silence
Which carries me through until next week
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