The day after Purim

Shabbat arrives as usual, dressed in silk with her hair and make-up beautifully arranged.

The room is a mess, and with the exception of a pair of candles glowing on the table it seems that nothing has been prepared.

“What is this?” Shabbat demands. “You knew I was coming! Where is my welcome?”

I scramble, bleary-eyed, to a seated position on the couch. “I’m sorry—really sorry Shabbat, but last night your little brother came in from Persia. He kept me up all night partying. Then this morning he pulls me out of bed again, just a few hours after I fell asleep. He’s exhausting!”

“Oh, him.” Shabbat settles beside me on the couch. “Did the two of you have a good time, at least?”

“He’s a fabulous guy.” I lean into her, nuzzling her neck. “But I’m glad you’re here now.”