By Abba

This is my excuse to tell about my experiences of riding a car on Shabbat - even though I've been accused of being Orthodox. Actually, it wasn't on Shabbat. It was on the Shabbat of Shabbats - Yom Kippur.

Miriam woke me after I had gotten into bed following Kol Nidrei. "This is it," she said. I ran around to make the final arrangements, woke the kids, told them that they were in charge of the house, and then Miriam and I jumped into our neighbor's car. We were driven to the Mount Scopus branch of Hadassah hospital at breakneck speed - Miriam doesn't play games with these things. We safely zoomed past some of the most active stone-throwing locations. In almost no time I became the proud father of a lovely boy.

Several hours later I ran back to Ramot, by foot. I was in much better physical shape then than today, and my tummy was MUCH smaller. I dashed home briefly to check that everything was OK, and then dashed over to shul to receive a mazel tov from everybody there - followed by the prestigious Maftir Yona. They probably had plans to give it to somebody else, but nobody could top my story!

A week later Yoni had his brit milah in the big Sukkah of a nearby shul for Bucharian immigrants. He was named for the Prophet Yona.

There's no way to forget Yoni's birthdate. He's a cheerful, happy fellow, who has already written two complete Torah scrolls, a number of Megillot, a Ktubah, and some mezuzot, and he's also a great wedding photographer when he's not studying in Yeshiva. Not bad for a guy who started off his life riding a car on Yom Kippur.

His outstanding memory (for which his is most jealous) is the fact that everybody else gets a birthday cake on their birthdays, but he always has to wait for his.

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