Chuck’s glee at chanting “Big Boobs” as we crossed the “Beep Boop” intersection was not the only time he came up with an awkward malapropism.
When Chuck was a baby, we joined a synagogue and began attending Friday night services on a regular basis. We wanted the synagogue to be a comfortable place for him so we started early. Plus, we had a baby and no childcare, so we didn’t have many other options for outings on a Friday night.
At this synagogue, it was their custom to invite all of the children up to the bimah (altar) for the kiddish at the end of the service (the blessing over the wine). Each child would get a cup of grape juice and try to make it though the long prayer without drinking (many wouldn’t make it).
By the time he was a toddler, Chuck was crazy for juice, so he loved this part of the service. One night, we walked into the sanctuary as the seats were filling and he ran up to the bimah to demand his juice. However, he didn’t pronounce “juice” correctly. Instead, he ran up on the bimah and shouted, with all his two-year-old might:
“Jews! Jews! Jews!”
We’re members of a different synagogue now.