I’m not going and there’s nothing you can do to make me. As a mother, I know this statement all too well. My son, a bold-hearted first-grader with curls that don’t quit, shouts this rallying cry on most Sunday mornings.
When it comes to religious life, he leads with the word “no.” For whatever reason, that’s his signature statement. Normally I roll with it, and by rolling with it I mean he’ll be on the steps of Temple Israel at 9 a.m., whatever it takes (lately Ghirardelli caramel chocolate squares).