| Publication |
2009.
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| Summary/Abstract |
When I was four, we went to Oahu. It was the first time we celebrated Passover away from home. My only memory of the trip is of the ride to the Los Angeles airport. Our neighbor, Mr. Janis, drove a taxi. He loaded up our luggage and we all crammed in: my father up front and my mother in back with my sister Rachel and me. Rachel was then just shy of a year old, as yet incapable of communicating distress in any manner other than a wail. She was wailing as Mr. Janis started the car. We had not yet pulled away from the curb when she vomited explosively across the faux leather seats. My father apologized. My mother ran back into the house for sponges and Lysol. Somehow we made our flight. I assume we had a good time, because we went back again the next year. What is clear in hindsight is that Rachel was trying to warn us.
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