In the beginning
There was a Zionist Congress.
That was in January. In February, the rabbits said "yes"
October was when I first began to fret,
And everyone was asking, "Aren't you in the hospital yet?"
One week passed and then a second
How wrongly could I have reckoned?
November came, the first, the second
No baby moved, no baby beckoned.
The third, a day like all the rest,
Seemed like I'd never get rid of "this pest".
The fourth, a hint, just before dawn
Verily, a condition not to be borne.
Then on the fifth after all this delay
Shiri arrived, determined to stay.
As proof that this was an event of note
I will quote
What someone wrote-
"The most constructive thing out of the Congress clearly
As all of us know, is the birth of Shiri!"
Her life began quietly enough,
The usual things, diapers and stuff,
Bottles at six
A baby's first tricks,
A tooth rather early
Hair that was curly;
The first word related
It's authenticity debated
Her first year of life was rather benign
Revolving, as it did, around 1359*
The scene suddenly shifted
By plane she was lifted
O'er land and O'er sea
So she could be an Israeli.
At first, I must say she protested a lot,
The milk made her sick, the climate too hot
The oranges too many, the bananas too rare
Meat non-existent, the cupboard was bare
Her second year of life was quite another
From what she had known with grandpa and grandmother.
She walked out with a group before she was three
And could be seen in the shade under a tree
From Ganon to Gan she slowly advanced
Her general education greatly enhanced,
A "broche" there, a "broche" here,
But they could never get her to eat "Lebenia"?
Purim arrived with its challenge and sighs
Each one contending for the coveted prize.
I still think the judges were much too clinical
If to Shiri's JNF Box they were inimical,
And gave the prize to some silly Queen Esther
Who looked as if she'd come from a Mexican fiesta.
Shevuoth came round with a hue and a cry
A demand most emphatic and not to deny
The inevitable "Zaer"
For a crown in her hair.

From Gan, her degree she duly did get
And in Talpiot she is studying yet.
There she has been for 6 short years
Living up to our hopes and beyond her own fears.
The day came, of course, when she asked for permission
To join Bnei Akiva in its holy mission.
To shul she runs off in her skirt and her blouse
Before Julie or Herman get out of the house.

Babyhood has vanished, with childhood she is through
And now she is on the threshold of something brand new.
Young womanhood she faces
With its chores and its graces.
At this celebration
A mother's peroration
To warn her of temptation
To chart her destination
Seems the proper connotation
And I looked for inspiration
In the Book of Books collation.
My first thought was of Eve, the mother of us all
Certainly there was something to be learned from her fall,
Still how could she suspect that the serpent had lied
When she had no mother to be her guide
Born into the world, completely unknowing
I couldn't find there, much for a girl that is growing
I turned to Sara, the mother of our nation
Once placed by her husband in a most awkward situation
I don't think I want hers to be my Shiri's fate
Married to a progenitor but having to wait and wait,
Serving meals to angels, jealous and forlorn
Until the age of 90 when her first child was born.
Sara, Sara, Sara, I really thought that you
Would give me something useful for a child who's ten and two.
I looked for something further
That would have more "Ta'am"
And remembered that my Shiri is named after Miriam
Still happy with the sages
I smartly turned the pages
To find my glee turn quickly
To a grin
Of chagrin,
Though Miriam was a prophetess, as it is plainly said
Her great moment in print is to "get one on the head"
Little is really written of the girl who saved Moses from the Nile -
Except that she complained too much about something
she thought vile
I must say that with her I rather sympathize
I think she acted "sisterly," and any sister tries
To open up open up the eyes
Of a brother, though he's wise,
When he begins to act so "mushy"
With a girl who is a "Cushy"
When the Jewish girls are waiting
To be married and a-mating
Aaron, his brother, was as outspoken as she
And why only she was punished looks like discrimination to me!

Though, why be pedantic?
I'll try something more romantic
And turned to much sung Ruth
For some universal truth
Ruth's is a story that is somewhat queer
She pleads eternal loyalty at every frontier
Yet after these protestations she yields
And picks up a Jewish boy right out of the fields,
Changes her religion, forgets her past vows
And lives forever after, domestically with cows
I do not know that I
Would care for Shiri to try
To emulate this "fry"
Just to marry a guy.
I don't know exactly what lesson to derive
That I can give my Shiri to work for and to strive.
I squinted my eyes and wrinkled my brow
The bible had failed me and where could I now
Find the prototype of one that would just fit
Shiri's jettisoning off into her proper orbit?
Then it fell on me like a bolt from the blue
What better more natural thing to do
Than take the example of nary another
Than Shiri's own beloved grandmother.
She used to tell us stories as we sat round the table
And we listened entranced as long as we were able
As she dished out the soup
She would tell of the group
That sat and learned, her grandfather, presiding,
Whether the sages would have thought
The "Chovevei Zion" nix and naught.
The debate grew heated and words got strong
But grandpa joined. He couldn't be wrong!
And as she carved the meat
She'd tell about bonfires on the street
That were high and mightily erected
On the night that Bryan was not elected.
Her mother's "hotel", came along with the pie
She'd have us in stitches until we would cry
How the flour in its vat grew to triple its size
And grandma was frightened by unearthly cries.
She came on the run and what did she see
But that the maid had fallen in it as drunk as could be.
As the compote she evenly provided
She would tell how love would not be divided,
Of her mother's strict decree
That our father she not see
They hid letters in a tree
Saying, I will not let thee
Be separated from me
And I have given you my heart
Until death do us part
And so it came to pass
That papa married his lass.
Unlike Sara's sterile fears
Mother's were most fertile years
And tumbling one after another
Came first one and then another brother.
A daughter, mother sorely wanted
And with me, her wish was granted.
Everything happened, under all kinds of headings
Bar Mitzvot, engagements, Brith Milot and weddings,
Chanukah's with "Put and Take"
Lulavim to push and shake
Pessach cleaning never ended
Socks and stockings ever mended.
Death came, too and had his day
And took
two children for his pay
Often I've thought that if that house could tell
Of all the things that in it befell
It would remember mostly the joy and laughter
That filled it up from floor to rafter
Heartache was there and there was also strife
I do think that from Mother the best lesson's to be had
She learned to take the good with the bad.
To love and to be loved, to take and be giving
Was her simple formula for successful living
Trusting completely in Almighty God
Nothing that happened ever seemed too hard
She went through her life sprightly and gay
And so we remember her to this very day.
So-- with due respect to our matriarchs, so dreary
I offer you Mother, as a model, dear Shiri!