Orli in Holyland 4

‘You go to change your shirt before we leave?’ my mother asks.

‘Why?’ I ask.

She points to the three and a half inches of exposed skin below my neck. I’m about to look for another shirt when I remember that I’m fifty-four years old.

‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m not changing.’

I was already dreading the two remaining Sabbath meals with my family but now there’s added t…