My mom rocks!

"You're going to be so proud of me," my mother said as she pushed backwards into her recliner. I was visiting her Brooklyn house to get some work done since her place is an Internet black hole where no technology invented after 1995 can be found.

"On motzei Shabbos, I went to melave malka at the Young Israel," she continues, "and after the speech, someone stands up and announces, 'We have someone here to play the guitar. Men, feel free to sing along but the women, please refrain from joining in.'"

This man was clearly fearful, like Odysseus was of the Sirens' song, of becoming so entranced by the women's singing that he would dash his brains against the mechitza. That's how it goes, right? It's been a long time since I studied the Odyssey or Greek mythology.

Anyway, my mother, old school feminist, wasn't having any of it. She approached the young man. "You have no right to tell the women they can't sing," she railed. "This is a Young Israel, not an ultra-Orthodox shul. We have just as much right to sing as the men."

"What did he say?" I asked, deciding not to debate the point about where on the Orthodox spectrum the Young Israel organization actually falls.

"Nothing. He just stared at me, kind of shocked."

My mom was very pleased with herself. And I with her.