Shabbat Shalom, everyone!

How can you resist an adorable 4-year-old girl who says to you over dinner, totally out of the blue, "Mommy, I want to go to synagogue with you."

"Why?" I asked in astonishment last night.

"Because I like being with you," Rachel answered. "And I don't want to wait for you to come home."

So, what could I do except cancel a meeting I had at 5:30, race to Portland in the pouring rain, pick Rachel up from preschool and go to synagogue? We arrived 20 minutes late and slipped into some seats in the back. I had grabbed a legal pad and some markers from the law school at the last minute, worried that Rachel would need something to amuse herself (of course, I'd forgotten to pack a knapsack full of stickers, a coloring books, etc. I felt weird about doing that, anyway, because nothing bothers me more in synagogue -- besides kids dressed in shorts and denim jeans -- than to see kids playing games on smartphones or coloring. Call me old-fashioned or just old, but a synagogue is a place of worship and kids should be taught at an early age that they need to respect the place they're in by drinking in the atmosphere even though they don't understand what's being said. I can't remember a single sermon of Rabbi Siegel from my childhood, but I always remember the feeling of peace that lingered with me after the service was over).

Anyway...I needn't have worried. This is RACHEL, remember? She sat next to me, opened up a prayer book, asked me to turn to the correct page, stood when she needed to stand, sat when she needed to sit, and spent most of the service with the book open on her lap, her hands folded neatly in front of her, staring at the walls or the ceiling or the people around her, seemingly lost in thought. I was so, so proud of her. Only toward the end did she get a tiny bit restless and curled up in my lap. I never thought I'd say this...but I actually was able to relax and really listen to the service.

At the end, she ran up to Rabbi Cahana and gave him a big hug; he introduced her to people around him as his "Shabbat Shalom girl." And the compliments I got at the oneg Shabbat afterward were lovely. The head Hebrew school teacher looked at me and called Rachel's behavior "very impressive!" Pointing to an older, 12-year-old boy, she told me that Rachel wasn't wiggly and that she was less restless than the older kid. Another member of the synagogue who has been charmed by Rachel since she was a baby, pronounced her "adorable." Rachel drank two glasses of grape juice, ate two slices of challah and then we headed home to a lovely dinner of lamb chops and pilaf that Drew had cooked.

I can't think of a more perfect way to end a tremendously stressful week. I thanked Rachel several times for coming to synagogue with me, praised her for being so well-behaved, and suggested we go to synagogue together once a month. She agreed.