Back as Torah Reader

It had been my intent to drop out of our congregation's Torah reading cohort for a few months, I forget how many, returning around Hanukkah.  While technically I had another few weeks fallow, I agreed to prepare one for the week before Hanukkah, with a couple of strings attached.  Primarily I choose which one I want, which will escape the rather destructive slouch to giving the men what they did last year to get the schedule filled with the least burden on anyone.  For some things, like learning or advancing skills, that burden is an essential component of the curriculum.

Invitation came, Parsha VaYeshev.  I looked through the seven sections, mostly about Joseph going into slavery, with a small break right in the middle for the story of Yehudah's transformation to a mensch.  It's the longest of that week's aliyot, about a full column, thirty verses, but within my capacity for the time allotted.  Yehudah's tale did not attract me.  That fell to a minor character, his son Onan.  He was an incompetent gardener, just like me.  He spilled his seed.  I planted mine.  But we each neglected to fertilize.  I survived.  He did not.  Neither did most of my planting this season.

Figure three verses a day, learn it in two weeks, polish it the week before while vacationing in Florida.  Within my capacity.