velvety red Hannukah tomato

I just had the most fascinating set of dreams. In one dream I was in a big hall with a whole bunch of people around my age. We were sitting in lines along long narrow tables on super tall square bar stools. These were maybe seven feet tall? We were practicing a Hannukah song from a song book. There was a men's part and a women's part. The song was a folk-sounding song about a velvety red Hannukah tomato. Using Yiddish terms, the conductor asked who in the room was a Jewish boy and who was a Jewish girl, wanting us to draw on our personal experience in our interpretation of the song. I debated whether I should raise my hand. I didn't want to lie, but didn't want to be left out. Not raising my hand would've been denying a part of myself, but also most probably missing out on dating Jewish boys. Lots of people raised their hands which made me feel excited. I raised my hands half-way shyly and hesitantly, twisting them from side to side to say "sort of." And I felt strange about my answer. There should not be a "sort of." It's a yes or no question. But the fact that I raised my hands even half way was progress. I am claiming my heritage, damn it, I thought. I don't want to care about what others think anymore.

After we sang a couple of practice rounds of the Velvety Red Hannukah Tomato, there was silence in the room. I clowned around on the seven-foot bar stool for a while, inspiring some muted laughter. Then I scooted my stool next to another young man's to ask what we were supposed to be doing. He was reading the narratives introducing the songs in the songbook. I asked him what we should be doing, but noticed him only spitting up into a plastic bag, eating his own spit up, making fart sounds, and smiling slyly while doing so. Very funny, I thought. And attractive too. This was the baby creeping into my dreams. At that point I began to wake up, realizing the baby was waking up too, ready to eat... and farting!