I knew there would be tears. I just didn’t know when. This past Friday night we celebrated perhaps the last Kabbalat Shabbat in our house. Our daughter has been gifting herself with flowers on Friday since she returned from New York. The table was set with beautiful pink roses she chose in Energizer Rabbi pink, and a white tablecloth. We were using beeswax candles that she had made at camp when she was a little girl. She and I sang the candle blessing together and it hit me. We have celebrated a lot of Shabbat dinners in that dining room. For her, this has been her only home. Her voice and mine blended nicely—I actually love singing with her. Then my voice cracked and I started to tear up. I couldn’t look at her. I realize that we will continue celebrating Shabbat in whatever house we live in, but this night it was special. And then I sneezed. As I often do when I don’t want to cry. Rabbi Bernard Zlotowitz, my thesis advisor always said when someone sneezed “You sneezed on the truth.” And I did.