Why I dread Hanukah

Part of the Hanukah ritual includes singing a Hebrew song, Maoz Tsur. It's a beautiful song, and some of the members of my family (not I) have really lovely singing voices and the ability to make up harmonies as we go. The problem is, the last verse contains the word fart. Of course, it's Hebrew, so it doesn't mean fart. But it's unmistakeable.

I'm sure you can picture it. My sister and I, staring fixedly at the floor as the verse approaches, struggling to keep our composure, pretending to be unaware of our parents' baleful glares, trying our damnedest not to set a bad example for our kids, who by now are old enough to get it. At best, we merely fall silent when the word comes; at worst, we snicker and chortle uncontrollably.

How could this still be comical after thirty-odd years? Shouldn't we have gotten past this by now?

This year I planned in advance that I would think of something really, really, really sad. In fact -- this is so sick -- I planned in advance that I would think about the story of Sadako and the Thousand Cranes while I sang, so that I wouldn't laugh at the word fart.

It didn't work.