I'm working on a series of interlinked short stories about the Jewish holidays from the point of view of an 11-year-old girl in 1972. (That would be some version of me.)

Here's the opening lines from one of them.

Lag b’Omer

It was the best thing we’d ever done in Hebrew School: build our own hunting bows.  Both Gimmel classes were outside, scouring the narrow woods next to the parking lot for fallen branches.

“Thicker than a pencil,” our teacher called after us.  

“How much?” Mark Wasserman called back. “Like a Lincoln log?”

Mrs. Glickenstein didn’t know what Lincoln logs were. I was a girl with three brothers, so I did.