I got the impression he was wondering if I’d even realized that he’d come home late

One Friday, my son Avi came home late from school.

His face was red; sweat dripped from his face. Before I could ask anything, he told me he was on a hunt. The words came out in a jumble of English and Hebrew as he hungrily munched his Erev Shabbos pizza.

“Mommy, I have to go back out to search for the rabbit,” he said while rummaging through my fridge for appropriate rabbit fare. A conversation ensued with his older sister as to the most tempting rabbit food. “Carrots? Why carrots?” Avi asked. “Lettuce is better.”

In the nanoseconds I had before he bolted from the house, I warned him to be home in time to shower and get ready for Shabbos.

Busy with the last Erev Shabbos preparations, I didn’t have time to get many details about Avi’s rabbit hunt. From the few facts I unearthed, it appeared that the rabbit was white, grey, and beige. He was spotted “near the stairs.” As my neighborhood straddles a mountainside, there’s a plethora of staircases. I was therefore unclear which staircase the rabbit was residing near. It seemed that he belonged to a boy who lived in the building next door.

It was Sunday evening when more details trickled down. “Sorry I’m late,” Avi said after settling himself down. I got the impression he was wondering if I’d even realized that he’d come home late.

“I did notice,” I commented dryly. He looked up.

“We were searching for the bunny again,” Avi explained.