Love You . . .

Public displays of affection are not encouraged in the Jewish community. It makes perfect sense; that which is precious and sacred between two people should not be on display.  Not only that, scenes of open affection can be hurtful to those who have none in their lives. I believe that is the actual lawful reason—not to cause pain to others.  

But there are other relationships that involve PDA, such as that between parents and their children. Or grandparents and their descendants. Or in my case, between an aunt and her kinfauna. 

One Shabbos, a beaming Babi marched in with a grandchild, and for the rest of Mussaf I heard wet smooches. Frankly, it made me feel a tad ill. I mistrust the need to blatantly slaver devotion when an audience is present. There's plenty of time available to profess adoration within the comforting walls of one's own home; no need to prove to the world that one loves that which bears one's DNA. 

Take those overheard cellphone conversations. "Love you," may be a crooned sign-off. But really, a "love you" tossed casually doesn't mean much to me.

I once overheard the one-sided tirade over a cell phone from a girl to her grandfather. After becoming breathless with disrespect, she purringly concluded, "Love you." I happen to know my niece opts for "Love you" when she needs a favor.  

Luke was dropping off his daughter at school. Eewok is always up for cuddling and hugs, which we are happy to provide. In the schoolyard, the four-year-old grabbed her father's head and began pecking kisses on his cheeks. He gently told her that this is not the place. She understood. She happily skipped off into the building, feeling no less loved.