Shauli, our youngest son, was about seven years old as he sat across the table from me, at our favorite pizza shop. He considered a slice of pizza he held in his hands and asked:
“Is Hashem (G-d) everywhere?”
“Yes,” I answered, matter of factly.
“Is He in this slice of Pizza?” he asked, probing further.
“Yes,” I answered; less sure of myself, but still fairly confident.
Shauli then took a bite out of his pizza and looked at me, a mischievous grin on his face.
“What does He taste like?” I asked, upping the ante.
Shauli paused for a moment, contemplated, and then answered:
“He tastes like chicken.”
