When my synagogue sent our confirmation class out to a camp in the woods for some sort of toughening-up program (we were all 15-year-old boys; the girls were in another cabin) and we spontaneously decided it would be fun to march around the parade ground in the late evening singing at the top of our lungs, for repertoire we dredged up the children's songs we'd been taught 8 or 9 years earlier at the other end of our religious education and had somehow never quite forgotten.
So naturally - this was June, which made it even more incongruous - we bellowed out "I had a little dreidel / I made it out of clay / And when it's dry and ready / Then dreidel I will play."
I wish we'd known then these other verses.
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