Here’s a link to the article as it appeared in Hamodia, and the text of the article follows:
They called the game Lion. Or Tiger. Or Cheetah. The nuances between them were clear to the boys but lost on me. All I saw was an inordinate amount of pacing on couches and strategically placed chairs, periodically punctuated by charges, pounces and pummeling of rival cats or unsuspecting prey. They insisted that it was a game, that it was FUN, that everyone involved wanted to play, and that the victim would soon rise, of course, only to be attacked again. Not my idea of entertainment. Then my son went to play at a friend’s house. That night as I put him to bed we spoke about his day. “We played the best game at Mendy’s house!”* he said. “It’s called Moving Truck.’You open up the zipper on the blanket, and a few kids go inside. Then the other boy rolls everyone up inside the blanket, and he kicks you off the bed.” He laughed at the memory. “Wow! That was fun!”
“Oka-a-ay … And no one got hurt?”
“No, we were giggling the whole time.”
Well. At least the timing was right. With this article in the works, Mendy’s mother could expect my call.