Everything went off the rails as I was in the final minutes of preparation for Shabbat this past week. I couldn't find the shoes I wanted. I couldn't find all my electric timers. I never put on make-up or a pair of earrings. The kitchen was messy so I had to do a quick clean-up. The extra leaf for the dining room table wasn't sliding into place as expected. Really nothing catastrophic but enough to send me into a tailspin.
I managed to get to synagogue. Late. Very late. My seat of choice was already occupied as were most seats in the sanctuary. I am usually one of the early arrivers and that is the way I like it. This past week I had to search for a prayer book (thanks Sher) and a seat (thanks Pam) and my reading glasses (still searching). People who expect me in my usual spot, ultimately noticed me while they were gazing around aimlessly, and mouthed the words: "what are you doing way back there?" Damn good question.
But there is always something good that comes out of a bad situation. From my new, much higher vantage point, I could see the entire women's section without visual interference. Since I didn't have my reading glasses I couldn't read along. And since my husband and sons couldn't see me, I had the freedom to mentally wonder off without sensing their disapproval or seeing their hand motions for me to either stop talking or pay attention.
That's when I noticed a young woman on the other side of the floor wearing a white sweater with the letters WTF emblazoned on the chest in about 1000 point type. No, I am not exaggerating. I didn't want to jump to conclusions because I was sans glasses so I asked my friend: "Does that sweater say what I think it says?"
She automatically said no because it was pretty incredible, but at second glance (she is as blind as I am), she changed her mind. "Wow, I think it does."
Now, I have been known to go out in my pyjamas and without brushing my hair. I could even be accused of wearing socks with flip flops on occasion. But who the heck wears at sweater with the letters WTF the size of a small child, to synagogue? Fearing that I was becoming an old fogy, I had to let it go -- even though I wanted to go to the other side of the sanctuary for a better look.
I went home and forgot all about it until the next morning, when I was back in synagogue and the next weird thing happened.
In the middle of Torah reading, some kid -- about 11 years old -- mozied up onto the bima (or the altar segment of the sanctuary if you aren't Jewish) while someone was reading the Torah and started to play catch with himself against the walls of the cabinet that holds to Torah scrolls. For those who don't see a problem: this is a big no-no. I mean a really big no-no.
Once again, no one reacted. And we have a synagogue where people are known to over react for lots of reasons (most, not good reasons). I had my glasses this time so I knew I could see what was going on, but there wasn't a peep from the otherwise overly vocal crowd. I was sure I was losing my mind.
I moved into a seat near a friend of mine who has five boys and asked her: "Am I the only one who sees a kid playing catch on the bima? Am I the only one who thinks that's a bit odd?"
She stretched for a better look and said: "yeah, but he isn't bothering anyone and I don't recognize him so he is obviously a visitor who doesn't know any better." And that was that. That will teach me to ask someone with five boys -- they apparently need to be in a burning building before they sense trouble.
"Am I being an old fogy?" I asked her. "Yeah," she said and then went back to her prayer book.
And with that, I realized that some weeks it is better to stay home. If you begin Shabbat on the wrong foot, there is no where to go but down ... and apparently you have to go there alone.
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