Shul and the Single Woman

I thought I would return from Shabbat services at Om Hadash, pop in a video and celebrate my brand new little tv (my only luxury item), and chow down on some potato chips (my favourite junk food) and soda. Regardless of circumstance, I make Shabbat something special. I light candles, make kiddush. I have always said, "When the sun descends, Shabbat descends". There is no question in my mind of the gift that G-d has given us.

I used to not watch tv, and not use the computer, when I was with people. My absolute ideal is to keep more kosher (and that's not saying much but it is much for me!) than I do, to lay the table with beautiful things- flowers and cutlery and Irish linen and colour, and cook the Shabbat meal, or several, for friends and strangers. To centre our lives around Torah- to make it all so beautiful and warm, perhaps spiritual, and very welcoming. And that includes including the strange and annoying and alienating and, well...strange, though I would prefer to not make them a constant.

Today the rabbi (not my rabbi), in speaking about the parsha K'doshim, mentioned, as is always mentioned, exhorted, presented, referenced, endlessly, in many texts, many sermons, many classes, every mussar moment- about loving one's neighbour as oneself. Hey, at this synagogue, you could say it is an article of faith! At least from the top, if not down.

The services included a bar mitzvah. The father has done great fundraising financial things for the place, which the rabbi mentioned during services. It is clear that here is a man with power (I'm not talking about the rabbi). The kid will make a great politician/saviour, with Torah as his guide. The kiddush luncheon was held outside, in tents with heating, for the congregation and the kids. We had small balloons and packets of M&Ms arcing across the table. When I was leaving, I pressed my face against the glass doors of the social hall- wow! What had I been missing? The lights were dimmed, someone was speaking at a microphone, there were exotic flower arrangements on each table. I was glad to see that the food seemed to be the same. Heck, we were missing the party! How did that happen?

I remember with great fondness a bar mitzvah I attended which was part of the service in maybe the smallest synagogue in all of LA. The interior walls were concrete. The ark was a box. The joy was palpable. I didn't much care for the service, but the pride and joy and celebration- simcha- were clear. How could you not melt?

I remember most fondly the kiddush luncheon afterwards. My friend and I hesitated at the threshold of their teeny tiny social hall. Yet, there was the father, moved and heartfelt, who stretched out his arms to us in welcome, and bade us to enter, to share in the food and the joy. I will never forget his all encompassing embrace. To me, this is Judaism at its finest. Or perhaps, a great Jewish excuse for emotion.

It was a Reform temple.

So, back at the tented ranch, I wander in figuring I can get a seat amongst people I know. Can't say anything bad about them at all- at least not those who gave me a ride and at one time, salved my wounds. I want to be fair to them. Truly.

I saunter over and hover at the table. I am informed that all the seats are taken- there is no room. These are people I know. Who are telling me there is no room.

I go over to a nearby table and sit there, amongst 9 other empty chairs, for a full10 minutes before someone joins me. He sits down beside me- the infamous tutor. Geez, what were the chances? We exchange totally pointless words and then others sit down and he is adored by all those seeking his favour with their kids for the forseeable future, and I have ceased to exist. Not that I care in this case because his words meant nothing and his indifference is palpable and matches my own. The food is damned fine. Even though I had asked for a ride from someone at said Table of Rejection earlier (and they are very nice people), I find myself leaving early. Pardon me while I cry.

Craning my neck, I noted that the seats I was not allowed to inhabit were taken by the lay cantor and the Pres of the synagogue. Reservations. I never knew!

I actually exited crying. Cried on the buses (it takes me an hour and a half) all the way home. I cannot fault these people for acting obliviously. Yet I do fault them for not seeing past their own comfort. I live in a state of perpetual ambivalence.

Living Torah, in my eyes, is not easy or comfortable. It means forever placing your needs second to the task at hand. And what is that task? To show and bring people closer to the Torah- to be a light to our own nation and the rest of the nations. One would think that in the midst of so much personal abundance (not necessarily material), people would share honourably and with good heart. My bad, for thinking it.

I am in such a raw place where it just does not take much to trigger me. I have decided that finally, though I admire the rabbi's efforts, etc., and the superficial friendliness of some members, man, I hate being at this shul. I was thrown out of my seat once because "someone else" was going to be sitting there, in the midst of a whole lot of empty seats. This being my attempt to get to know the "regulars".

I think I just can't care to stay. If you are single, forget it. If you are single, you must make your own way in spite of the crap thrown at you. If you are a single woman, forget it. I think I've found my mantra.

Judaism and Jews, no matter what the f you say, you fail us, cause you can't get out of your own frickin navels. And that's putting it kindly. And everyone stop telling me "they are only human". Heck, then I may as well have subscribed to another religion. And if you don't understand that then you don't understand Torah and what makes it so especially beautiful and singular and compelling.

I have decided to leave this synagogue.

(Esther, over at My Urban Kvetch eloquently voiced her own concerns on the same subject a while ago.)

Rabbi and Congregant