Growing Up

Mrs. Yid and I have decided to join Beth Elderly! (I'm still trying to figure out a better name for them, but for now, it is what it is). I sent the shul admin guy an email saying "after five years, it's time to make it official."

As part of this making things official business, we decided to finally attend a Saturday morning service. It was fine, maybe not as fun as Friday night, but nice. Lots of people were out of town for a shul event so we definitely stood out, but we got lots of encouraging smiles from the regulars. One fun (?) moment came when the shammes handed me an aliyah card. I had about fifteen minutes to totally overthink things and decuple-check the transliteration of the blessing in my siddur, and was feeling fine as I went up to the bimah. I have done aliyot before at a few cousins' Bar Mitzvahs, so I wasn't exactly going in blind.

And yet, as soon as I was up there, I became a stumbling boob. It was as though I'd never read transliterated Hebrew before (granted, it was written old-school Ashkenazi style, but still-- I've seen that before). I think it might have been a little stage fright (which also never happens to me, but go figure). I stumbled through the blessing, stood around awkwardly during the reading, and then tried to run away as soon as I could (the cantor ordered me back up for the rest of the reading, go team!) When they finally let me slink away, everyone on the bimah shook my hand and the shammes said, "See, you got through it!" Technically, I suppose.

Telling the rabbi about it the next weekend at Young Guard Havdalah, I said, "You know that part in Judges where 'the spirit of the Lord entered into Samson'? It was like the opposite of that."

Still, I think this was healthy. For a long time I've had low-to-mid-level anxiety about wanting to appear like I know what I'm doing. For better or worse, when people see my beard, my hat, and Mrs. Yid's scarves (and lack of pants), they make some assumptions about our knowledge or observance level, and sometimes I feel a little embarrassed to admit how little I know. It's important to me to not only be Jewishly literate and competent, but also to not feel like I'm somehow putting people on by wearing a frumish costume or something when I can't even read Hebrew. While I know eventually I really just need to get over the embarrassment/anxiety factor, I think part of what's going on here is also that it's hard to do things out of your comfort zone. It's hard to admit you don't know as much as other people. It's hard to acknowledge your own shortcomings. But that's also how you grow. So, while we may not go every week, I think I'll be sticking with Saturday services. I'll even go up for another aliyah when they ask.

Which I hope will not be for a while.

Putting in the Work

Since last we spoke, there have been quite a few developments in our relationship with Beth Elderly. First of all, this Young Guard Havdalah thing has been a modest but regular success, which is a big deal for us, given that we usually fail to stick with things, and particularly given that the demographics of Beth Elderly are strongly against a YGH having a sizable enough turnout to regularly perpetuate itself. Yes, numbers have trickled off following the inaugural Havdalah night, but the smaller group has allowed Mrs. Yid and I (ok, I'll be honest, it's mostly me) to get over a lot of our initial shyness. Hanging out with Abraham, Sarah and Batsheva the President's Daughter (TM) has helped a lot. It's also been nice because now we have some friendly faces (and the names to go with them) we can seek out at shul if there's a lull in social interaction.

Some good/fun news first:

• As mentioned before, YGH has been going well. Your humble correspondent even played host to the gang this last time around-- and did it solo, to boot, since Mrs. Yid's store is starting to make her work crazy hours again. Fun times were had by all (particularly when I added the shot of Bacadri 151 to the Havdalah wine after pouring it out so that the candle made a pretty flame).

• We have started going to Beth Elderly's Kabbalat Shabbat services and monthly potlucks again. Davening quality continues to vary; the rabbi keeps trying livelier Carlebach tunes, and while his heart is in the right place, his voice really isn't. Still, despite the Friar's better/critical nature, I have started to steel myself against griping about it every time and instead am doing my best to carry the room with what my wife says is a halfway decent voice.

• I went to a Lag B'Omer BBQ at the rabbi's house solo and didn't turn into a pillar of salt.

• I took a month-long Tanakh class (also solo) taught by the rabbi's wife and had a lot of fun and even learned a few new insights into the text (biggest take away for the book of Ruth: how pure are Naomi's intentions when she sends her daughters-in-law away? The rabbi's wife, for one, not so sure). Again, despite being a little nervous to do this alone, it worked out just fine, and now I have a few new names for my mental rolodex (sorry, that's dated, isn't it? I meant my mental contacts list).

And now for (a little) griping! Just because it wouldn't be TCfS without it.

• Figure out this singing thing, please!

This may be unfair since rabbis and cantors are two separate professions, but I really wish the rabbi would either go to a few Carlebach services/listen to some tunes online as a refresher, or ask someone in the congregation to help him out with this. Because, honestly, it's hard enough to get the kavannah going with the old dirgey stuff without having not very good Carlebach on top of it.

• Random people have nothing better to do but come talk to me, apparently.

There is one lady in her late 50s who I'll name Masha the Meshuggener who is always rambling about something. The first time we met her, it was that there was nowhere for her to shop that she liked. We offered various suggestions and she shot each of them down. "That one mistreats its workers. That one doesn't have a union. That one isn't organic. I'd die before I shopped there!" Luckily we had other people at our table to talk to, so we did. I wasn't as lucky at Lag B'Omer, however. Masha came up to my table and started complaining at me. Apparently her day canvassing the neighborhood for petition signatures was tiring. I reached deep into my soul and resisted the urge to either run away or make small talk. I just wasn't going to engage. I had a beer, I could just tune her out. I managed to keep that up for about a good 15 minutes, while she ranted about city council this and local opposition that and some political opponent of hers who wasn't as good as her and about how there should be a law about pre-requisite political experience, though apparently that wasn't an issue when the President got elected so why should it matter now...

That's right, people. Even in San Francisco, even among the crunchiest of the crunchy, you can find old Jewish ladies with an Obama axe to grind. Viva diversity, I guess?

It was at that point that Masha became interested in my drink. She wanted to know what it was. As it happened, it was a nice ale produced by one of my favorite Canadian-influenced breweries. She wanted to mix a shot of it with her organic apple juice. Since I had only brought so many bottles, my first instinct was to be annoyed, but then I remembered that Unibroue's beers are about 9% ABV, more than twice that of a standard beer like Guinness or Newcastle. So I figured, if I can't make Masha stop talking, at least I can make her entertaining. I poured her a good solid shot and she liked it so much she had me save her another one for later. Unfortunately she didn't become any more entertaining, and even after I left the table and sat by the bonfire to make room for lots of young families she insisted on following me, helpfully recalling all her bitter and tragic memories relating to fireplaces and the contents therein (I am not making this up; I heard about this lady's inheritance and how it connected with fireplaces).

Also at Lag B'Omer, a 90-year-old Russian guy came up to me with a photocopied pamphlet he had written extolling the virtues of veganism. At a meat BBQ. Oh-kay. When he ran out of pamphlets, the older gentleman stood in the middle of the rabbi's backyard singing O Solo Mio, followed by a few old Yiddish songs. Since he was surrounded by mommies and grand-mommies who have long since lost any critical thinking abilities, every time a song ended their response was to manically clap and yell, "Yay, yay!" as if they had just seen a two-year-old blow out a birthday cake. Which is funny, because after Old Man Veganism finished, a mother dragged her 7-year-old up, brought out his music stand, violin and songbook (which they had just happened to bring?) and he performed an impromptu concert. Again, the "Yaying" crowd wouldn't stop, so the kid just kept going, probably for close to half an hour. The whole time his mom was sitting a foot away from him in a folding chair, taping the whole thing on her iPhone. I'm not saying the kid wasn't talented, I just don't know that I really needed to know the jazzy version of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

• Something is personally inconvenient to me!

Your shul is in the middle of nowhere and when I get there early for Tanakh class there is nowhere to sit or hang out that doesn't result in me being blown around by gale force winds like a rag doll. Not really Beth Elderly's fault, but still, yesterday I wound up spending an hour and a half reading my book under a bush like a hobo just to get out of the wind. And then I had to shlep home after. It was lame. Worth it, but still lame.

Despite all this, though, it's become quite clear to me that Beth Elderly is the only shul that's ever really felt welcoming to us, and even though things there aren't perfect (as the grass-stains on my pants can attest), we feel pretty sure that our next big step will be to formally join the shul. Which, as no one in my family (besides Uncle Milt) has been official members of anything Jewish in over 40 years, is kind of a big deal. Even though there are things I'd like to change there, and even though we may be leaving the city in a few years, I've finally realized what everyone has been saying to me: if you want a community, you have to work at it. If you want things to be better, you have to participate. That's what a community is. So, fine. I'm game. Let's keep the momentum going.

This weekend: Shavuot!

Building Bridges

Our adventures with the Not-So-Elderly from Beth Elderly continue! This month we had Young Adult (defined as under 40) Havdalah at another couple's home. The rabbi and his wife brought their two kids, which was fun for a while, but got pretty chaotic pretty fast (one and three years old are not ideal ages for hanging out multiple hours after sun-down). Aside from that, there were a handful of young folks we had met last time. We did Havdalah, chatted about the shul, and just generally spent time getting to know each other. Mrs. Yid and I wound up staying past midnight talking with the host couple Abraham and Sarah about their practice and journeys with Judaism. As a fellow young couple of eclectic religious background and practices it was a lot of fun to trade stories and experiences without feeling that we were weirding each other out. (Abraham was raised Episcopalian, eventually found out he was halachically Jewish through his maternal grandmother, and spent time at college Hillel, Reform Judaism, Chabad and Evil Minion before finding Beth Elderly; Sarah is a practicing Catholic and the two of them are active in both communities-- very busy weekends!) Compared to them, Mrs. Yid and my religious affiliation and practice are almost uncomplicated, something we haven't felt in... ever?

There have been a few times over the past ten or fifteen years when I made a close friendship that wound up having a big impact on my Jewish education and practice. The first was in high school, when I found my first Jewish friend that was religious enough that he could at least take me to High Holiday services at his shul. The second was in college, when my best friend and roommate was a rabbi's kid and really knew what she was doing, and gave me the anchoring I needed to take the things I had been learning from books and putting them into practice. With these new friends, I feel like there's the potential to have some fellow travelers who understand the challenges of wanting to take a tradition seriously (or at least more seriously than not at all) while not being judged for the choices you ultimately make or don't make.

Here's hoping that our new acquaintance with Abraham and Sarah will turn into a long friendship-- and maybe encourage us to take our path(s) as seriously as they do theirs.

And also that next time, the rabbi and his wife will get a baby-sitter.

Darkness and Light

In Parsha Bo we hear about the plague of darkness. The Etz Hayim has an interesting commentary. If the darkness was only a lack of physical light, it says, couldn't people have just used candles? This question, while kind of bizarre, leads to an intriguing suggestion: the darkness could also have had psychological, emotional or spiritual dimensions. While I'm not sure I buy that reading in the context of the text, I think lots of people can relate to emotional darkness-- whether feeling like you've fallen into an abyss, or just struggling with general dissatisfaction.

I've been feeling some of the latter lately, and though it may sound overdramatic, I absolutely agree with designating it as a "plague." If life is supposed to be about joy and satisfaction, not having those things can definitely feel like a curse or affliction. It sucks when things suck, not just because bad things are happening, but also because they have a way of creeping in and nullifying, or at least diminishing, the good stuff. Etz Hayim quotes the Midrash connecting the Darkness/Light metaphors with Heaven and Hell: "Just as the light of Shabbat is a foretaste of the world to come... the darkness of the ninth plague is a foretaste of Gehinnom..." Powerful imagery for people engaged in an intellectual examination of depression, though I don't think I'd use it to cheer someone up.

The hardest part of our practice these days is how inconsistent things are, and that mostly has to do with us still not having found a community we really connect with. Mrs. Yid's schedule continues to be pretty crazy, and I spend most Shabbats alone. It's hard to be consistent when I'm missing my partner in crime (and Yiddishkeit). Most of the time we're too busy to really notice it, but it still pops up from time to time-- for me, particularly when I have to spend Shabbat alone, but also on the rare occasion where we wind up doing a lot of Jewish social stuff.


This week is a great example. This week my cousin came from Israel on a speaking tour and invited us to come hear her talk. We met her beforehand, had dinner, and then went to the event. Despite the fact that initially I was rather anxious about meeting new people, things actually turned out totally fine. I even had a chance to talk Israeli politics/anthropology with a few folks.

At the end of the night, my cousin mentioned she was going to be spending Shabbat speaking at a synagogue in the East Bay, Beth Funny Name to be Determined. Mrs. Yid and I have been interested in checking out BFNtbD for a while now but haven't made it across the bay, and I mentioned I would try to check it out.

But then I remembered that Mrs. Yid was working that day. As soon as I realized that I would have to go alone, I got a sick feeling in my stomach. It festered over the next few days, and I realized that even though I wanted to go there and see her speak... I was also kind of terrified of going by myself. And that feeling didn't go away, even after talking about it multiple times. I kept waffling back and forth about "maybe I could go," and then retreating. And every time, I was also beating up on myself for this even being an issue in the first place. I didn't wind up going, and I was pretty irritated with myself.

The week didn't end too badly, though. My cousin was chatting with some of her rabbinical colleagues and remembered that we had spent some time at Beth Elderly a few years ago. It turned out that the new-ish rabbi there was organizing a young adult Havdalah. Would we like to come?

Going to services alone at a shul where I've never been before is tough. Trying to chat up random strangers in a super crowded room after services at Evil Minion is tough. But a few young adults at the rabbi's house? This, I can do. So I said yes, and we went, and things actually were really, really nice. It turns out that since we stopped going the new rabbi has been working hard to encourage more young people, and they're now experimenting with more Carlebach stuff in their services, as well as trying to make more opportunities for the young folks to meet and hang out outside of shul, too.

This was like music to my ears. One young married couple-- who had also gone to Evil Minion many times and found it really hard to meet anyone-- had even joined the board!

As with anything involving Jews, there were things that weren't perfect. Mrs. Yid had several wardrobe malfunctions and had to battle the city's various inept transportation systems and wound up coming late. There wasn't much for me to eat because no one knew my food allergies. There were people there who I wouldn't choose as my best friends (did you know Canada has bad weather? Now I do, too. In excruciating detail.) But all those things actually had a bright side. I had to go in and schmooze for an hour with strangers by myself, something I had all but convinced myself I was incapable of doing. I got to see that there are plenty of other young-ish people out there with worse social skills than me. (I'm only moderately awkward! Go team!) And the fact that I didn't get much food gave us an excuse to go out for dinner afterwards to celebrate.

On the way home, I told Mrs. Yid that I had just had an epiphany.

"It's terrible!"

"What?"

"I think... your Dad may be right."

"About what?"

"About that stupid Gandhi quote he likes so much. 'Be the change you want to see in the world.'"

"How?"

"I think it means... we can't spend all our time banging our heads into the wall trying to shoehorn ourselves into someone else's community... if there's a place that's welcoming to us, and they're trying to grow their young members... maybe what we need to do is get involved, and build it into the kind of community we want to have."

"Funny, I feel like I've only been saying this for the last five years."

I love my wife.

Mrs. Yid and I have talked a lot about anxiety this week, and we've concluded that my anxiousness about talking to people may be a bit beyond the norm-- and that it may be something worth looking into with a therapist. Plenty of people in both our families take anti-anxiety and anti-depression meds, so it's not out of the question that I might have some funky brain chemistry going on, too.

But maybe it's also that, given the choice, I'd rather meet people in small doses. Maybe it's about needing to not bite off more than I can chew.

Even though this has been a really tough week, I'm starting to feel hopeful. There's a little more light in the tunnel.

It's nice to know we have options. It's important to remember that there is a community that has continually welcomed us, without pressure and without preconditions. And it's fantastic that there seems to be the seeds of a change happening there where all the pressure won't be on us to save the shul.

So who knows, maybe by this time next year, I'll have a new name for Beth Elderly. Maybe Beth Median (math joke!) Maybe Beth Boardwalk (it's by the beach).

Or maybe, Home.

Coming soon: TCFS tours?

A few weeks ago, I was hanging out with an old friend of mine who has been living in New York for the past several years and is now back in town for grad school. The guy's mother is Protestant, his father is Catholic, and he was confirmed in the Church, though AFAIK has not attended services or received sacraments in quite a few years.

Lapsed-Catholic Friend: Hey, we should check out some of the synagogues in town!
Me, a bit confused: Um, ok, but... why?
LCF (who has a substantial architecture background and is getting a degree in urban planning): I really want to see what some of those places look like on the inside!
Me: Hey, anytime you want to go, just let us know. We're happy to show you around.

Apparently the first place he wants to see is Beth Halfpipe.

This should be fun.

Hey, we're trying

I doubt that Mrs. Yid or I will ever be nominated to be Chief Sephardic Rabbi of anything. Granted, there are plenty of legitimate reasons for that. But one definite strike against us is that while traditionally it's considered very important to engage in hiddur mitzvah, or "pretty up the mitzvah," around here we apply our shabby-cheap aesthetic to pretty much anything.

Case in point: our first sukkah, courtesy of Mrs. Yid, bless her heart, who, upon being kicked out of jury duty last week and having some time to kill (and knowing what day it was), decided to surprise yours truly with this in our backyard.

On Sukkot, we remember what it was like living in the desert as we sit on folding chairs of old.

It may not be much to look at, and if we're being sticklers about that whole s'chach thing then only that one teeny corner of it with the weeds on it was kosher, but darn it, it reminded me of why I love my wife. These aren't her traditions (heck, they're barely mine), but she's trying. It was also very sweet that she had used the chuppah poles from our wedding that her brother carved himself and lugged across several states. I look forward to getting many uses from those over the years.

After Mrs. Yid finished the sukkah, I went out for Thai food and we sat in the sukkah and ate a lovely, if slightly cramped, dinner. Then we cracked out some chumashim and studied the parsha for Sukkot (I found them incredibly dull; Mrs. Yid was entertained that they all seem to involve God demanding tons of food like a pregnant Queen Bee), and then we both giggled at the crazy prophecies of the Hatfarah portion in Zechariah (my favorite part is when he talks about the mountain splitting open; I couldn't help but think of this).

Anyway, yes, it's only the third Jewish holiday of 5772 and already the gravitas around here has dropped way down. But something's better than nothing. And besides, ours is a highly understanding God. We hope.

High Holidays Debrief

Mrs. Yid and I went to Temple GLBT for High Holidays for the second time-- the only time since college where we've gone back somewhere. A few minor issues aside, I enjoyed myself quite a bit. These last few years I've been unable for fast for health reasons, so this was the first time in a while that I fasted, and I have to say, this may have been the easiest time I've ever had of it.

One issue I've had over and over again at High Holiday services has been liturgy and transliteration-- while I prefer Hebrew to English, most place's machzorim tend to lack adequate transliteration, which means that people like me get stuck out in the cold. This has probably been one of the biggest problems I've had in trying to have engaging High Holiday experiences.

So, in keeping with the spirit of diving into things a little more, I bought my own transliterated machzor, courtesy of Joe Rosenstein at newsiddur.org. It didn't come until after Rosh Hashanah, but I marked it up ahead of time with sticky flags so that by the time Yom Kippur rolled around, I was set and ready to go.

I started the day by putting on Zayde's tefillin. I've been feeling slightly guilty about having them and not using them, but frequently the only days I actually get around to davening are Saturdays, when you're not supposed to use the darn things. Oh, irony. And it turns out you're not supposed to wear them on major holidays, either. So, a double-no-no-whammy for me. Oh well.

Because I was in a spiritual mood I put on Zayde's tefillin anyway, but I didn't say the brachot-- A because I knew I wasn't supposed to be davening with them on Shabbat or Yom Tov, and also because I hadn't remembered to write them down and I was trying not to use the computer. So instead I used them as a sort of mental focus for a short prayer asking for the joy and faith of my grandfather to be in my heart and mind for the day and to help center me during the fast. Halachic, perhaps not, but it felt good to have a physical connection to Zayde.

Once we were at shul, I found that being able to follow the service made a huge difference in my experience, and it was nice to be able to proceed more at my own pace as opposed to taking all my cues from the service leaders. Temple GLBT's machzor was made before I was born, so its transliteration is quite minimal (and my impression is that some pieces of the amidah are significantly abridged), so I wasn't always able to get through everything, but it was nice to have the option to continue if I wanted to. It was also fascinating to observe that for the most part, Temple GLBT was following a pretty traditional prayer structure. Not everything was in there, but people who would expect crazy liberal gay-friendly Reformies to have replaced everything with one long drum circle would have been pretty surprised.

Ever the critic, I have a few gripes. But in keeping with my resolution to try to be less of a bastard, I'm keeping it brief:

- There was no mincha service. It was entirely replaced by break-out sessions. There was a little bit of text study offered but for the most part it was meditation, arts & crafts, or social activism discussion group (the day's topic was "Racism: Bad?") It wound up being ok because we took the opportunity to take a much needed break and dose of sunlight. On the one hand, I kind of like having a break, but it was also a bit of a bummer that with all the alternative options being offered, no one thought to just offer a traditional-ish prayer service for the afternoon. Given how most of the rest of the day more or less stuck to the usual script, it seemed odd to me.

- No Leviticus 18. I was particularly miffed about this because Mrs. Yid and I had studied the parsha the night before and found a lot to debate in it, and I had been particularly interested in how a GLBT-focused shul would tackle it. Apparently, they tackle it by avoiding it entirely and switching it with the Holiness Code in Leviticus 19. I suppose I get it but it felt a little disappointing. Also, the Holiness Code is, IMO, fairly uninteresting. At least Lev 18 has some meaty things people can dig into and discuss.

- Teeny, teeny yizkor service. Lots of niggunim and build-up about how this is "one of the most meaningful services of the year," juxtaposed with very little time letting us actually pray the darn thing. This was particularly irksome to me as I am unfamiliar with the structure of yizkor and was trying to modify the blessings for my three grandparents.

- On a related note, I really wanted to say Mishiberach for my increasingly-ill grandmother, and am rather perturbed that none of her kids have the slightest idea of what her Hebrew name is. (I asked my great-aunt but all she could give was a wild guess.) I guess we're the only ones spending anytime in shuls that call people up for aliyot using both their parents' names.

All in all, I had a very good time. I may still be working on this community thing, but at least I'm feeling comfortable and "competent" when it comes with the actual prayers for the holiday.

Quotes:

Me: I got a new siddur and a new machzor, which is great, because it made it a lot easier to follow along in shul.

Abbot Yid: Um... all I caught out of that was "shul."

Our clothes Out-Jew us again

Mrs. Yid and I have been trying to stick to some sort of shul schedule now that I'm back from Europe, so we went to Evil Minion on Friday. As usual, davening went fine-- I really look forward to the sensation of everything falling away for a little bit when we get into the Carlebachian niggun singing, and it's just a very lovely experience.

However, as usual, things take a turn for the awkward when it's time for kiddush. Nothing super terrible happened this time, but there was this amusing interchange:

New Guy: Hi there, I'm Ari.
Mrs. Yid (straining to hear over the loud room conversation): What? Ori?
Ari: Nice to meet you, Ori!
Me: (Shaking my head that my life has turned into a Best of Abbot and Costello special) Hi, Ari.

Two minutes later:

Nice lady: Hello, where are you guys from?
Mrs. Yid: Down the block, actually.
NL: Really? With that nice tichel on, I would have guessed Israel!

Whoops. Apparently between my snazzy fedoras and trimmed beards and Mrs. Yid's new-ish practice of wearing headscarves and skirts, we are sending some interesting signals.

We talked about this afterwards at the very traditional post-davening sushi fest:

Me: Do we give off frumy vibes?
Mrs. Yid: I mean, under a very technical definition, I guess so... but the details are all wrong! This dress is totally not tznius! If someone who knew what they were looking for saw me, they'd think I was totally whoring it up.
Me: And I don't know of any tish that accepts gray straw stetsons as part of the dress code. (Pause) Maybe Breslov, I suppose.

This is not the first time this has happened. To a degree I think it just reflects our aesthetics and the way they intersect with our values/personalities (somewhat old-fashioned and low-key as compared to say, the uber avant-gard hipsters we have to step over to get to shul). I think there's something about the traditional/religious aesthetic that we actually find rather charming, classic, if you will. I know I personally just think hats, beards, and tall yarmulkes look cool. Mrs. Yid, to a degree, seems to be leaning a similar way in favoring skirts and dresses and snazzy headscarves. (That appears to be where the line ends, though; she says she has no interest in wearing a wig or shaving her head. Darn, I thought that could be a bonding thing!)

Though these incidents are extremely minor, I also worry that the way we dress, may, in Jewish settings, create assumptions about our observance level that not only aren't accurate, but are waaaaay far from accurate. You probably don't expect the couple who look like they just graduated from "Hip Chabad House" bootcamp to like bacon and intermarriage. We just don't want people to feel like we're being dishonest.

The best part of all of this, of course, is that when I told my parents this story last night, they couldn't get past the word "tickle."

Reflection

Cross-posted to the home blog.

It's been almost a whole year since my shul-angst post. In that time the job situation has mostly stayed the same, Shiksa Girlfriend has become Mrs. Yid, and we probably haven't been to shul more than a handful of times.

So what to make of this?

For starters, I think we've been very busy with the wedding and family stuff and so shul took a backseat. The other thing is that we spent a lot of time thinking about, and talking about, explicitly Jewish things we wanted to include in our marriage and present/future household and so I think neither of us were necessarily feeling particularly Jewishly deprived.

We also have been trying to be slightly more machmir about doing Shabbat regularly, which is nice.

Still, I think we are going to try to pick up the shul-reins some more and keep plugging away. This last Shabbat we went to Evil Minion again and it was perfectly nice. We haven't decided where to go for High Holidays this year, though we're leaning towards Temple GLBT (particularly since the rabbi that married us is a quasi-regular participant there). At some point we will finally bite the bullet and either try very hard to make some friends, or take a class or, heaven forbid, actually join a shul and see what it's like. Just because we feel like a super awkward special case doesn't mean we actually are.

And anyway, at least now that she has a ring on her finger, Mrs. Yid won't have to worry about people thinking she's only at shul for the (kosher) meat-market.

...Strangely enough, I never have this problem.

A Wake-Up Call

Shiksa Girlfriend and I had a talk recently where she said she was bummed out that we had let our synagogue attendance drop so dramatically. There were lots of reasons for this: she had been unemployed for eight months (yay new employment!), both of us had been stretched kind of thin emotionally and psychologically, and, to be honest, neither of us is all that social (me especially). She said she understood all that, but that she needs to feel like we're a little more part of a community, and that I'm frankly not helping. Specifically, she thinks my shul standards are too high.

I said that it was hard for me; that my parents weren't really joiners and that we weren't raised to be joiners, and that social/group dynamics have never really been my thing, partially because I never really needed to work at it. If I didn't want to be a part of something, I didn't have to. Which meant that I didn't bother.

She said that was all well and good but that if we go around expecting perfection out of every social interaction, especially in a Jewish context, that we'll never get a chance to find people that we do click with. I said that it felt like we had seen what our options were, and none felt quite right-- Evil Minion had great enthusiasm, but felt cliquey and awkward as soon as services were over. Beth Elderly had the exact opposite problem; they had so few new (or young) members that we felt like people were incapable of A- giving us some space to settle in, or B- not projecting various images of Young Adult Leadership TM on us. At this point I would feel guilty going back there simply because they gave us a trial membership for High Holidays and then we never went back after. They're probably still scratching their heads over it.

In a really interesting development, she also said that if this thing isn't resolved by the time we have kids, she will basically look for another community identity to raise them in (probably Unitarian Universalism, but maybe super-low-key cultural Christianity).

Whoah.

At first I was a little shocked at what felt like a trump card or low blow, but I realized that I should really have been thankful of how honest and direct she was being. She wants to share this Jewish thing with me, but I can't really expect her to be the leader when she isn't even Jewish. And unfortunately I'm not really knowledgeable (or comfortable) enough to stand alone or go trailblazing ahead, foraging into the tall grasslands of Jewish community.

So we compromised. We will be doing more shul visits this year. When SG's schedule gets ironed out, we will try to include more Saturday visits into the mix (which will also be a good way to get a fresh look at the different shuls in town). We've already made arrangements for High Holidays at Temple GLBT. This will be our first holidays with them.

Four years of High Holidays in four different shuls. I wonder if it's us? Or them? Or both.