Dressed in his Sunday best, Mike met Al on the steps of the synagogue at nine o’clock on the following Wednesday. A pleasant young man wearing a yarmulke greeted Al and offered his companion a yarmulke and tallith from a box. Al declined, taking the necessary articles from a pouch he was carrying and showing Mike how to wear them. The young man looked on with interest and shook Mike’s hand.
“Welcome to Har Sinai. May God be gracious to you on this day and all days.” Mike suspected that the man had recognized him right away as not Jewish and he felt a twinge of discomfort. Nonetheless he bowed slightly and thanked the man before letting himself be led into the sanctuary.
He was not prepared for what awaited him. For one thing, the interior was less ornate than any of the churches he had attended in the past. Al, sensing Mike’s bewilderment, whispered to him that they were standing in a converted movie theater. In fact, he explained, a worship service in a private residence was perfectly valid in God’s eyes, especially if there were at least ten adult men participating.
The other surprise was the seemingly total lack of discipline. To be sure, the women were segregated in the balcony, but that left the men to attend to men’s business, which was more than atoning for their sins. Technically, separation by gender was a requirement in an orthodox Jewish service; men should not be distracted by the presence of women. But while the officiants at the far end of the sanctuary were reading aloud from their prayer books, they were certainly not holding the attention of most of the congregants. Their voices were all but drowned out by a buzz of conversation coming from various knots of worshipers. Mike tried to focus his attention on the white-clad men around the altar, but he had no idea of what they were chanting. He leafed through a prayer book that had been left on the seat next to him and understood why: all the right-hand pages were printed in Hebrew, which he could not read, and he assumed this to be the language of the service. The English translation was on the left-hand pages. Thereupon he allowed his attention to wander to a group of men two rows in front of him, and made out a reference to the batting average of a Red Sox player.
Out in the secular world the World Series was in progress, and none but the most devout worshipers, Jewish or otherwise, escaped the news emanating from one of the two stadiums in which this year’s “world” champion would be crowned. Mike entertained the thought that the Jewish men at today’s service were regular guys, interested in some of the same things as he was. This came as a pleasant surprise, because indirectly he saw the possibility of regarding Debbie as a regular person. He even fancied himself as joining the conversation, but that would have required an introduction; he preferred to remain anonymous for now.
His reverie was interrupted by a change in the proceedings up front: the atonal mumbling had given way to a melodious chant. One of the white-clad officiants drew back an ornate velvet curtain, revealing a tall wall cupboard containing a number of cylindrical objects about half his height, each covered in a velvet dress and a silver necklace. The officiant withdrew one of the cylinders and sang what sounded like a special tune. Another officiant lifted the cover to expose a parchment scroll stretched between two dowels, and laid it down on the altar. Mike looked questioningly at Al, who signaled that he would explain later. Shortly a man who seemed to know Al came up to him and, nodding in Mike’s direction, asked a question he could not hear. Al shook his head, answered briefly, and the man retreated.
Mike watched the proceedings at the altar — a succession of congregants called by their Hebrew names, blessings chanted, a paragraph or two read from the scroll — all leaving Mike totally confused. After a while he leaned toward Al and asked whether they could go out for some fresh air. Al nodded and they went out into the balmy October day.
“What do you think?” Al asked.
“I didn’t realize the whole service was going to be in Hebrew. So I couldn’t follow it.”
Al laughed. “Neither could most of the guys we were sitting with. I’d guess that about five percent could follow it and understand it; maybe two-thirds could read it but not translate; and one-third couldn’t even read it. Such is the state of Jewish education in the U.S. these days. It’s different in Israel, of course, where they all speak the language. Now aren’t your services in Latin?”
“Used to be, but nowadays that’s optional. In our church we worship mostly in English. But what really struck me in today’s service was the lack of discipline. There were people talking about the news, the World Series, and God knows what else, paying no attention whatever to what was going on up front.”
“Ah,” Al countered, “you caught us at a bad time. Most services, say on Sabbath morning, only last a couple of hours, so people stay focused. But what you saw today was a ten-hour marathon. For some folks coming to synagogue is nothing more than symbolic, a social requirement, so to speak. And when it comes to the High Holidays — and this is the highest of the high — it’s almost mandatory to make an appearance. If you don’t show up, people will notice, and if you run a business you may lose customers. And the synagogue cashes in. With demand for seats so high, they actually sell tickets just to get attendance.”
“No offense, Al,” Mike said, “but that sounds like extortion.”
“Oh, it is. But what are you going to do? If everyone else pays, they expect you — I mean me — to pay too. But take the long view: A couple hundred dollars is a small price to have your sins forgiven, and to protect your business.”
“Did you have to pay for me too?”
“Absolutely. But you’re my guest, so think no more of it.”
“Don’t they pass the basket for donations?”
“No. Jews don’t handle money on the Sabbath or Holy Days. It’s all done with pledges. You saw those men being called up to the Torah reading?”
“The what reading?”
“Torah. The scroll they took out of the Ark and read from. That wall cupboard is called an Ark. Those scrolls are the holiest objects in all Jewishdom — whatever. Dropping one is punishable by forty days of fasting.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No, I’m not. Though there are probably ways to plead extenuating circumstances. Anyway, I’ve never seen one dropped. These folks are very, very careful.”
Mike shivered at the thought of forty days of fasting. “Why forty days?”
Al shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it’s some sort of magic number. Probably says so somewhere in the Torah.” He smiled. “Anyway, getting back to what I was saying. All those guys who went up for a reading pledged money. Which brings me to you.”
“Me? Do I have to pledge? I’d be glad to. With all the sins I’ve committed.”
“No, no, don’t you worry. You remember that fellow coming up to me and whispering something in my ear? Did you see him looking at you?”
“Yeah. What was that?”
“He asked me whether you’d like to be called up. It’s a sort of honor for visitors. And, of course, they expect a token of appreciation. Fifty bucks at least if you don’t want to be labeled a cheapskate. I declined on your behalf. I should probably have asked you first.”
“No, that’s OK. You did right. And I can just imagine the priest next time I go to confession. ‘You went to a Jewish service? You gave them money? Money the diocese could have used?’ Then he would have squeezed another fifty out of me for penitence. So you saved me a hundred.”
“Well, I’m glad I didn’t let you down. Now let’s go get something to eat. Your priest won’t hold that against you. We can take the afternoon off, check in with the wives, but we should go again this evening. Yom Kippur ends at nightfall and everyone’ll be in a good mood because they can go home and eat. I bet you’ve never heard anyone blow the shofar!”
“The what?”
“Ram’s horn.”
“What?”
“Don’t you know what a ram is? It’s a male sheep. You can blow through the horn like a bugle. That’s a special treat at the end of the service.”
“You got to show me sometime. Play me a tune.”
“I will. Not a tune, but a good shofar blower can make different sounds come out. Those sounds, by the way, have Hebrew names. But never mind, it gets too complicated. The shofar, by the way, is not a holy object, and you can drop it all you want.
“Anyway, after the service people will come up to us with good wishes for the next year, like May you be inscribed and sealed in the Book of Life, that sort of thing. That may be in Hebrew too. All you have to do is smile, thank them, and wish them the same. In English. They all know English. Let’s meet outside the synagogue at seven.”
Gladys greeted her husband with a smile, and Mike returned it in kind.
“So tell me,” she said, “how was it?”
“Really interesting. I’m going back with Al this evening for the closing ceremony. I’ll tell you all about it over dinner. Don’t forget, we’re going to the Goldstones.”
“OK, I’ll wait,” she said. “Just tell me one thing: Did you get converted?”
He simply laughed. She detected the slightest hesitation in his laughter, and the tone left her wondering just what had happened.
They had never been dinner guests of a Jewish family, and the menu, while unfamiliar, turned out very much to their liking. As befitted any good housewife, of whatever religion, Gladys took home recipes for homemade chicken matzo-ball soup and pot roast. But it was the table conversation that most captivated not only Gladys but Barbara too.
“It’s been quite a day,” Mike said. “First an all-day worship service, then a dinner that almost made me wish I’d fasted so I could appreciate it even more.” He went on to recount his observations, the juxtaposition of piety and inattention, Torah readings and baseball, reverence and boredom. With each contrast his voice became a shade quieter, as though he were retreating into introspection. Gladys was the first to notice the change and asked: “It sounds as if it really got to you, Mike, didn’t it?”
Leaving the question hanging in the air, Al interjected: “He almost had an aliyah. I saved him just in time.”
“What’s an aliyah?” Gladys asked. “Is it as scary as it sounds? A heart attack, or stroke, or something?”
Al laughed. “No, not any kind of health crisis, It’s actually an honor, often given to visitors. It means being called up front for a Torah reading.”
This struck Gladys as exceedingly funny. “You, Mike, Torah reading? You could have been excommunicated! Besides, you wouldn’t know how to read that Torah. I bet it’s in Hebrew.”
“I wouldn’t have had to read it. The cantor does that and you just stand by and try to pay attention.”
“Still,” Gladys said, “I wouldn’t recommend telling Father Larkin.”
“I think he’d try to understand,” Mike replied. “He would have said, ‘Better Torah than Car and Driver,’ which is what I usually read. Anyway, as you heard, Al saved me by declining on my behalf. The guy obviously had no idea that I didn’t even belong in a synagogue.”
Gladys was still laughing. “He must have thought you were Jewish. Hmm, come to think of it, yes, you could pass.”
“I’m flattered — by him and by you,” Mike said dryly.
“By the way, Mike,” Al asked suddenly, “isn’t your daughter-in-law Jewish?”
Mike made a face that said he’d rather not answer. But he did. “Yes.”
“So I’d think,” Al said, “that you’d know all about Jewish customs by now. Didn’t she give you a bit of a Jewish education?”
Mike looked down at his dinner plate. “She’s a bit of a sensitive subject with me. Another time I’ll tell you.”
Gladys didn’t want to add to Mike’s embarrassment, but she thought his ignorance was unfair to her. “I learned quite a bit from her during all those years,” she said, “just as she learned about us.”
He silently determined to thank Gladys for ending that conversation, even though her remarks should have embarrassed him. Truth be told, thoughts were circulating within his brain that he saw only vaguely with his mind’s eye and would not have been able to put into words. He had never been a devout Catholic, so being present at a Jewish service did not jar his conscience. He needed time to figure out exactly what the experience had meant to him.
Sleep eluded him again that night but, unlike that time in the motel, his thoughts were not depressing. Unable to understand the language of the service, and merely guessing at its content, he had actually been bored until his ears caught the conversation about the World Series. Not that he needed any information from those men. He was totally up to date on the latest game and how its outcome affected the chances of the Red Sox. He was a Yankees fan first, an American League fan second. The idea of a National League team victory was unthinkable. The Yankees had not made it to the Series this year, so he rooted for the Red Sox. But the conversation he overheard piqued his interest. To begin with, some members of that group seemed to favor the Cardinals. He had imagined the same conversation, complete with the requisite yelling and insults, taking place in the auto showroom, and he couldn’t help thinking that but for the sacred ambience of the occasion the Jews would have been going at it just like their Christian brethren. Mike began to feel more tolerant of Jews.
Arriving at the showroom next morning, Mike saw Al talking on the telephone. As soon as the call was finished, the two men greeted each other cordially. “That was some delicious dinner,” Mike said. “Please thank Barbara again for us.”
“Glad you enjoyed it, and glad that you joined us at the synagogue. Now we’ve got another treat for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Come with us to the synagogue next Monday and see the sukkah. The entire week we celebrate the harvest festival, lots of joy, good food, wonderful atmosphere. Great antidote to Yom Kippur.”
“That’s kind of you. And of course we’ll need an education.”
“You’ll get that. We’ll make Jews of you yet!”
“I hope that’s not a condition of our going with you,” Mike said, laughing.
“No, I was kidding about that,” Al reassured him. “Unlike Christians — no offense — we don’t try to convert people to Judaism. Let everybody worship in their own way, that’s our motto.”
“Glad to hear it, Al. On the other hand, when our priest finds out where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing — and of course I’ll have to confess — my penance may be that I have to bring you in for conversion to Catholicism!”
Now both men were laughing. “And it would serve me right!” Al said. “But no dice.”
On the following Monday, after lunch so as not to interfere with religious activities, Al took Mike to see the sukkah. Nobody else was there, so Al took time to explain the festival to Mike and demonstrate the structure erected in the yard behind the synagogue, especially the unusual roof, which consisted of twigs and leaves and was hung with fruit. Mike was struck by the scent of all that vegetation and imagined taking meals in it. Mentioning his impressions to Al, he was surprised with Al’s statement, “That’s exactly what a lot of Jews do. It’s very enjoyable. Now this particular sukkah here, it’s not for actually taking a meal, just for kiddush, a blessing complete with wine and just a piece of bread. Maybe we can sneak in after the evening service. I wouldn’t expect you to sit through that, even though it isn’t all that long, but you’d like the kiddush. Get to shake a few hands and, of course, sip a little Manischewitz. I bet you’ve never drunk it. It’s sweet and a lot of people don’t think much of it. Personally I prefer beer, but don’t tell anyone.”
True to plan, Mike accompanied Al to the kiddush that evening. The bonhomie was palpable; everyone seemed convinced that since they had survived intact for five days after Yom Kippur, their sins must have been forgiven. The wine was just as sweet as promised, which earned it the contempt of would-be enologists. Nonetheless, both men held out their glasses for refills.
On his way home, Mike reflected on his experience. He needed to figure out what it all meant; in particular, why he was in such a good mood. It surely wasn’t the Manischewitz; he too would have preferred beer.
Without giving it any more thought, he asked Gladys that night: “Can we have Debbie over for dinner?”
Gladys contained her surprise and said: “Sure. I’ll call her and set a date.”
“I need to apologize to her,” Mike said in a subdued voice. “For a lot of things.”
“How about me?”
“You too.”
Actually, Gladys’s question was based on ambiguity; she could not tell whether she was being conscripted to his confession or was herself an intended recipient of an apology. She recognized the ambiguity the moment she had asked, but since something truly important was about to take place she once again controlled herself and simply decided to do as Mike asked.