It was my intent to attend shabbos services with my own congregation this week, but forgo the next. By now I have a protocol of when to go and when they can make their minyan with other men. In the absence of a hired rabbi, we have congregants speak after the Torah returns to the Ark. Rather than invite those who have the most to convey, they settled for a sign-up sheet, which creates the risk of Dunning-Kruger's who overestimate their erudition having too much presence on the schedule. That came to be this week, but still I was willing to go. I'm masked out. We are probably the only place that still has everyone involuntarily masked. But still my bye week was next week. What I was not willing to do was go there without my wife, who felt a little tired. While my first inclination was to stay home too, she suggested I go to Chabad instead, a place that I always enjoy attending, though never frequently enough for the novelty to wear off. This being the parsha where men listen to their wives and do what they say, not always with the best result, I acceded, driving to Chabad.
My congregation edges slightly over a minyan. Chabad's assemblage of ten men seems more secure, though despite a later starting time than most Orthodox places, did not reach the magic number until just moments before needed. I chatted with their door attendant, asking him if he were armed. He was not, but with a little conversation before entering the sanctuary I learned he was a native of South Africa who did his compulsory military service there before emigrating. However, he never acquired proficiency with a pistol.
After taking a seat, I followed along in the Siddur as best I could, noting landmark passages amid the leader's undertone to find the right page. Eventually Torah reading arrived. To my surprise, after the second Aliyah, the Rabbi/Torah reader approached me to ask if I wanted to do the Haftarah. Now, I can do any one proficiently with a week's notice. Sight-reading more iffy, particularly one I've not done before. I asked for him to read the next Aliyah, a long one, while I assess whether I am perhaps a Dunning-Kruger haftarah chanter. Chabad commonly truncates the standard Ashkenazi portion, as the did this week. While Isaiah has a lot of vocabulary unfamiliar to me, sometimes tongue-twisters, there weren't a lot of these. With the shorter reading I assessed my ability to pull it off. At the end of the Aliyah, I consented, looked the words over another time while he continued the parsha, then did a pretty decent effort for the Haftarah. I learned later, that they have a small cadre of sight-readers, though less than they once did. A few handshakes followed, and the service continued to its conclusion, this time without a customary sermon, though Yizkor earlier in the week probably captured the rabbi's thoughts from his bimah.
People there recognize me as a member of someplace else, that same someplace else to which a handful of those in attendance once belonged. People drift off for a variety of reasons, but since status quo usually serves as the default, there is often a measure of discontent prompting the transfer. One person was sent to Cherem by my congregational Rabbi, another VP basically accompanied her husband as he became more a fixture at Chabad. A surgeon's daughter married into Chabad, so he also became one of their pillars. A few decided they wanted a place identifiably Orthodox with a mechitza. Lots of reasons. Seeing me there, they assumed some preference on my part to be there instead of my own shul which is true, some irritation, also true, some shul shopping on my part, not really. But I was pleased that their Rabbi invited me to do something there, while my own place opted for sign-up sheets in lieu of recognition of who might be capable.
As much as I like worshiping with that group, being recognized for a skill that I offer, Chabad has a difficult reality. They will welcome anyone and hope to influence you in a favorable way. You cannot influence them, as their structures and practices are set from afar with an element of immutability. Communal congregations, including my own, do not have that constraint. They are a composite of their participants who create their character, or at least can be. That is until their own leadership impedes that advantage. Which is why I even consider being someplace other than my home sanctuary for selected shabbatot.
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