Meeting New People

Shabbos brought me to a different environment.  We have a secondary congregation, one which permits my wife and many other very talented women to enhance worship with their skills publicly displayed.  She usually goes alone, at one time leaving early to attend a pre-service class of outstanding quality with their now retired Rabbi.  His successor, a young man of immense potential, does not conduct a class before services so she gets to leave a little later.  I really did not want to be at my home congregation but I had stayed home the shabbos before.  Ordinarily my wife makes the 45-minute round trip alone, but this time I opted to go with her, driving each way, having lunch with her sister.  I even completed my scheduled treadmill session right after coffee, to allow enough travel time.

Sometimes you have to experience upwards.  If I want to enhance my wardrobe, I tour the upscale men's department.  If I want to upgrade my home, I visit a restored mansion.  And if I want to experience what shabbos might be at its best, I sidestep the Chief Influencer at my home congregation to be with different people.  Works every time.

The shabbos morning my wife seeks out is really a parallel service of a large USCJ congregation.  Over the years, the USCJ affiliates have struggled with their top-down leadership models.  They are still highly dependent on clergy for performance, abridgment of liturgy in response to congregational feedback or attendance data, and to some extent a need to have events, including a Bat Mitzvah this shabbos in the main sanctuary.  There is a grassroots, though.  There is also a large building with places other than the main sanctuary that have Torah scrolls and seating.  This congregation had that critical mass of talent intersecting interest, creating their unabridged, really less abridged, option.  And talent was on display.  No Rabbi.  No Cantor.  Each portion prepared and executed by a member of their subset minyan, all done expertly.

Having been there before, though infrequently, there were people I knew, though very few by name without a prompt from their congregational name tag worn by few, and virtually none as people with jobs, families, or avocations.  It is customary to shake hands with those who were honored or performed, which I did.  Roughly the same formality as shaking hands with my Senator, which I've done many times.  And the same formality of handshakes at my home congregation with people I do know.  It's protocol.  Occasionally sincerity, though usually protocol.  The service proceeded through its specified portions.  They gave me Aliyah #6, the longest one of that parsha, followed by the next longest, which kept me at the scroll for a while.  My wife did the Haftarah with great expertise.  The Sermon was by a congregant, some controversial content that a Rabbi would probably not tackle.  And the service ended.  Talesim folded.  Books returned to their shelves.

As we came in round tables with red tablecloths and chairs filled the kiddush area and extended out into the lobby.  A few sky blue tables where people could nibble while standing stood in small nooks at the edges of what the caterer had set up.  The main service had a bat mitzvah, with all in attendance invited for a buffet luncheon.  Making my way to their auditorium, as the main service and mine concluded at about the same time, I placed my maroon velvet tallis bag at one of the many empty spaces, the first at its table.  My wife put hers next to mine.  There were probably a couple of hundred worshipers that shabbos morning, maybe forty at my chapel, the rest in the main sanctuary.  The caterers were pros.  They set up multiple stations, three for serious eating, one for beverages, one for dessert, and one for ritual.  I started with kiddush, selecting about 30ml of grape juice, then washed hands, and took a slice of presliced challah.  The line to the food had begun to accumulate at all stations.  To promote community, the congregation created name tags for their members, kept in an alphabetized rack along the edge of the wall.  People with black lanyards and a tag were members, including the fellow behind me on the food line.  I commented on the elegance of what they had, the building, the volume of members, the diversity of ages of people present.  Very different from my usual surroundings with a forty seat chapel area and everyone on Medicare.  They had increased membership by a hundred or so households, mostly young families, attracted by their new Rabbi.  Kiddush food itself was actually very similar to what we serve on an expanded sponsored kiddush.  Bagels of different types, better than what we have locally. and pre-sliced.  Small portions in plastic of soft cream cheese, though no lox.  Fish bins with tuna and whitefish salads.  Egg salad.  Three salads, lettuce with beets, caprese, Caesar, all pre-dressed.  Roasted vegetables.  A sweet noodle kugel.  Two lines per table, Army style, moved quickly.  By the time I returned, the other seats at my table had occupants, also with full plates.  The two men next to me had suits without name tags.  Nobody with a name tag had a suit.  They were each guests of the Bat Mitzvah.  One lived in a different suburb, the other about a hundred miles to the west.  Both shared my awe with what we experienced before us.  After finishing my plate, which took a while, my wife escorted me to the dessert table where two people from our service were at an adjacent stand-up table.  She introduced me to them.  I had contacted one earlier in the week to offer a name for their misheberach list.  He had a car identical to my wife's, model and color, not sure about year.  He was apparently a journalist, an editor in the regional Jewish media.  Desserts not a lot different than at my home kiddush.  I took a cake and a brownie.  Then onward to my sister-in-law's.

Meeting new people often goes better as a visitor.  At my own place and at Chabad, I recognize everyone there most Shabbatot.  A few I keep my distance, a few I seek out for conversation.  Which depends pretty much on prior experience.  Few approach me.  Visitors are infrequent, and Rabbi has dibs on approaching them.  But as I relearned, different environments assemble different people.  Friday night on a cruise ship will invariably bring worshipers with their stories to tell, whether Messianics or couples from places where we share mutual acquaintances.  Visiting this synagogue brought me into proximity with some very skilled women who could thrive there but would be sent off to prepare kiddush at my place if the Women of Influence would tolerate unfamiliar women in the kitchen.  People had name tags, which could be an icebreaker.  Some people were dressed to the nines.  Those are Bar Mitzvah guests.  Small talk comes easily:  hometown, the food, relation to the hosts for the visitors.  For their regulars where I am the stranger, I become the figure of curiosity.  

Though I know everyone in my sanctuary, I often find it a place that makes the underlying loneliness so common to seniors more apparent.  People have already told their stories, watched the teams during the week, and don't often seem to do interesting things or have thoughts of anything really worth either an amusing or even an inquisitive response.  Not so when I worship among the less familiar.  I'll have to go again, next time as one of their volunteers.  And be more assertive to take better advantage of my own place's experience and people.