(Note: As I mention on my About page, these posts aren’t necessarily going to be in anything like chronological order. I am going to write them as they appeal to me, at least until I have a more regular narrative of things to talk about, and not quite so much catching up to do.)
Last Shabbat, I finally made it back to shul for the first time in a couple or three months. (Life’s a little nuts. This is, you’ll notice, a recurring theme on this blog.) The rabbi wasn’t there, so my friend’s husband — who I guess is also a rabbi in his own right, so I’ll call him R.Z. — was leading the service. Since the attendees at Beit Meshugge are not the most disciplined of folks even by the standards of Orthodox synagogues, things were a bit more chaotic than usual. Just to enhance the mental picture for you, R.Z. is a big man almost as wide as he is tall (and he’d be big even if he were thin) with a pronounced American accent of some sort. I’m not too sure if it’s outer-boroughs New York or suburban Chicago, to be honest.
During the aliyot, R.Z. was calling the sequence of men up to read the Torah (and some of them really don’t read much better than I would — eek!), and said, “Do we have any Levi’im here? (pause) No? (pause) Anybody wanna be a Levi?”