I made it back to shul this week, after mostly recovering from the nasty virus that pasted me last week. I’m really glad I went, more so than usual, anyway.
I met a nice old lady named Janet, with a British accent and a penchant for Siamese cats, and we talked about her newest addition, a neurotic Siamese fellow who has taken up residence under her settee for the last three weeks and won’t come out (boy, I wish my friend Jan were still alive — she spoke cat quite fluently).
I had a long conversation with my friend MR about why I want to convert and how crazy I really am (at least marginally), which helped me to clarify some things and think about some others. It turns out that a Facebook friend of mine from a town about an hour and a half away is good friends with her. Small world. MR confirms that it’s really, really difficult to be Jewish here, as if I didn’t already know that. She says that’s part of the reward of it, and I can certainly understand that perspective.
As usual, the rabbi was on form, and I really enjoyed the singing. At the end of the haftarah, he gave an “insight” about a child who is dragged onto a bus and taken away to a harsh environment with barracks-style living, guards who restrict your every move, and bad food…which turns out to be summer camp, which is all worthwhile at the end. I laughed involuntarily, since I hold the (ignominious) distinction of being someone who ran away from summer camp at the age of nine, since I hated it precisely that much. (It wasn’t worthwhile, at least not at the time, but I made my friend Ed laugh so hard he had to pull the car over because he couldn’t see straight enough to drive when I told him the story, so I guess it came to a little bit of something after all.)
I made it most of the way home before they caught me, although that was really only about a mile and a half.
Anyway, I do want to write more, but I also want to go to bed. I didn’t sleep well last night, and really kind of dragged myself out this morning.