There has to be Balance

It could be me getting older or the fact that I live in a holy place. It may even be about the time of year. But lately things seem wonderfully concentrated, distilled to an essence that makes them easy to take in.

(photo credit: Zzvet for Shutterstock)

Take the elderly woman in shul yesterday. It was the afternoon Yom Kippur service. She struggled with all  her might to stand for Kedusha, an important part of the service where those who are physically able, must stand. As we finished Kedusha, I saw her slowly ease herself back into her seat. Her face was aglow with gratitude for finding the strength to stand for Kedusha at mincha on Yom Kippur, for yet another year.

Wow.

Meant To See

Would I have noticed that a year ago, or one year on? I was glad I got to see that. I believe I was meant to see that.

But of course, there must be balance, which means that the distillation of events is not always a happy occurrence. For instance my son’s hanachat tefillin on Thursday last, the first time he put on phylacteries at the Western Wall. Looking for a free chair on which to place my handbag and other paraphernalia, I came to a stack of plastic chairs topped with a bag. I asked the woman sitting next to them if I might take one. She snapped out a harsh, “NO,” to my polite request.

(photo credit: gh19 for Shutterstock)

Ouch.

I tried to reason with her, “I have a bar mitzvah,” I explained.

Weddings Trump Bar Mitzvahs

“I have a wedding!” said she, as if to say weddings trump bar mitzvahs.

“And clearly you’re using all of those chairs right now,” I said with as much composure as I could gather, chastising her, though I should have said nothing at all.

(photo credit: Shutterstock)

I moved on. I came to a second stack of chairs with a woman next to them. “May I take a chair?”

“No!” she snapped.

Whoa. What was it with this place?

She Found Them

 

At last I spotted an unclaimed chair and put my stuff down. At that moment, my daughter showed up. I told her I couldn’t really see where our men were on the other side of the mechitza and I’d pretty much given up. She went to scout things out and found them.

“Over here,” she said, beckoning.

Oy. Right next to that first woman who wouldn’t let me have a chair—the one with the wedding.  By now there were a few other women with her, and I asked one of them if she could just inch forward a bit. The first woman began screeching at me.

I Was Trembling

 

By now I was trembling. I showed her that my family was directly on the other side of the mechitza, the barrier that separates men from women. I said, “This is my eighth of eight sons and it’s his bar mitzvah and it’s happening right here.”

I said this with as much fortitude as I could. I’m not really one to argue with strangers, especially not in

Through the mechitza.
(photo credit: Varda Meyers Epstein)

public. But this was my baby having his bar mitzvah. I was compelled to plead my case.

She started again telling me about so and so getting called to the Torah for his wedding. I pointed to the opening in the barrier. “Look,” I showed her. “My son and my family are RIGHT HERE.”

She stopped arguing then. How could she continue to argue with me? Clearly I had a right to be in that spot at that moment. But she stared at me disapprovingly the entire time. I could imagine what she was thinking, “Those orthodox people think they own the place,” or something like that. Perhaps she was thinking disdainful things about my appearance. That’s what I was imagining, anyway.

Don’t Do Well

 

I don’t do well with stuff like that. I was shaking. I really had to struggle to stay composed.
It’s not like this group of women was even praying. They sat around gossiping loudly. They were foreigners and cared little for the decorum of this holy place.

(photo credit: Natan Epstein)

In a way, this whole hurtful business kind of added something to my moment by making me fragile and emotional, softening my heart so that it was more able to take in the import of this special occasion: my baby, the last of my 12 children, having his bar mitzvah. I shook but I also smiled. My heart was full.

When it came time to throw candies at Asher, my daughter Liba offered the bag of candy to the group of women next to us, the ones with the wedding and overprotective keeper of chairs and they happily accepted. I was proud of Liba. I never would have done that in her stead. She was right to do that.

Baseless Hatred

 

It was two days before Yom Kippur, a time when God-fearing people are on their best behavior. The 

View from between the mechitza slats
(photo credit: Varda Meyers Epstein)

Temple was said to be destroyed because of “baseless hatred” and here I had been exposed to exactly that at the final remnant of the Temple, the western retaining wall of that edifice.

There was no reason for this woman to snap at me as she had, and that was what upset me so. Both she and the other woman who said, “No!” when asked for a chair could have handled things differently. Both of them could have said, “I’m sorry, but I’m expecting a large group and I’m saving these chairs for them.”

They could have made an effort to point out chairs I might take from a different location, been helpful and kind.

(photo credit: Natan Epstein)

When stuff like this happens, during the Aseret Y’mei Teshuva (ten days of repentance), at the Wall, I have to wonder, “Where are we as a people? Have we grown from when the Temple was last destroyed?”

I don’t much like the obvious answer.

But like I said, there’s always a balance. This time, balance came in the form of an email I received Erev Yom Kippur. I was in between chicken soup-making tasks and found this message in my inbox from my manager at Kars for Kids, “Working together day in day out, it’s almost impossible not to inadvertently say something hurtful, or fail to treat someone with the respect they deserve.

As such I’m proposing, according to the Yeshiva custom that everyone say out loud that they forgive everyone B’lev Shalem (wholeheartedly).”

A Clean Slate

 

I was overcome. What a beautiful suggestion. It made it so easy, so possible, for all to start the year with a clean slate.

I did as my manager had suggested and said the phrase aloud, thinking of all my co-workers.

Then I thought of that woman at the Wall, the keeper of the chairs. Without hesitating I said with as much feeling as I could muster, “I forgive you b’lev shalem.”

(photo credit: Natan Epstein)

Gmar Chatima Tova—May you be inscribed in the Book of Life.

Etiquette Nominative

ot long ago, the daughter of my favorite first cousin was married. It was a foregone conclusion that I would not be able to attend the wedding, since I live halfway around the world. Therefore my cousin did not send me an invitation to the event and I understood that this was not meant as a slight but was only proper etiquette.

I was raised knowing that sending an invitation to someone whom you know will not attend your event is bad form, because an invitation obligates one to buy a gift. According to this school of thought, inviting someone who cannot attend your event would be an act both greedy and uncaring: as if your presence at the event does not much matter, but the gift sure does.

I don't know how I came to learn this rule, but the source was, without a doubt, my mother. It's amazing just how many rules of etiquette she managed to impart to me in the short time I spent under her tutelage. You see, I married and left America for good when I was only eighteen years of age and settled in Israel. Despite the brief schooling I received while in my mother's home, the etiquette backbone of my formative years is as strong and intact as if it were made of steel.

In my head these rules of etiquette remain unshaken voices that guide me like the good and bad consciences depicted in old cartoons—whispering in both my ears, tempting one and admonishing the other. Rules like, "Never wear white after Labor Day, except for a 'winter white,'" and, "Don't wear white to a wedding, it detracts from the impact of the bride's white gown."

There were many of these rules and until today, I never know when one is going to pop up upon the screen of my mental signpost, the words emblazoned before my eyes: "Don't wear black to a wedding!"

But part of my growing up was done after my marriage, in my adopted land, where my sensibilities were challenged by those who had been raised under different systems. My friends were/are always receiving invitations to events taking place in the States. Once, noticing such an invitation stuck with a magnet on a friend's fridge, I dared to bring up the subject.

I told her what I had been taught and asked what she thought about that. Her reaction was one of surprise. "Now that our families are separated by such a great distance," she said, "this is the only way our relatives can keep the family connection alive. We want to know if a cousin is getting married, to see the invitation, learn where the event will be held, and send a congratulatory note."

My friend was puzzled that I was under the impression that an invitation obligates one to purchase a gift, and thought this a strange idea. I didn't quite know what to make of this. Did this mean my friend was unschooled in proper etiquette—a boor—or was there a genuine difference of opinion as to what is the right course of action in this case?

Since my neighbor did not take offense at my questions, I ventured to ask other friends about this. There was an overwhelming majority opinion among them that there is nothing wrong with sending invitations to friends or relatives no longer in the country and that this is the normal way people keep in touch. No one else had ever heard this business about being obligated to purchase a gift. Most did, in fact, refrain from purchasing gifts for such events and felt it sufficed to send a congratulatory note.

When my first son was about to celebrate his Bar Mitzvah, I thought about all of this and concluded that I would not send invitations to my relatives in America with one exception. My son was named for my late father, who had just one sibling. I thought my paternal uncle would be touched to hear of his great nephew's Bar Mitzvah, since Gedalia is the only one who carries his big brother's name.

My intentions may have been good, but when I mentioned what I had done, my mother was disappointed in me. With subsequent social events, I never repeated this course of action, because I saw how my lack of compliance with the formal etiquette Mom had taught me could end up making me appear to have a lack of breeding, and make my mother look like a poor teacher.

It does seem to me though, that etiquette is an evolving art, and I wonder whether these comforting absolutes are really as prevalent as they once were. I do realize that etiquette is all about being considerate. Would it not be considerate to let people know that a loved one, far away, is about to experience a milestone event? Perhaps there is an in between to these rules that were taught to me as something immutable?

On the one hand, it's a good feeling to know I can rely on my mother's teachings, but still I wondered if there was any wiggle room on this ruling. I decided to Google the subject and see what came up. I was happy to find a source I knew my mother would deem reputable: the Emily Post Institute.

Part of me was convinced that the people at Emily Post would uphold my mother's teachings, but another part of me was hoping for flexibility. What I found gave me deep satisfaction, since it treated both sides of the equation. My mother was not wrong, but neither were my friends:

http://www.emilypost.com/weddings/planner/guest_lists.htm

"Q. What do I do about invitations to out-of-town guests who can’t possibly attend?

A. Many people prefer not to send invitations to those friends and acquaintances who they think cannot possibly attend the celebrations. In most cases, these friends should receive a wedding announcement instead, which carries no gift obligation. However, some good friends who live far away might actually be hurt if you don’t invite them, even if your intent was to spare them from feeling obliged to send a gift. In general, always invite truly good friends—even if they live far away."