Oh No You Didn’t
Let us begin this post by trying to imagine what a nice Jewish girl trying to maintain the image of purity and goodness--not debauchery and drug addiction--with her family might wear to Thursday morning services. Perhaps a cute 50s style polka dot drew with that ever so 50s flair. A pair of petite vintage blue and white vintage shoes also some what 50s style. A white cardigan sweater in case it gets a bit cool in the synagogue. And all of this is topped off with pearl earrings, a pearl necklace and a pony tail. As my co-workers have so kindly referred to the outfit, today I look like Christian Republican Becki or rather Alternative Universe Becki.
What this gets me? Well to begin with a pick up from high school boys at morning services. Yes, after sneaking outside for a quick smoke, I am followed by two boys who I previously noticed one row in front of me turning around often and then turning back guffawing and jostling one another. As I am no longer twelve, I cared not what they found so amusing. Well the two boys come hustling up, throwing punches at one another and generally being little boys, and immediately seize upon me. “So, haven’t seen you around here. We go to Dalton. Where do you go?” Knowing my New York Prep schools, I immediately recognize Dalton as one of the more prestigious high schools. I respond curtly “I don’t.” Keeping with this line of questioning they ask “So what do you do, wait tables or something.” “I’m an editor at a book publishing house.” This shuts them up, “Whoa,” they say “we thought you were like in high school.” Obviously. I continue to smoke silently. “Isn’t that a compliment? Don’t older women usually like it when someone says they look young?” I think about killing them both, but instead decide to go back inside.
After services we’re going through the greeting line. My aunt’s temple has a new rabbinic intern (sort of like a student teacher) whom she’d been speaking about all service. As we’re filing out she shoves me towards the boy and says “This is my niece, Becki.” He looks at me and says “Becki, hey. We go way back.” I look at him thinking, I don’t remember my aunt ever foisting me on you before. “So have you kept up with anyone?” I still have no idea what he’s talking about. I shrug my shoulders and say “no, not really” which could be the truth seeing as I haven’t kept up with anyone except the four or so NYU friends I still currently hang about. “Well,” he says “Heather Greene in Jerusalem with me, she studying to be a Cantor and I don’t know if you remember Libby Menkowitz, but she’s two years into the program. We’re actually promised to each other.” “Promise?” I say. I’m looking of a lavaliere or a pin of some sort. Isn’t promise something that they did on the schtetle. “Oh yes, depending on where she gets her cantorial position we’ll decide if we can get engaged and married.” How very opportunistic of them. Suddenly it occurs to me--actually it occurred to me when he said Heather Greene--that this is someone I must have known when I was in Jewish Youth Group in high school. Though I was the religious and cultural vice president of the national board (which allowed me to travel all over the United States for conventions and regional board meetings) I have long since tried to put this experience out of my mind. It’s difficult to come into contact with this aspect of my life as I am far from religious now a day. This kid on the other hand, who was apparently the religious and cultural vice president for his regional board of the Ohio Region--though never once did his name or face seem familiar--took his religious fervor to another level and obviously pursued it as a vocation. Apparently so did my closest friend in youth group, the girl with whom I served on the national board with and with whom I traveled Israel. I couldn’t have felt more embarrassed if I were standing buck naked in the sanctuary. “So I just moved here,” he continued as we walked out of the temple. Women congrats who had obviously been attempting to line their more than eligible daughters up with this fine specimen of Judaism were giving me dagger stares as he followed me about excitedly. “Are you a part of any young Jewish organizations? Maybe we could go to some.” “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I don’t really do that any more.” As if I were turning down drugs instead of wholesome religious events that would my parents would give their left kidneys for me to attend. “Did you know the temple is looking for a youth advisor? I was thinking of volunteering, but with all my work I’m not sure I could. Maybe we could do it together?” Obviously he didn’t get the I don’t really do this any more. My aunt got heard this and began getting excited, talking about how my little cousin was just joining the younger division of the youth group and how cool it would be if I headed the high school chapter. Then he could see me all the time and maybe feel more comfortable going to events (that I of course would have to chaperone). The boy looked at me expectantly. “Yeah I do know about the position.” It’s true I had almost been roped into it over a year ago when our National Advisor-- who had seen me through my awkward adolescences, had written me one of the best letters of recommendations for college I’d ever received and even made sure that I received one of the two scholarships our national youth group awarded a year--had actually told me about the position over a year ago. When we went to dinner and I explained to her where I was in my life--because this was the woman who was like a surrogate mother for me--looked so hurt and disappointed, her pleading eyes and lecture about “falling away from the fold” as if I were a lost lamb, made me feel so guilty, I actually filled out the application. Of course the next morning I woke up sober and threw it away. Now this boy looked at me as hopefully as she once did. Remembering the girl that once stood in front of 1,000 youth groupers screaming “where ever you go there’s always someone Jewish. You’re never alone when you say you’re a Jew. So when you’re not home and you’re some where kind of newish, the odds are don’t look far cause they’re Jewish too.” (Yes this youth group had similar qualities to a cult--including sleep deprivation, food deprivation and sexual . . . well, I’m not going into it). I was so frightened over the power these people were wielding I began to have a panic attack “I can’t,” I screamed. “I’m moving to London. It wouldn’t be fair.” And I bolted from the temple, jumped in a cab and drove all the way home to change the shoes that were giving me blisters.
What this gets me? Well to begin with a pick up from high school boys at morning services. Yes, after sneaking outside for a quick smoke, I am followed by two boys who I previously noticed one row in front of me turning around often and then turning back guffawing and jostling one another. As I am no longer twelve, I cared not what they found so amusing. Well the two boys come hustling up, throwing punches at one another and generally being little boys, and immediately seize upon me. “So, haven’t seen you around here. We go to Dalton. Where do you go?” Knowing my New York Prep schools, I immediately recognize Dalton as one of the more prestigious high schools. I respond curtly “I don’t.” Keeping with this line of questioning they ask “So what do you do, wait tables or something.” “I’m an editor at a book publishing house.” This shuts them up, “Whoa,” they say “we thought you were like in high school.” Obviously. I continue to smoke silently. “Isn’t that a compliment? Don’t older women usually like it when someone says they look young?” I think about killing them both, but instead decide to go back inside.
After services we’re going through the greeting line. My aunt’s temple has a new rabbinic intern (sort of like a student teacher) whom she’d been speaking about all service. As we’re filing out she shoves me towards the boy and says “This is my niece, Becki.” He looks at me and says “Becki, hey. We go way back.” I look at him thinking, I don’t remember my aunt ever foisting me on you before. “So have you kept up with anyone?” I still have no idea what he’s talking about. I shrug my shoulders and say “no, not really” which could be the truth seeing as I haven’t kept up with anyone except the four or so NYU friends I still currently hang about. “Well,” he says “Heather Greene in Jerusalem with me, she studying to be a Cantor and I don’t know if you remember Libby Menkowitz, but she’s two years into the program. We’re actually promised to each other.” “Promise?” I say. I’m looking of a lavaliere or a pin of some sort. Isn’t promise something that they did on the schtetle. “Oh yes, depending on where she gets her cantorial position we’ll decide if we can get engaged and married.” How very opportunistic of them. Suddenly it occurs to me--actually it occurred to me when he said Heather Greene--that this is someone I must have known when I was in Jewish Youth Group in high school. Though I was the religious and cultural vice president of the national board (which allowed me to travel all over the United States for conventions and regional board meetings) I have long since tried to put this experience out of my mind. It’s difficult to come into contact with this aspect of my life as I am far from religious now a day. This kid on the other hand, who was apparently the religious and cultural vice president for his regional board of the Ohio Region--though never once did his name or face seem familiar--took his religious fervor to another level and obviously pursued it as a vocation. Apparently so did my closest friend in youth group, the girl with whom I served on the national board with and with whom I traveled Israel. I couldn’t have felt more embarrassed if I were standing buck naked in the sanctuary. “So I just moved here,” he continued as we walked out of the temple. Women congrats who had obviously been attempting to line their more than eligible daughters up with this fine specimen of Judaism were giving me dagger stares as he followed me about excitedly. “Are you a part of any young Jewish organizations? Maybe we could go to some.” “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I don’t really do that any more.” As if I were turning down drugs instead of wholesome religious events that would my parents would give their left kidneys for me to attend. “Did you know the temple is looking for a youth advisor? I was thinking of volunteering, but with all my work I’m not sure I could. Maybe we could do it together?” Obviously he didn’t get the I don’t really do this any more. My aunt got heard this and began getting excited, talking about how my little cousin was just joining the younger division of the youth group and how cool it would be if I headed the high school chapter. Then he could see me all the time and maybe feel more comfortable going to events (that I of course would have to chaperone). The boy looked at me expectantly. “Yeah I do know about the position.” It’s true I had almost been roped into it over a year ago when our National Advisor-- who had seen me through my awkward adolescences, had written me one of the best letters of recommendations for college I’d ever received and even made sure that I received one of the two scholarships our national youth group awarded a year--had actually told me about the position over a year ago. When we went to dinner and I explained to her where I was in my life--because this was the woman who was like a surrogate mother for me--looked so hurt and disappointed, her pleading eyes and lecture about “falling away from the fold” as if I were a lost lamb, made me feel so guilty, I actually filled out the application. Of course the next morning I woke up sober and threw it away. Now this boy looked at me as hopefully as she once did. Remembering the girl that once stood in front of 1,000 youth groupers screaming “where ever you go there’s always someone Jewish. You’re never alone when you say you’re a Jew. So when you’re not home and you’re some where kind of newish, the odds are don’t look far cause they’re Jewish too.” (Yes this youth group had similar qualities to a cult--including sleep deprivation, food deprivation and sexual . . . well, I’m not going into it). I was so frightened over the power these people were wielding I began to have a panic attack “I can’t,” I screamed. “I’m moving to London. It wouldn’t be fair.” And I bolted from the temple, jumped in a cab and drove all the way home to change the shoes that were giving me blisters.