Enough with the Torah thumping, the Jewish high holy days have come to a close with the ending of the Yom Kippur services.This is the not a fun day as you're required to fast and spend most of the day in synagogue, repenting for your sins. But a sinner I am and natural needs were abound.
I broke the fast. I was feeling too light headed and had worked out the night before. I'm not passing out like some wimp. I had a bit of veggie fried rice after the first half of services ended. Not a meal but the fast was technically broken. SHAME!!!
But this is not a post about fire and brimstone. This is about a very lovely ritual done at Jewish households around the country when Yom Kippur ends. It's called.....
Break Fast
Not very original, but when you haven't been eating all day, who needs a fancy name? People want to eat. I was invited by a woman that I knew from my sporadic attendance at regular shabbat services.
Woman: What are you doing for break fast? Me: Nothing. Woman: Come over. Where are you parked?
This lead into a confusing conversation about directions. Yes her house was less than a mile away but what a fucking MAZE of back roads. As services drew to a close we crossed paths again.
Woman: Come on, you can follow us. What car do you have? Me: I...
Her husband approached.
Husband: Tell him to come in from the back. We'll be in the back. Woman: No, the front! You know what...just follow us.
A younger voice speaks from behind me.
Daughter: Mom, why don't you just give him the directions again. Maybe he has people to say goodbye to.
I turned and before me stood a tall brunette, endless legs, gorgeous body, captivating smile and a well fitting black dress that had me saying YES!
Me: Yes. Yes, I do have people to say good bye to. But I'll be over.
She gave me a rundown of directions. I still couldn't get it. Perhaps it was the punishing length of the service and meager helping of veggie fried rice clouding my ability to process info. One thing was for certain, I would crawl there to have a chance to talk more. Directions or no directions, I'm going to get there!
The Place
After circling endless suburban streets I found what I thought was the place. They had no mailbox to discreetly check if it was, in fact, their address. Like a buffoon, I staggered through a front yard or 2 closely checking the numbers. Hopefully no one would call the cops thinking I was trying to break into their home, but how many burglars are donning a shirt, tie and yarmulke?
At last I found it. I rang the bell and saw her approaching. A most jewlicious sight. I thought of other ways to break the fast and hoped they'd come more than just once a year. But this was not the time for open displays of lust. I would play it cool and make one thing clear: I have other people to talk to and maybe, if I have time, squeeze you in for a stimulating convo.
I'm not tipping my cards. I'm going to play it cool, casual and confidently. She lead me to a food spread and I thanked her and got on with the eating. She left for the other room, also seeming to play it cool. Was I making something out of nothing? Not quite.
You see, I have theory.
The mother wanted me over, by hook or by cook, because she wanted me to get to know her daughter. Yeah, we knew one another but the determination she displayed earlier was my first tip off. And then there was the army of Yentas that wanted me set up with a nice Jewish girl to support my first theory. It's not implausible for this gathering to also be a sort of, informal introduction. If I was wrong, I would still be thankful for the invite and generosity.
I dined and conversed with some wonderful people including another Puerto Rican Jew. As usual the older women loved me and bombarded me with questions about where I worked, where I lived and so on. Soon it was time for all to go. I began saying my goodbyes and, unfortunately didn't have the chance to talk to the lovely woman in black. Perhaps it was all in my head.
The woman who invited me asked if I wanted to take anything home. The Apple pie was exceptional, so I went with that. In the process making my take home plate the Husband and I encountered a problem trying to get a box of plastic wrap from the drawer. It somehow was stuck.
Husband: Saran wrap. Me: It's stuck in there, wait let me try. Husband: Saran Wrap. Me: I think the top flap is... Husband: Wait don't pull. Wait. Me: I think it's caught in the sliding thing. Husband: Saran wrap.
After fussing for a few more minutes we were able to pry the box free. I was on my way out.
Daughter: So, what do you do?
Everyone was gone except me. Not a quick parting question. Could there be more to this?
Later
She asked me to have a seat. I told her that I didn't want to keep anyone up but inside I was very happy.
We talked. She's a professor at Yeshiva University in New York City. We talked about some of the other people I was close with at the synagogue and how she wasn't nice to some of their kids at the local Jewish elementary school while growing up. She confessed that she wasn't always a nice girl growing up and neither were her friends. But now they all had jobs where they helped people. They were lawyers for the ACLU and such. On paper her crowd was smarter and far more successful than I. But paper is paper and the real world is another story. I fight not to let these things bug or intimidate me. If they were smarter then I knew I was likely more clever. If they were clever than I could be scrappy. If they were that than I could beat them with something else and if I didn't have that, I'm pretty sure I was tougher than them and could beat them senseless. Yeah, I wimped out over the fast, I know. But how many people have the nerve (stupidity) to tell a guy who just put a gun to his forehead to go fuck himself and not be scared about it, just annoyed. That would be me. Don't ever try and do what I did.
But this was me getting too defensive which meant that I was getting......smitten. Yes.
Daughter: Mom, I think I'm going to bed. I'm really drained from this paper I worked on all month.
This could mean 2 things. First, she was tired and really needed a break. Second (and what I thought was more likely) she had appeased her mothers wishes of speaking with me and wanted out.
Her mother thanked me for coming just then which was my cue to leave. This really sucked. But it was better than nothing I supposed. I got to talk to a pretty woman and had some great apple pie to take home.
I headed for the door alone. No one to walk me out. That amplified my conclusion further. I opened the door, still no one. Oh well.
As I shut the door I looked back and saw her coming to the door. She said something but I couldn't hear her.
Me: What? Daughter: Is the light outside on? I just wanted to check so you could see your way out OK. Me: It's on. Thanks.
CURIOUS!!!
I walked off, I didn't look back. Maybe she had gone. Maybe she stayed to look at my ass or something. But the dance was over. Back home I was out of clean underwear and had a boatload of laundry to do.
Note: Yes, the model pictured is Jewish. This post is totally Kosher.
Coming up,
Match.com and more stuff.
