Tuesday, September 19, 2006

I've been thinking about Sunday all week. OK, it's only Tuesday.

I suddenly feel an overwhelmingly fabulous connection with my community. Better than before (we've had our differences. Tell me a shul that hasn't). And I think we all feel a little bit like that - I've had two or three additional yom tov invitations (although there's a finite number of meals a person can eat in a 48 hour period, thank Gd), and I think maybe we're all feeling warm, cuddly, communal. This can only be a good thing.

Here's a story S told me on Sunday. She was standing by the shul on Burrard Road, waiting to "welcome" the sefer.

As she was waiting, a guy stopped his car, in tennis gear. For some reason, I imagine him driving a topless SLK, although this was not the story the way I heard it. Imagine this as a midrashic version of the story.

Anyway, the tennis-bloke, backed up in traffic, looking over at our procession, says to her "what's the story?"

"Well," she says, thinking to herself, how do you explain this, "there's the Book of the Law - "

He interrupts.

"Oh, I see the sefer torah - " ah, he's Jewish, she thinks to herself "- I just don't get what the chuppah is about. Is it a wedding?"

Of course, being interrupt-driven is often a sure sign.

"Well," she continues, "it's a rededication of a new scroll, for the synagogue."

"There's a synagogue in my street?" he asks, looking a little surprised.

"Sure," she replies, "you probably drive past it every day."

"Waddya mean, I drive past it every shabbes."

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