!!!!!*****WORKING DRAFT*****!!!!!
A few weeks later, on a Friday afternoon, Leslie found me in Hilles Library, indiscriminately underlining Kagan’s Birth to Maturity. With her usual abruptness, she asked, “Janie, know where Jeanne and Marcia are?”
I pointed my head behind me, where they sat at an imposing blonde-wood table surrounded by stacks of Genetics periodicals. She gathered us up, demanding, “Come on, ladies, we’re going to crash the party.”
Jeanne tried putting up a fight, but Marcia and I knew better. We left our books behind, and followed her out to Shepard Street. She led us east, explaining as we went.
“You guys ever heard of Hillel?”
“Sure, aren’t they Jewish student groups?” I offered.
“Yeah, but do you know about the one here? There’s a guy there, Rabbi Gold, I saw in the Crimson he’s having these services, calls them ‘Worship and Study Congregations’. Says they’re ‘open to all’, men and women. I don’t know anybody from Radcliffe who goes there, I think we ought to call his bluff.”
Marcia countered, “Come on, Les, that’s not a place to pick a fight, not at a service.”
Leslie ignored her. Turning to me, she asked, “Jane, you have a couple of brothers, did they get a bar mitzvah?”
I hesitated, wondering how to show my family’s version of Jewish ritual in the best light. For my father, those coming-of-age parties were mostly about how much money could be collected for their college funds. “Sure.” was all I said.
“And did you get anything like that?”
“No.” I found my voice. “But I didn’t want to. I don’t really think too much about being Jewish, or even about God. Where we grew up, we were more concerned about trying to fit in, to not stand out, than about going to temple or following any rules. That was my mother, mostly.”
Jeanne chimed in, “I’ve heard about this Rabbi. He’s from Poland, was even at Auschwitz, somehow escaped, and got to Philadelphia.”
“Really?” Leslie mused.
We passed the Divinity School, and found the Hillel at the corner of Francis and Bryant. Entering, I saw Howard Lehrman talking to a short, smiling older man with thinning hair and scholarly glasses. Howard glanced over, and, seeing me, smiled and broadly waved us in. He introduced us to Rabbi Ben-Zion Gold, then pulled me aside, “Sarah, I didn’t know you were interested in Shabbat?”
“Not really, Leslie dragged us over. She’s on a feminist mission or something.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that. Rabbi Gold’s past worrying about whether women and men should do this together. Even if there’s more than ten guys here, you’ll still get a chance to read and talk, don’t worry.”
Despite his assurances, I still felt awkward, uncomfortable, even. Leslie was full-throated in her participation, determined to prove she was as knowledgeable as anyone there, using all the correct Hebrew responses as loudly as any man there. I knew nothing about any of this, though, remaining silent, feeling like someone tone-deaf at a party, afraid to sing ‘Happy Birthday.’ I didn’t go back for a long time.
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