It was one of those moments in life in which all the deceptions blow away.
K claimed to have mixed up the date and had to take the car in for servicing. She told me on Weds. so I didn’t buy her a ticket. I knew she was playing the game to keep the car.
It did not surprise nor upset me, as I had the impression months ago, but pushed it to the back of the queue. It wasn’t important.
For three seconds I thought about not going, then pulled myself to reality. This is my life, and I put into my life what I can. Stay home, day after week after month after year…no. Throw myself into it all.
I bought my ticket, and I had my taxi driver take me to the Shul.
There was my once BF, Sharon. She who had paid my first fee for Pesach. Paid because one keeps their ‘enemies’ closer. Thinking her ex-boyfriend, that is one of the Witches of Hillcrest’s ex-husband, was with me, she’d play pal.
Realising, two years gone that there was nothing, she probably regretted spending two minutes in my company.
There was Mrs. Hadad and her daughter, and daughter’s hubby whom I’d sat with three years ago.
I assumed I’d be at their table. I asked the daughter about a drop up and she was iffy.
After service, when we entered, there was no room at the table Sharon chose, so I moved to another. Some character sat beside me, and wasn’t leaving so I moved to sit with Le Stat. We had a friendly time.
The racism of these people is in shades. Some are not; having married out. Some are partial. And some…are.
Terry had a friend who was interested in Judaism and I would be her ‘guide’ I wonder if she picked up the funny kind of segregation that went on.
I went for food before my table was called. And sat and ate, letting the others wait, if they wanted. I am alone, so I don’t have to pretend there are people I must please.
As the congregation’s power pack doesn’t like me, or have use for me, I don’t have to play to the audience. I can continue my solitary existence as happened the first months of my foray into Beth Shalom.
Not being hooked into a crew, not being part of anyone’s fantasy world may spotlight my singularity, but it is honest. And sometimes honest is good.
To get home I tried to call my cab driver, he didn’t answer, but I got a lift from Courtney and it was fine.
It had been one of those strange moments in time in which I recalled my past, how we did Pesach when I was a child, how these people do it now, and I think, next year, I’ll go to Mobay and do it with Chabad.