At the Friday night meal at the synagogue last week, I found myself explaining to Blanca about the special Jewish community in which I grew up. I told her “the community did not have a building for several years, but they had congregants, a Rabbi, and two Torahs!” I explained that after money was raised by the community, a beautiful building was built but until that time, the community met in a church. Blanca and I continued to have a really lovely conversation. Many years ago she studied languages - English and Spanish, when she and her husband Davud, the chazzan, lived in Spain (they both know some Ladino as well). I loved talking with her. She's one of those people whose kindness twinkles at you from behind wisened eyes.
Later that evening however, I found out Blanca had relayed some of the information from our conversation to her husband, Davud. I stopped over to where he and another acquaintance were sitting at the table to say a friendly “vidimo se sljedeće petak” (see you next Friday) when he put his hands up and in a loud voice exclaimed,
“You were bat mitzvaed in a church?? Impossible!”
“Well, we did not have a building, but now we have a building. Yes, we met in a church, but we had a Rabbi, and I read the Torah, and everything else was normal.”
He continued, nearly yelling back at me, in disbelief. “It’ is impossible!! There are many synagogues in St. Louis!”
I knew then it was a moot point. He would not understand, or perhaps if he did, could not reconcile the idea in his mind. Understandable. It's hard to explain 'Unitarian' in Bosnian...
Another congregant, sitting across the table who had been listening, suddenly stood up, perhaps hoping to defend me and said, “What is the name of your synagogue?!”
“Uhh… Central Reform Congregation”
“You are reform!” He exclaimed, then sat down triumphantly.
Meanwhile, David had been muttering something along the lines of “you crazy Americans” and then he turned to me again.
“My son” he began slowly in Bosnian, “visited a synagogue in Washington D.C." He paused again looking to his friend to help translate.
"There was a woman…"
He stopped mid sentence to then communicate what I understood as the international sign for very large breasts. Making large circle motions around his upper chest he grinned ear to ear, looking at his friend and then to me. I muttered an "uh huh" and nodding quickly, trying to indicate please get on with the more important parts of this story...
He continued, still smiling, “It turned out one day... that she was the Rabbi!” Looking at his friend the two of them broke out into raucous laughter with me still standing there, looking at them dumbfounded. I considered mentioning to them that “Well, actually, my Rabbi is a woman” but thought maybe tonight was not the night to develop the reputation as that “weird American girl bat-mitzvahed in a church with the woman Rabbi.”
“A woman!... Rabbi!...” He exclaimed again, shaking his head, clearly enjoying the hilarity of the concept.
I gave a half-hearted smile and with a heavy sigh repeated my farewell, and turned on my heels to depart. Patience and giving respect, particularly when you don’t get it in return is hard. When I shared this story this Mirjem a few days later, inserting my own reading of the story in my simplest English including the part about "we didn't have a building so we rented space in a church" and “he said something anti-woman” she replied with a hearty grunt, “Hah! Sometimes, you know, I don’t like man!” I smiled with relief knowing at least she doesn't think I'm a crazy American...