Returning home from Rosh Hashanah services around 2 pm Saturday, I spied a friend walking off in the distance.
My normal greeting to my friends these days is "Marriage Equality!"
This day I just yelled her name.
She didn’t answer.
She was walking in distinctly non-Rosh Hashanah attire — shorts and a t-shirt.
I knew her from Orthodox life. I’ve never seen so much of her flesh.
I ran to catch up.
She was with her shaygetz boyfriend and she was walking her shaygetz dog. They were all having about as much fun as three Gentiles can on Rosh Hashanah. They felt blithely unburdened by any obligation to crown God King and for all I knew, they were all going home to commit the great sin of premarital sex.
When I got within a block, I stopped running and put on my cooly debonair exterior.
I yelled her name until she was forced to acknowledge me.
I hated it when bitches gave me the cold shoulder.
I waved. She stopped. What else could she do? She had a madman after her. He demanded recognition. He had to have his blog post, his pound of flesh, his trophy of shame.
The goyim turned towards me.
"Are you coming back from shul?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"Obviously I’m not," she said.
"I’ll walk with you," I said.
"I was telling **** about your story and she said it was an amazing story. She was raised Orthodox and she hates Orthodox Judaism. I so want to tell your story on my blog. I’ll keep everyone anonymous."
I wanted to tell her story even though I was so mixed up in it. I don’t know how much I had to do with her expulsion from the RCC conversion program. Maybe it was 90%. Maybe it was 60%. Either way, I inadvertently played a big role in ending her dreams of becoming Jewish. After almost three years with the RCC conversion program, she was out. And now she was all the way out of Orthodox life.
This was not the time for apologies. This was the time for a walk in the sun with my friends.
"I guess I’m goyim now," she said.
She had changed her name to something Jewish. She had covered up her cross tattoo. She had paid for private tutoring. She had only worn dresses for almost three years. She had done everything right but inadvertently made one enemy who brought her conversion to a halt.
"The will of Heaven," as the religious might say.
Monday afternoon, I call ****.
"I’m sick," I say.
"Do you think it’s psychological?" she asks.
"That’s so obnoxious. I’m suffering and you’re saying it is psychological. Psychological why? Because I converted to Judaism? Because ….? Because of Rosh Hashanah."
"Everything," she said. "It was very emotional."
"And so I couldn’t handle it and just collapsed in a pile before my TV? Because I’m so weak. If it’s psychological, why don’t you come over and make it all better?"
"If it’s psychological, how could it be contagious? Huh?
"Anyway, I’m working out my psychological issues on my blog."
"Inflicting them," she said.
"Nobody is forced to read my blog."