Wednesday afternoon.
Primal scream. Primal Scream. Primal scream.
EEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!
F00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000k!
Frustration. Anger. Rage. Frustration. Isolation. Depression.
Force down three slices of peanut-butter covered raisen bread toast.
Shower.
Put on my Yom Kippur game face.
Drink five glasses of water. Pop in some teeth-whitening kosher gum.
Leave hovel at 5:30 p.m.
Walk up Pico Blvd.
Spit gum in trash. Tighten Yom Kippur game face.
Walk past former shul. Can’t stop myself from looking in.
I anticipate runing into Rabbi Steven Weil when I turn right on Doheny Blvd.
It would be just my luck.
I wonder how the conversation will go?
Something like this:
"Rabbi, how are you? Looking forward to New York?"
"Levi, great to see you! Yes, but I’ve still got work to do here, Levi. I want to make sure I have a successor who’ll be a good fit for the shul.
"I’m glad I’ve run into you. I’d never admit this publicly, but I read you."
"Thank you!"
"You make my gourd rise at times but your heart is in the right place."
"Thanks. I’ve enjoyed using you as a pinata. I guess this is the time to make amends. Let’s hug it out."
"Hehe, well, I guess I deserved it.
"I’m not really the touchy feely type, Levi, so we’ll just shake hands.
"Look, let’s be serious for a minute. I didn’t give you a fair go in 2001. I promised you a fair hearing and all that and you didn’t get it. I just booted you. I was hasty. I wasn’t fair. I didn’t live up to my word. I’m sorry."
"I forgive you, rabbi. Please forgive me for any time I have not been accurate or fair when writing about you."
"I forgive you, Levi."
We shake hands.
"Levi, you’re welcome at Beth Jacob anytime."
"Can I come to Daf Yomi?"
"Yes. And call me any time while I’m at the OU. I’ll give you the straight scoop. Don’t write about me without calling me first."
"OK, rabbi, I promise."
We shake hands again and walk off into the sunset.
My, that went well.
Something tells me that reality will be more difficult.
I’m 100 yards from Olympic Blvd when I see Rabbi Weil. Live. In the flesh. Standing there. Smiling. Shaking hands. Being rabbinic.
My brain freezes while my legs keep moving me closer to destruction.
I want to get into Harkham Hillel Hebrew Academy for my services — I paid in advance!
Should I walk right up to Rabbi Weil and say that gmar thing? What is it? L’shana tova is not the right greeting now.
Oh no, I’ll look like a goy.
Maybe I should just stop walking. I’ll freeze. Will that draw attention?
Rabbi Weil’s being social. There’s a small group around him.
I’m walking as slowly as possible. I’m only 30 yards away.
I hold my breath and stop moving.
Rabbi Weil crosses the street.
I pretend to be deeply absorbed in my book, Ruth Wisse’s "Jews and Power."
The seconds tick by.
I wait for a full minute and then full of faith that Rabbi Weil is safely inside Beth Jacob, I walk up to Olympic, turn left, skulk behind some old people and slip into the school (owned by Beth Jacob).
I get to my service. There are only three people there. The organizer says, "We need ten shomer shabbat Jews. Here’s one."
He puts his arm around me. "I vouch for this guy."
Oh, sweet Jesus, this will be the moment that Rabbi Weil taps me on the shoulder and asks me to leave.
I want to tell him, "You’re gonna have to throw me out!" but I know if I say one single word to him, I’ll dissolve in tears.
I grab a machzor (High Holiday prayer book) and assume a pious expression. When Rabbi Weil grabs me, I’ll scream "Shmai Yisrael" and faint.
It’s the Jewish thing to do.
Why have I been sneaking into places that don’t want me for 37 years?
I feel like a naughty boy again.
I feel like a fraud.
I feel like a naught.
Oh no, the rabbi is going to take this blog post and show it to a psychiatrist and the shrink’s gonna say, "Danger! Danger! Danger! Eject him!"
I’m so angry, ashamed, isolated, depressed, destroyed, that I actually daven. Some of the words have meaning to me.
No Rabbi Weil tapping me on the shoulder. Maybe there is a God?
Services end. I’m in a room of my peers. There are people here who love me, so why am I marching out of the room and down the stairs and on to the street and far far away as fast as I can? Why aren’t I staying to socialize? I can chitchat. I can be human. I can connect. I don’t have to be an isolated but I am so deeply alone, marching west on Olympic.
I walk and walk. I’m not going home until I have a meaningful exchange with somebody. Otherwise I’m going to march to the ocean and swim towards Catalina.
Whoa, there’s a couple I know ahead. I don’t want to talk to them. I turn left on Beverly Drive.
I turn left on Pico. I need to make a dramatic gesture. Perhaps I’ll collapse beside the Jerusalem stone at Aish Ha Torah and wail, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
David passes me. He gives me a meaningful greeting, "Gmar tov."
So simple and yet so sweet.
I say "Gmar Tov" back. With feeling.
I’m walking against the tide of humanity just released from YICC, Bnai David, Beth Jacob and Aish.
I feel embraced by my people. We’ve been making this walk for 4,000 years. There’s excitement in the air and the growing dread of thirst.
The spiritual world is now what seems real to me. The cars and gas station and shops and billboards, they seem phony. What matters now is not the Dodgers or the Cowboys but the Torah.
Christ, I’ve been so shaked up the past few hours I haven’t thought about sex.
I’m a tzaddik!
I’ve suffered for my art. I’ve done Kiddish HaJournalism. I’m a martyr for my craft. I’m a humble servant of the truth. Any shul would be proud to have me as a member.
I’m OK. You’re OK. I can go home now. I’m at peace. I don’t have to walk all night.
I get inside my hovel and slip into my t-shirt, strap on my foot splints, pop in my mouth guard, and go to bed.
Sleep doesn’t come.
The anger’s flooding back. That prick. They are all pricks. I hate you, I hate you. I throw manure on you. Go to hell. I don’t need you. —- off and die!
Oh Jesus, why do I keep isolating myself? Why do I love to hate? I am so —-ed. —-. —-. —- me.
I could really do with a clonazepam right now.
Knock me out right now.
Take this cup from me.
