The tea lady

Somehow, I cannot forget an unfortunate experience that occurred at my temple almost 20 years ago.  Occasionally, when I force myself to tell this story, listeners can hear the anguish and trepidation in my voice.

This regrettable experience, lasting seven or eight minutes, occurred at a Friday evening Oneg Shabbat.  A woman my mother’s age and I happened to reach for a cup of tea at about the same moment.  Since we were only slightly acquainted, we were not eager to make small talk.  In the spirit of Shabbat, however, we decided, I thought, to make an effort.

Soon this longtime member abruptly asked where I had lived before moving to Providence.  Not eager to resurrect all the happy but forgettable details, I explained that I had grown up in Los Angeles, studied at several colleges and universities, and later lived with my wife Betsey in St. Paul, Minn.  The woman replied, “Oh, you’re a transient.” 

A what?  Only a few times in my life had I felt so humiliated.  The fact that I was hearing this inside a synagogue made me feel even more furious and heartbroken.

The tea lady then quite proudly explained, “I have lived my entire life within a 3-mile radius of temple.”  She would have been even more boastful had the radius been half as much.

I tried to reassure myself by remembering that Betsey and I had joined the temple about 10 years earlier – within days of our move to Providence – our second child was born here, our kids attended the Alperin Schechter Day School (now Jewish Community Day School), we purchased a home on the East Side, and we had no plans to move elsewhere.  We enjoyed much of our life here. Although we did not have many Rhode Island-born friends, Betsey and I thought that we had become active and responsible members of Rhode Island’s Jewish community.

Suffice to say that I never again submitted to a conversation – even at an Oneg – with the tea lady, who eventually moved to Florida. But I learned an important lesson from this incident: do more to welcome the stranger, especially at temple and within our Jewish community.  Indeed, I began to question whether I had done enough within the congregation where I had grown up.

So I decided to become a temple usher.  This task may sound a bit cheesy, but I take the responsibilities very seriously.  Yes, I like sporting a carnation in my lapel and wearing formal dress during High Holy Day services, but I am not consumed by appearances.  Rather, I remembered attending some services in the early years of our membership, when Betsey often stayed at home to care for our kids.  On more than a few occasions, even ushers failed to say hello or Shabbat Shalom.  At times I felt invisible.

So, as an usher, I go out of my way to give strong handshakes, look everybody in the eye, smile, and say something appropriate.  I take considerable pride in the way my fellow ushers – both men and women – also greet temple newcomers, seasoned members, and guests, and are available to assist throughout services.  Occasionally, I have felt that I accomplish more as an usher than I have as a member of a temple board or committee.

Unfortunately, as an usher I have also found that Jews, like all people, can be horribly rude.  Show up for services whenever it’s convenient for you, dress however you like, request upfront seats for your entire family even when none are available, neglect to turn off your cellphone, leave and return to the sanctuary as many times as you like, and abandon a service when you decide it’s over.  Oh, and don’t bother to bring your own prayer book.  And if there is something that bothers you, don’t hesitate to complain – after all, you must be the service’s justification.

Other observers might remark that a loss of decorum might be the inevitable cost of ever-increasing efforts to be inclusive.  Or that decorum is not Jewish; services should be fun, folksy and a bit frenetic.  Even worse, they say Jews need to liberate themselves from artificial and antiquated mores – indeed, their inhibitions.

As my bitter encounter with the tea lady taught, I believe that a lot is at stake from poor manners.  So many of us, even in Rhode Island, have once been strangers.  Strong communities, especially Jewish ones, are built through growth, inclusion and respect. When we ignore some, and insult others, we divide into tiny clusters and fragments, denying our destiny as a people.

Thank you, tea lady, for teaching me a lesson.

GEORGE M. GOODWIN is completing his 12th year as editor of Rhode Island Jewish Historical Notes.  He recently began a third term on the board of the Rhode Island Historical Society.