Hi there,
I don't have anything epic to report today, but I just got back from a little trip to LA, and thought that I could squeeze a few stories out of it.
So, one of the rabbis from the Israel trip called me last week and invited me to his house for Shabbat. Perhaps my motives were a bit less noble than he was hoping for, but I thought, "What the hell, I could use a few free meals." Now, I'm currently sans-car, so I told him that we'd need to figure out some type of rideshare. It turned out that one of his friends was heading up to LA for a wedding, so he'd be able to bring me up on Friday. However, I was planning on sailing with a friend on Sunday afternoon, and missing that was absolutely not an option (and oh yeah, I guess I've got class on Monday, too), but the rabbi said that he knew someone that was going to make the drive back to SD on Saturday night, so I was set. Or so I thought.
We left around lunch time on Friday to make sure that we got there in time. (Remember, Friday's sundown to a driving Jew is like sunlight to a vampire; they both explode on contact.) Leaving so early meant that we'd arrive during the pre-Shabbat frenzy, and believe me, It's madness. I was put to work installing an A/C unit for one of the rabbis--absolutely crucial in summertime Hell A. I've never been one of the city's biggest fans, but when you toss triple digit temperatures into the mix, and I begin to see why Bill Hicks kept praying for an Arizona coastline.
However, the LA neighborhood that we were in was actually pretty nice. It's called Hancock Park (tee hee hee) and looks like it was ripped straight out of Home and Garden magazine. It's predominantly Jewish, and felt very reminiscent of Israel. There were temples on every other corner, and orthodox families walked the streets. And big families, by the way. In Israel, I met lots of families with at least 8 kids, and Hancock park wasn't much different. There were packs of little Jewligans running around everywhere.
Dinner passed rather uneventfully. It was the usual, amazingly delicious fare of kosher delights that I had enjoyed in the Holy Land, but with a Southern California twist (whole grain challah, mercury-free gefilta fish, etc.). The only hiccup came when the rabbi told me that the person who was supposed to be my ride home didn't show. Shit. Since we were in the no-phone zone, the possibility of finding an alternative that night was essentially nil. So I put it out of my mind and enjoyed the tofu-ball soup.
The next morning, the rabbi that I was staying with asked me if I'd like to go to services with him. Generally, I'm not awake early enough to necessitate that question, but I went to bed early the night prior. To be honest, sitting though a 2-hour service is about as much fun to me as sitting through 2 hours of molecular biology. Except that I might get some credit for the biology. But I went anyway, since I was a guest of the family, and I wanted to follow their customs. So off we went.
A few minutes after things got started, one of the lead rabbis (there were several) came up to me and asked if I wanted to take the Torah out of the ark. Under normal circumstances, holy scriptures and I don't mix, but again I thought, "What the hell?" I went up to the podium and made a bee-line for the ark. As soon as I put my hands on the ark, the cantor (singing rabbi) stopped his prayer mid-note and shouted, "Not yet!" That was embarrassing. A few minutes later, once I was absolutely sure that I had my cue, I tried to pull the doors open, but nothing was happening. I was yanking the doors very hard, but there seemed to be some kind of lock on them. I just assumed that someone forgot to put in the key that morning (what luck). I looked at one of the rabbis, and he accurately read the "What the f's going on?" in my eyebrow raise. He came up and placed his hands on mine, and just the pressure of that slight movement slid the doors open ("Ahh, sideways").
Once the doors were open, I knew that I had to take the Torah out (see, I did learn something from my Bar Mitzvah), and I've never been more nervous. I took a good hold of the scrolls, but apparently, there's a specific way to hold the Torah, and a giant bear hug isn't it. I was instructed in the correct, awkward, method, and all I could think was, "don't drop them, don't drop them, don't drop them." Somehow I didn't, and as soon as I handed it off, I threw the doors shut and bolted back to my seat. But just as I thought I was out of the spotlight, the guy next to me leaned over and said," You're not done yet, you've got to put it away."
"Son of a bitch."
But I managed to finish my duties without any major catastrophe, and went back with the rabbi. A giant nap and two giant meals later, the sun went down and electricity was once again fair game. The inviting rabbi made lots of calls, but couldn't find anyone to give me a ride. He suggested that I take the train back, and gave me money to pay for the ticket (in all fairness, he felt really bad). Thankfully, I knew one of the other guys invited to eat with the rabbi. He let me crash at his parents' place and gave me a ride to the train station the next morning.
We woke up around 8, and he dropped me off at the depot (a small station in the LA suburbs). I barely had time to thank him before he made a bee line back to his bed. (Can you blame him?) The train was supposed to arrive a few minutes after I got there, but some murmurings at the ticket counter made me question that. It turned out that the train broke down at the last station and wouldn't be fixed for at least a couple of hours. (Don't they understand that I'm going sailing?) I immediately called customer service instead of waiting in the growing pack of pissed-off travelers at the ticket counter (a trick I picked up from my very frequently-flying dad). I learned that waiting for the train really wasn't an option, but there was one leaving out of downtown LA soon. I went up to a couple that I saw drive up, told them the news, and asked if I could hitch a ride to Union station with them. They were nice enough to let me tag along, and clearly understood that we had 25 minutes to make a 35 minute drive. Jeff Gordon would have taken longer. But I'm not complaining, we got there just in time to buy tickets, book it to the terminal, and hop on the train just as it was pulling out. Phew. The ride was pleasant, and got me back with plenty of time to meet my friend.
Wow, this is getting long, but we're almost done.
The sailing trip was one of the most enjoyable afternoons that I've ever had. Our destination was a Ben Harper concert at a bay-front stage. We were just one of many boats that had the same idea. As we were sailing, some of the girls that we were with thought that it would be fun to swim alongside the boat for a while. I didn't, but I did think that it would be fun to swim alongside the girls for a while. Now, for anyone who doesn't know, storm drains run into the bay, so it occasionally gets a little gross. Yesterday, it smelt like the type of shit that shit makes after a nice burrito grande. But yet again, I thought, "what the hell" and changed into my bathing suit.
We tossed a tow line in the water, but as soon as the first girl jumped in, the wind picked up big time and our boat took off. This girl wasn't a very strong swimmer, and quickly got left behind and started going under. I'm no Hasselhoff, but I was they only one in a bathing suit, so I jumped in and went after her. Now, I'd love to tell you about the heroic swan dive that took me gracefully to her side, but coordination has never been my strong suit. Had my eyes been open mid-flight, I might have seen the type of spastick belly flop that makes a beached whale look graceful. I almost got left behind, myself.
When I was a kid, I took a few lifeguard classes, but I only just remembered that now (as I'm writing this); at the time, I had no idea what I was going to do. But I swam towards her, anyway, figuring that I'd just wing it. (I'm sure that's lesson number 1 at lifeguard school.) When I got to her, she was struggling to keep her head up, so I wrapped an arm around her and treaded water for the two of us. I know that you're not supposed to do that, since she could have pulled me under, as well (especially since I float like a cinder block), but I wasn't just going to hang out and watch her drown. My friend had been turning the boat around during all of this, and a few moments after I got to the girl, the tow line was in reach. I grabbed on with my free hand, and our friends pulled us in. I struggled to hang on to the rope during all of this, which was no easy task while holding on to another person and taking mouthfulls of shit-water every time a wave came over us. But we eventually made it to the boat, dried ourselves off, and cracked open some much needed beers.
So, that was my weekend.
