I went to Selichos last night, tissues in hand, ready for a direct hit on my shaky ‘it’ll be OK” bravado.
The Kaddish tune nearly pulled me straight to the ladies gallery full of perfume and fur-wrapped ladies who looked as if they could eat us children in one gollop. The Shofar was exciting. Perhaps a bit awesome should I have known the word for the emotion it conjured up.
I grounded myself and began the tearing pace gabble desperately trying to keep up with my fellow supplicants.
Hardly time for breath, barely time to recognize the letters and translate them into speech. Can this mean anything to me. Can I break through a whole year of denial at such an inhuman pace?
Give up, go back home and catch your beauty sleep. Selichos is for the men.”
“I’m not listening. Get out of my thoughts!”
You’ve already had a good try.”
My hand goes to my heart, head lowered “Oshumnu”
You know how to look the part but you’re just gabbling girl, put a bit of meaning into it.”
“I mean that I’m sorry and I will try to change.”
Not if I have anything to do with it!
“Why don’t you leave me alone?”
We’re soul mates, you and I.
“Not if I have anything to do with it.”
Look, everybody has already gone home. Shut your book will you?”
“Listen to the silence, can you feel a special atmosphere in a Shul just emptied and left alone with its latest dose of praying?”
I think you deliberately go slowly just to catch a few minutes of aloneness.”
“And what if I do?”

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