Play It Again, Shmulik

As mentioned in earlier posts, most of my high school Sabbath mornings were spent in the company of a small group of sixty- and seventy-something Jewish men, in a Synagogue located in the basement of a house, otherwise known as a Shtiebel. My position was the Baal Koreh -- I would chant the weekly portion of the Torah. It kept me off the streets, as they say.

Now most Synagogues I've been to in my life hold, after the closing of Sabbath morning services, something called a Kiddush, which is a brief prayer recited in honor of the Sabbath, followed by victuals, of the traditional Jewish persuasion.

The house which housed our Shteibel had a front entrance and a back entrance. We would enter through the back entrance, then walk down a small flight of stairs. We would then be in an ante-room, where the Kiddushes took place. That ante-room in turn led to the room in which the prayer services were held.

Now for some reason, at our Shteibel, Kiddushes were held not every week, but rather only every few weeks. I suppose the Kiddush frequency was roughly that of Mickey Mantle's batting average. So each Sabbath, when you entered the back door and walked down those steps, there was but one thought on your mind: were the tables in the ante-room set, indicating that this would be a Kiddush week, or would they be tragically bare?

(Did I just say that? Obviously, a momentary lapse of judgment. Naturally, what I meant to write was: So each Sabbath, when you entered the back door and walked down those steps, there was but one thought on your mind: the excitement of imminent spiritual communal prayer amongst one's coreligionists. Yes, that's it. Clearly. Please ignore the above gaffe.)

At the conclusion of the services, the 20 or 30 or 40 of us would proceed to the ante-room, and take our seats at three long tables, covered with white plastic tablecloths. The regular staples, to the best of my recollection, were as follows:

• A shot-glass of scotch, or, as we used to call it, schnapps;
• An airy cookie known in Yiddish as eier kichel ("eier" is German for egg);
• A fish dish, which was delish, known, also in Yiddish, as shmaltz herring;
• And on rarer occasions, my favorite, a warm stew known in, what else? Yiddish, as cholent (actually, I have heard that the etymology of this term is French: "chaud lent": cooked slowly)

To this teenager, this was as good as it gets. Now although there was no official formal structure to these Kiddushes, nevertheless they followed a pretty definite pattern:

1. We would all sit down, and schmooze for a few minutes (if they made a Yiddish version of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, surely one of the dwarfs would be Schmoozy)
2. Someone would recite the Kiddush prayer
3. We would all down a shot-glass of scotch
4. Within a minute or two, the usual lively din of conversation would disappear, as the various parts of our mouths were now engaged in a different activity
5. Some more schmoozing
6. Someone would give a brief speech, orating on the weekly Torah portion
7. Yet more schmoozing
8. Someone would be asked to lead all present in a song
9. Even more schmoozing
10. Someone would lead one and all in the blessing recited at the close of a meal
11. Kiddush adjourned, and we would begin to head for our respective homes, accompanied by, you guessed it, more schmoozing

Interestingly enough, I have no recollection of whether I ever participated in any of the aforementioned rounds of schmoozing. But what I do remember is a great feeling of warmth and camaraderie, sitting with these men who were 5 and 6 decades my senior. (Of course, that shot of scotch almost certainly contributed to the feeling of warmth.)

Now one of the items on the above itinerary was the part where we would all sing a traditional Jewish song. Each week, a different member of the board would be called upon to choose a song, and after three notes, we would all join in. Almost invariably, the song chosen was an oldie but goodie: Yismechu haShamaim, a song I actually learned back in the first or second grade.

Now I happen to like this song very much, but when, Kiddush after Kiddush, whoever was called upon to lead us in song would consistently choose that same song, I eventually grew more than a bit tired of it. Every Kiddush, when someone was about to choose a song to lead us in for that Shabbat, I would inwardly hope that they would have the temerity to throw off the shackles of conformity and choose something different. C'mon guys! There are other songs in the liturgical canon than Yismechu haShamaim, you know! Go wild! But more often than not, my vain hope would be dashed.

Finally, after having been there for well over a year, and possibly well over two, one Shabbat, someone called out my name to lead the group in song.

Huh? Who, me? Like a deer in the headlights, I froze. Only one thing came to my mind:

Yismechu haShamaim...