Papers, Midterms, Procrastination, and a Friday Night

Tonight was my first foray into Judaism. I am in a Jewish history class--History of the Jews in Bohemia--and the professor is not actually a professor, but a rabbi. To make up for a class that we missed due to a bank holiday at the beginning of the semester, he decided to have the whole class, all seven of us, over for Friday night Shabbat dinner. The rabbi told us that we were also welcome to come to services before dinner as well.

I decided that, since I was invited, now would be an interesting time to go to services, so I went along with two other girls from my class, both of whom are Jewish and have been to his services before, to the Jewish town hall where the services were held.

The rabbi had warned us beforehand that there would be some security, and that we had to say that we were coming for Rabbi H's Shabbat service (I may have gotten that description wrong--I apologize). He had also pointed out the location of the Town Hall to us before, so I had seen the security guard from a distance.

I did not realize that the security guard was an armed security guard. As we approached to him, the other two girls I was with looked at me and said, "Ok. This is where we have to fight our way in." Looking at the guard, they said, "We're here for the rabbi's services." We repeated the rabbi's names a few times, and the security guard smiled at us, shook his head, and pressed a little buzzer near his head. I assumed this was the button that would open the door for us, but instead it called over a British-accented man.

"What are you doing here?" he asked us.
We told him we were here for services.
"What is your relation to him?"
"He's our teacher. We're in his Jewish history class."
"And you're Americans studying here?"
"Yes. For the semester."
"And are you studying here in a group?"
"CIEE."
"Do you have any identification?"
We all pulled out our Charles University student ID cards and showed them to him. He asked us our names--"Emily Rose Oachs"--and birthdates--"10-31-88. I mean! 31-10-88" (to which he responded, "Everything American is different" or something to that effect).

He finally let us into the building and we continued on our way to services. There were 11 of us there, and from the looks of it, two of us were not even Jewish. I could tell because we were the only two frowning at the prayer books in front of us and not even trying to sing along to the Hebrew. Had the language been almost anything but Hebrew, for example, Spanish, I would have been able to stumble my way through it and make it look like I had a semblance of an idea of what was going on. But I have no idea how to speak a language that is made up of nothing but curvy lines. So I kept quiet.

I spent the entire time sitting quietly in my seat, except when everyone stood, reading the English translations of the Hebrew, my ears perking up every time I heard "Adonai" and "Shalom." At the end I said, "La heim" and drank my wine with everyone else. After that I felt particularly Jewish.

Leaving the building, the rabbi asked me how it was compared to services at home. "Well," I said. "At home it's in English." "In the conservative synagogue," he said in his slightly nasal Chicago accent, "we speak in Hebrew and English." I think he thought I was Jewish.

It was only right then that I realized how nice it is, being able to say that I am Lutheran. It sounds so guiltless, so un-threatening:
"So how does this service compare to your services at home?"
"I'm Lutheran."
"Oh, lovely. We Jews here in Prague reached a time of great prosperity during the Thirty Years War--a war brought on by your Protestantism. Thank you!"
I felt so proud, knowing that I contributed, if only for a short time, to the well-being of these Jews.

We then progressed over to the rabbis apartment near Wenceslas Square. The most important thing here to mention is his elevator. It could be considered a "Shabbat" elevator (an elevator where you don't have to push buttons), though I think it is always like this. The elevator is essentially just this open box that is constantly moving. To get into it, you have to time your step perfectly, and to get out, you have to hold on to the railings outside and prepare for your leap a few seconds before the elevator and floor are level.

While you have the option to ride back down the elevator on the other side--hopping in and hopping off when necessary--I instead chose to ride the elevator all the way around, getting in it going up, riding it around the top, and then riding it back down. Possibly the best decision I have ever made.

Dinner at the rabbi's was enjoyable, though it reminded me of the paper I have due on Monday. The paper where I have only done half the research. And that is why I am at home on a Friday night, blogging. It's a beautiful thing called "procrastination while pretending I am actually working."

Interesting fact: I found an "Add-On" for my Firefox that helps me block sites to help me be more productive. From now on, I will no longer be able to look at pictures from years ago, watch music videos, read about the drunken exploits of my fellow countrymen, or hear about the misadventures of people where things just never seem to go right for them between 7pm and midnight on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. I considered also blocking my blog, seeing as one of my favorite procrastination activities is to check the (approximate) number of views my blog has, but I decided that I should leave it open. Even if I'm procrastinating, I think that it's best that I at least procrastinate creatively. Which is what I like to think I am doing now.

So! Just so you know, this weekend, I will probably (finally) be writing about my beloved Berlin, mostly because I do not want to write about the forced conversions of Jews or to study for my midterms next week. But don't expect much from me next week because, even though it is my birthday week (10-31-1988, in case you didn't read it up there--I didn't put it in solely to help tell my story. I wanted to remind you all that I am turning 21! in a week) and I will doubtless be excited beyond belief, but I will also be in Switzerland (Zurich) and thus most likely unavailable. I am sure, however, that with how much I DO NOT want to write this paper, you will be hearing from me more than enough for the rest of the weekend.

Have a lovely evening. Sleep well. And if you know any good information about the forced conversions of Jews in Bohemia, please please please let me know.