Ought To & Can (A San Francisco Fable)

Part II: Can--Chapter 17

"I'm surprised May hasn't moved out," said Beth as she walked down the sidewalk with Sabrina on a cool Saturday morning.

"I can't see her moving out" Sabrina opined.

"You probably want her to move out."

"Not at all."

"I mean, you'd prefer that I move into her room and you get your bed, I'm sure."

"Actually, I've gotten used to the recliner. But, I know May really well. She's going to launch a new offensive. She has two single women to nag now."

"It won't work with me," Beth chuckled. "I'm taking a long hiatus from love. But you, I think a boyfriend would do a lot of good for you. Help broaden your horizons. But no pressure, no hurry. And, you know, if you're not really into men, obviously I'd understand that too."

"Oh, I'm into men, all right."

"Look at that!" Beth was pointing down to the sidewalk, where some long-forgotten hand had scrawled "I ❤ HOPE" in the concrete when it was wet.

"Wonder if Hope was enchanted or repulsed by that? Wonder if she even knew about it?" Sabrina asked.

"Doesn't have to be for a girl, you know," mused Beth. "It might be lowercase-H 'hope.' They really like hope. They wanted to inspire everyone else. I mean, I love hope. I'm sure you do too."

Outsiders would question why Sabrina and Beth were walking two-and-a-half miles from the apartment to attend Shabbat at a Reform synagogue, but Sabrina knew her mother well. She was a modern woman, but she also was a woman of habit. Even if she'd started falling away from the Orthodox tradition, she still didn't want to drive or ride a vehicle on Saturday. Not because of religious conviction, but because she wasn't very fond of driving. And Sabrina still didn't have a license, nor did she really want one.

Beth missed going to Shabbat services, and had always wanted to go to Sherith Israel, the huge 19th century Reform synagogue. But she didn't want to go alone, so she talked Sabrina into joining her, and walking was their only option.

When they reached the door, Beth pointed out "Sherith Israel—it means 'loyal remnant of Israel.' Pretty appropriate for us."

Once they headed back home, Beth asked Sabrina the inevitable "What did you think of that?" question.

"It was unusual. I'm glad I had the experience."

"Could you see yourself coming here every week?"

"Maybe, at some point."

In fact, Sabrina had been heavily disoriented. Beginning with the fact that she was sitting next to a man. An elderly man, not one she would be interested in at all, but to see a Shabbat service where the mechitzah curtain was not hung and men and women sat together: it was something she'd always hoped would happen at Kol B'Yachad. But now here she was in synagogue where that was the case, and she felt uncomfortable with it.

So who was wrong: her or Sherith Israel? Maybe they were both right, in a certain way.

The same feeling of the familiar and the alien mixing together dogged her throughout the rest of the service. The prayers and readings were the same, but with English in places where she was accustomed to Hebrew. And there was the stately Sherith Israel building itself. Beautiful for sure, but to her it felt unnecessarily huge. Kol B'Yachad was cozy and friendly and unpretentious. Here, you had a tall, domed ceiling, plush chairs, a wooden sanctuary, balconies. It felt like a Jewish megachurch. Or an old theater. Literally. At Kol B'Yachad, she was a participant, however limited the participation of women was. Here, she felt like a spectator at a performance.