So, before I go on to describe my first encounter with the French Jews here in Touraine, let me answer the question that I know that you're all burning to ask:
The French are capable of enunciating the letter ה! Although they end up talking about the 'aftorah in ordinary conversation!
So, I managed to find that, yes, there is a synagogue here, though it is very well-hidden. I managed to find the address online, but I didn't come back with work in time for 7:00 pm Kabbalat Shabbat (candle lighting, for those of you interested in knowing isn't until nearly 10:00 pm at this time of the year in Tours). So, I put two baguettes under a paper napkin, and sang by myself (note to KOACH: I may be ready to start leading on Friday nights this fall).
The next morning, got up as early as I reliably can on a Saturday, took a few precautionary measures, and walked south down the Rue National, past the Place Jean Jaures to the Avenue de Grammont, and turned left on the Rue Parmentier. The building with the Jewish star and the Holocaust Memorial plaque seemed very promising to me: the problem was, that nobody was there, and the door was stubbornly locked. I had arrived at about 8:45, and waited for nearly a half hour for somebody to show up. I was literally just about to go back to my youth hostel while I still could, when I heard somebody moving inside the synagogue. It was the Rabbi, who lives there, walking from his living quarters to the sanctuary. Luckily, he saw me wave from the door, and opened it for me, perhaps not knowing exactly who I was. I made certain that the first thing I said was Chabbat Chalom (that's how it's transliterated into French), which is pretty much a universal code, explaining who I was and why I was there. Bonjour, je suis étudiant américain, etc. The point was, I was in. The Rabbi was around Andrew's age (so, maybe 30-something), and he didn't fault me for my JD-logorrhea that I begin whenever I meet a new acquaintance. So, he friendly welcomed me, provided me with a tallit and a siddur, and led me to a sanctuary. Slowly, slowly, others began to trickle in. But we didn't have a full minyan until 10:40. The congregation is mostly Sephardi (which means that they at least pronounce the Hebrew alphabet the same way that I do), and, to be honest, I don't know if my general disorientation was because they were Sephardic, or because they were French. Mussaf was particularly perplexing. There wasn't a Mechitza (surprising, because Rabbi Malkah is Chabad), and some of the women chose to sit upstairs, in a separate gallery, whereas others sat behind the men.
Afterwards, the Rabbi invited two other guests and me to have 2nd meal with him and his wife, Miryam. The other two were another American (a Brooklyn speech therapist in Tours for a conference) and a French guy just a couple of years older than I am, and by far the youngest French congregant (most of the men were significantly older than my parents). We ate, talked (occasionally switching to English, for the benefit of the American doctor), sang, and felt comfortable together. The Rabbi's wife had actually seen me on the bus a couple of days ago, and had noticed my red baseball cap (it has קורנל sewn on the front). We finished around 3:00, and I was nearly falling asleep by this time. The doctor and I took a walk up and down the Loire, and I made it back to 5:00 Minchah, which, though it started 45 minutes late, still didn't have a Minyan. After this, I excused myself from staying for 3rd meal, because I suspected that I might not be able to make it back into my hostel if I waited too much longer (I needed to wait for someone else to walk through the front door, and therefore needed to wait outside during the time that people were most likely to be entering and exiting). Also, I thought that a certain person might come calling, and that I'd better be where I had told him that I'd be. So, I left, having felt very welcome.
I wandered back to my hostel, where I made 3rd meal myself (baguettes...), had begun reading, when I heard a knock at my door.
Sam had arrived from Paris!
And you'll read all about our weekend adventures together as soon as I find the time to type them up. Until then, love to you all, back in the U.S. (or wherever you may be)!
~JD
"Doe not smile at me, that I boast her of, For thou shalt finde she will out-strip all praise And make it halt, behinde her" (Shakespeare, The Tempest IV.i).
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