The Temple Wall

I'm sitting in my car in the temple parking lot waiting for Ben's meeting with the Rabbi to end.  He's there to choose a mitzvah project, that all important finale of the Bar and Bat Mitzvah where each kid turns to the congregation and shares their good samaritan project. The Rabbi has cancelled our two previous appointments but finally last week we all sit down for our first meeting.  Right away she recommends Ben's hanging yahrzeit plaques--the plaques of deceased temple members--on the temple wall.

"They're all in boxes," she says cheerfully.  "It would be such a help to the temple. Such a mitzvah."

I keep thinking it sounds rather custodial not to mention the nice cheap kind and I can't help from wanting to strangle her.  Ben is mostly quiet.  She moves on to a mitzvah of Ben helping her on the computer.  "That would be so great, I could really use the computer help." Later on in the car, Ben is less than enthused.  "Why would I want to put plaques on a wall?  Or tutor her on the computer." I don't say much, trying to subdue my seething.

Today's appointment is to further explore mitzvah projects and for her to hear Ben read his Haftorah.   "From now on," as she explained last week, "these meetings are to be between just Ben and myself."  So, I'm reading the newspaper in the car waiting for the meeting to end, when my cell phone rings with Ben telling me the Rabbi is in another meeting with a boy and his father and that he's tired of waiting.

"I've been sitting here for over fifteen minutes,"he says in exasperation.

 "Ben, you need to knock on her door and tell her you're waiting."

"I'm just sitting here out in the hall.  She's already seen me.  I'm leaving.  This is bullshit."

"Ben, give her another five ..."

And he's back in the car.  I'm fuming.  I try and tell myself this is not so different from a doctor's appointment where you sometimes just have to wait, but it was only yesterday that the Rabbi's secretary had e-mailed me to confirm our 5:30 appointment.  Not to mention that the rabbi was clear that these appointments would only last a half-hour. Give me a break, this isn't a doctor's appointment, this is a twelve-year-old for his once-in-a-lifetime Bar Mitzvah.  For Christ's sake, the rabbi should show up.  I send off an e-mail to her new secretary.

"Hi Rosemary, today Ben went to his scheduled appointment with the Rabbi which you confirmed with me yesterday.  He just sat there waiting while she met with another family.  Finally he left in frustration.  This is just not working for us, she's already cancelled twice and now this.  If she wants to meet with Ben, from now on, the meeting will be in our house."

I find myself wondering, does the Rabbi really have to be at Ben's Bar Mitzvah?  I call over to Niki. She tells me that a few of the kids whose families have defected from the temple are finding other venues, and that having a rabbi isn't actually a requirement.  "Just having Ben read his haftorah after he turns 13 is sufficient," she says confidently.  "We'd love to have him at our minyan." I picture Ben's Bar Mitzvah above the Town Hall Deli, standing room only, insufficient parking for over 150 guests, and realize sending that e-mail to the Rabbi probably wasn't the best idea.  Let's face it, I'm stuck with her. And now I can just picture on Ben's big day, in front of all our friends and family, she won't be able to look us in the eye.