Two weekends ago I flew to St. Louis with my boyfriend to celebrate his parents' 25th wedding anniversary. To my dismay, a few days before we set off, my boyfriend Jeff informed me that we would be accompanying his parents to synagogue where they would receive a special anniversary blessing.
Jeff and his family go to a conservative synagogue, whereas I was raised in a reform one. Having been to both, I've only found very few key differences between the two, one of them being they speak a hell of a lot less English in the conservative one, upping the boredom factor by a zillion.
Another is the dress code. Reform synagogues tend to have more of an anything goes"" policy. That's not to say showing up in a leather mini skirt and hooker boots wouldn't get you a few shaming glares (we're famous for those) from your Aunt Edna, or an extremely enthusiastic ""Shabbat Shalom!"" from cousin Yitzchak, but generally, as long as your outfit doesn't suggest a possible pole dance on the Bima, you're in good shape.
Conservative synagogues, on the other hand, generally expect women to cover their knees and elbows.
I wasn't dressed conservatively, but I wasn't dressed like a slut either. Although my top showed no cleavage, the sleeves hit just above my elbows, and though my skirt wasn't a mini, it didn't quite reach above my knees.
I figured as long as I didn't look like a total whore no one would notice, because why would anyone be looking at me anyway? I found the answer to that question when they asked Jeff and me to go up on the Bima and open the Arc, where they keep the Torah, the holiest book in Judaism.
They handed me a Tallit, which basically looks like a giant scarf, and amplifies your individual holiness. They also gave me a palm-sized circle of black lace, which for some reason, I really wanted to put in my bra to taunt my boyfriend.
Turns out, the lace is for married women to put on their heads, a fact I was unaware of when I clipped it in, and remained unaware of as Jeff's parents went up to the Bima to receive their blessing while Jeff and I waited to be told when it was time to open the arc.
""We'd all like to congratulate Bob and Rosalie on their 25th wedding anniversary,"" the president of the synagogue said before the prayer. Jeff reached over and grabbed my hand.
""It's so wonderful that their children are here to celebrate with them,"" he continued, motioning toward Jeff and his younger brother. I leaned over and kissed Jeff on the cheek.
""And having their grandchildren here with them is truly a blessing.""
Jeff and I instinctively pulled away from each other. Given that Jeff's only sibling didn't even have a significant other, he couldn't have been referring to anyone but us. His parents vehemently shook their heads.
""No! We don't have grandchildren!"" I saw them mouth to the president.
""Well, then your grandchildren on the way,"" he said warmly.
I buried my head in my hands and whispered to a woman staring disapprovingly at my ringless left hand, ""I'm just bloated,"" but her grimace quickly turned to a smile when she noticed the black lace on my head.
After what seemed like an eternity, Jeff and I were called to the Bima to open the arc. I nervously stood up, black boots, short skirt, giant scarf, head lace and all.
I tried not to think about what everyone else thought of my outfit as I took the walk of shame toward the Torahs. Once we opened the arc, we waited on either side as they sang a blessing for the Torah.
I noticed Jeff looking angrily at the floor.
""What's wrong?"" I mouthed, when I finally met his gaze. He shook his head in defeat as he clasped his hands together across his waist.
""That skirt looks really, really good on you,"" he mouthed back.
I considered slowly inching it up to watch him suffer, but wasn't quite sure how to do that without the entire congregation noticing. Plus, I figured he had been tortured enough for one day.
As we drove home, no one mentioned anything about the grandchildren, the head lace or, thankfully, the incident with the skirt on the Bima. But they all must be thinking about it, I thought, as I decided that I'd rather celebrate my 25th anniversary in a brothel than a conservative synagogue.
Ever made an awkward situation more-so with only your clothing? E-mail Kiera your story at wiatrak@wisc.edu.
