Anybody from Pittsburgh probably knows of this Orthodox synagogue located close to Allderdice High School. My grandparents belonged there, and my grandfather walked there every Saturday morning. I find it odd that he didn’t go to Friday night services; however, Friday nights were family nights when my father and his family (us) visited along with my uncle’s family. Often we alternated, every other Friday, probably because having all of us there was too much work for my grandmother.
I was present at Poale Zedeck frequently. My best friend’s family belonged there and often I came along with them. I was always there during the High Holidays.
Because I was always interested in words I wondered what “Poale Zedeck” meant in Hebrew. I eventually did find out and I used this in my novel, Buying A Year. It means “workers for righteousness.”
Whenever I would enter that building I could smell a distinctive odor. It wasn’t unpleasant; because I was so young I privately called it “the Jewish smell.” I think now that I was smelling old, used prayer books. Then, the division between the sexes: I pondered this. Why was the rabbi on the men’s side? You couldn’t hear what was going on if you were a child or a woman. It didn’t make me angry and oddly I didn’t ask anyone about it. What did make an impression was the fact that, in the women’s side and in the gallery, the hushed voices became louder and louder. It made sense. If you couldn’t follow the service because the rabbi was on the men’s side you got bored and talked to the women who were sitting around you. Once in a while the rabbi would look up from what he was reading and shout “Women! Quiet!” Then the whispering would dramatically go down in volume, stay down for a while, then gradually build up again.
It’s two months until Purim–that’s what my calendar says anyway–but I want to add my Purim story now. Purim is a holiday for children. We got dressed up in costumes and were given “gregars,” those noise-making things. And children ran free, up and down the aisles on the men’s side, making an incredible riot every time the name “Haman” was said by the rabbi as he read the megilla (I think it was called that.) The best part of all was when the rabbi, who wanted the Purim holiday to be special for the children, would stop reading, look up from under his eyebrows, and said: “HAAA-MAAAN!”
lgmwriting 