Just call me Smash Adams.
Last week I went undercover. Kind of.
Alright, not at all.
For and internship with a local paper I had to go cover a ceremony celebrating the merging of two Jewish schools, or yeshivas if you will. As someone who is Jewish, this isn’t going undercover at all, although these people are practicing Jews who are very strict whereas my Judaism is merely a title. I keep it because I like matzo ball soup and one day I plan on using it to get ahead career wise.
I also use it because it separates me from people when I say I don’t really like Woody Allen, because I think that’s in the handbook or something. Well, I don’t really like his movies. I love his dating methods.
So anyway, my goal for this particular event was to go in, get enough to write a story and get out without telling anyone my last name or that I’m Jewish.
So I guess that makes me a sort of undercover double agent.
When I arrive at the campus I notice a long line of cars, and a two guys in yarmulkes directing me across the street. Well, I thought, this is good. They’ve already determined I’m not a Jew and are making me park across the street. This shan’t be hard, because I usually think like a douchebag.
So I park my car and cross the street only to realize I’m a long driveway and an entire street away from the school. I guess I should’ve expected this. These people make sure to go to temple during an interval of their week when they’re not allowed to drive. What the hell? If I’m going to do anything during a period when I can’t use a car it’s going to be something like stay home and watch TV. Not go out and walk.
So I walked it. Luckily it started to rain, so that was pretty cool.
I walk into the school and am greeted by a very stereotypical old Orthodox Jewish guy: wrinkly, long, white beard, wearing all black, Jew-y.
“Excuse, can I help you?
“Yes, I’m with the paper. I’m here for the ceremony.”
“Ah, right this way. Potato latkes.”
After finding the room where the ceremony will take place I find the photo lady sent to cover the story with me. “They seem real nice. And very relaxed too. They told me I can sit on the men’s side of the room if I want!”
She didn’t.
One of them must’ve put her in her place. No woman is good enough to sit on the same side of a room as a man. That’s just crazy. They’re lucky we let them cross the
The ceremony goes on, I sit up front trying to take notes on what is going on. It’s difficult because every fifth word is in Hebrew, and every second and fourth words are said with heavy accents so I can’t understand them. They might’ve actually been in Hebrew too. I don’t know.
Sample note!- “It means a lot ________ congregation __________. Thank God _______.”
As shitty as my writing may be, I think that might be a new low. And I had a good page of that. And not much else. A few observations. I should also mention I barely read up on the event before going and still really had no clue to what was going on. Whoops.
About halfway through the ceremony I realize I’m naked; I have on no yarmulke. Certainly a good way to make people think I’m not Jewish, though. All the people sitting behind, basically everyone in the room but about 15 people, could see the back half of my skull. It was probably like seeing testicles for a few of the younger ones. I made sure not to shock them by later showing them my actual testicles, you know, to take away the surprise of seeing my yarmulke-less head. This also seems like a good time to mention the man sitting next to me had incredibly strong body odor. But after about 5 minutes he smelt like a taco. It was the grossest, most delicious thing I had ever smelt.
After the event I’m waiting to leave the room when a guy approaches me. “With the paper?” Yes. “Cool. So, understand anything that was said?” Not really, but a little. “What’s your name?” Adaham Lincman. “Oh, so you’re Jewish.” Not that Jewish. “Haha, right. I grew up reform too. I didn’t get really into Judaism until I was older. I couldn’t read Hebrew until I was 35.” Wow, very nice.
Cover blown.
So I ask him a few questions and he gives me some bullshit responses. “So, are you interested in learning more about the Jewish way?” Um, not really. No. “Really. It’s great.” I’ve heard good things, but I’m not looking to do so at this point. “Are you sure? The school has a lot of great programs, just once or twice a week just to get started.” No thank you. “Well alright. Here’s my card just in case you change your mind. I think you should consider it.”
I did. And it’s still no. This guy brought me two of his buddies later in the day. I don’t get why people always seem to do this when I’m out trying to cover something. I interview one person, and they then feel the need to go out and get all of their friends and introduce them to me and say “Here, interview him!” I mean, it’s a nice gesture, but truthfully, I don’t want to talk to you, so why would I want to talk to your shitty friend?
I continue outside into the hallway. The rabbi told me he’d talk to me in about 15 minutes, so I go outside to watch them lay the first brick of the new building. Or I was about to when I ran into the rabbi’s wife, who was working the refreshment table.
“Excuse me sir. Sir? Sir?”
I now realize she’s talking to me.
“Here, take something to eat.” No thank you. “Oh no. We have so much delicious kosher food. You have to take some.” Really, I’m fine thank you. “Oh come on. We won’t tell anyone.” Thanks, but I’m not hungry. “Oh just do it.”
I didn’t. But I will say something I would’ve liked to do. I’m about to be crude, so excuse me. But how about some of those Orthodox girls? It’s like the Catholic school girl, only completely covered up, with a slight hint of facial hair and head garb. I like. Nothing tops the skirt that goes down to the shin, the socks to go up to, presumably, the knees and a girl who probably hasn’t been around a male without body odor. I wouldn’t mind taking the torah out of the ark for a few of them.
While I’m crudely thinking about Orthodox women a few more people stop me. Ask if I’m with the paper, then ask my name. They all immediately know I’m Jewish. It’s at this point in the battle, if I were in battle, I think I would’ve committed seppuku.
I talk to the rabbi for a while then, finally, get to leave. As I’m walking out, repeat, out of the building another Jew stops me. “Can I help you?” No, I’m just leaving. “Oh, where were you?” I was here for the ceremony. I’m with the paper. “Oh, let me walk you out.” Ok.
He’s a fairly young looking guy, probably no older than 25. We go through the introductions. He finds out I’m Jewish. He finds out I don’t go to temple. I find out I’m fairly honest with people I’m terrified of.
“So why don’t you practice your religion?” I don’t know. “Busy?” Not really. “You really should practice. It’s a great thing to have, you know to meet people of if you, God forbid, have some type of medical emergency. It’s a really strong community, and everyone will pray for you.” Doctors are pretty good at that type of thing too. “Of course, and there are many great Jewish doctors.”
He got me there, I guess. “So we have programs a few times a week for beginners who can’t commit a lot of time. We have about 10 guys in there now, and they all really love it.” I bet. I just don’t think it’s for me. Or at least not at this point in time. “Well I can’t force you too, but take my number just in case you change your mind. I think you’d really like it.”
I’d also like to cut a hole in a sheet and go to town on your women, but hey, it’s nice just to be wanted.
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