Jew-ish

I haven’t been to High Holiday services in a very long time. My last memory was crashing Yom Kippur services at my local synagogue where I was hit on by a very beautiful Israeli guard who was hired to keep the Shull safe. In the past he was part of the elite Massad or so he said. We made out at my apartment during his break. I am not a one-day stand kind of gal always preferring appetizers when I am not certain of the establishment. Did my indiscretion on the Highest Holiday of the Jewish calendar lead to a less than stellar 15 years since? If she is a just and fair G-d, she knows it was really crap nooky and that length of punishment would be excessive….yet he we are. I have been thinking it might be nice to get back to synagogue—not because I think kissing up is the way out of my current doldrums, but because I need some kind of community and there is a cultural shorthand that I enjoy with my fellow Yids. I like Judaism as far as religions go, not just because I was born of the faith but because as a religion it shuns fire and brimstone, preferring guilt-tinted reflection. There is no Get Out of Jail free card granted via confession. It’s more pragmatic: do your best, it’s all you can do. Once a year, while hungry, mull over your stink pile of transgressions and do better next year. I don’t fast; I get too dizzy and, except for that make out session, I am perfect. No do