High Holidays Special Edition 2012: Revival of the Insta-Repent

Rabbis? Oh, we know rabbis. We have lots of friends who are rabbis. We’ve literally been handed binders full of rabbis who are on call year-round for any of our major life events, including weddings, ritual circumcisions*, Bar Mitzvahs, sukkah construction, and annual atonement, to name a few. So when the High Holidays snuck up on us again this year, we called in a favor from one of our favorite Jewish clergymen.  We don’t want to name names to protect his identity as a black market High Holiday ticket dealer, but a big TODAH RABAH to our bearded, biking, biblical benefactor.

This year, we attended a mélange of services (beggars can’t be choosers, y’all), starting with Temple Isaiah’s Erev Rosh Hashanah service at UCLA’s Royce Hall. We kicked off the holiday season right by indulging in what college towns do best: pizza. While it wasn’t necessarily a traditional holiday meal, our margherita pie got more Instagram likes in five minutes than our blog has ever gotten in its entire history, making us wonder if we’re writing the wrong kind of blog. Unfortunately, we were enjoying dinner so much that we underestimated how long it would take us to find Royce Hall; we didn’t realize that UCLA has more parking structures than graduate programs. When we finally settled on one (parking structure, not graduate program), the space was so expensive that we practically had to fill out the FAFSA in order to afford it.

After a twenty-minute hike across campus and intense nostalgia for our college years, we arrived at Royce Hall, UCLA’s performing arts venue. Due to our tardiness, we got stuck in the nosebleed section like a couple of Rosh Hashanah rejects. We were so far from the action that we quickly turned to surveying the crowd and making our own mental recommendations for who should be inscribed in the Book of Life for another year. Texting teenagers? Fine, give them a few more years to straighten out. Loud old people behind us who were not even trying to whisper? Sure, they only have a couple more years anyway. Bustier-wearing shiksa in front of us who was romantically stroking her Jewish sugar daddy’s back throughout the service? Girlfriend, better shape up if you’re going to marry into this tribe. Cover those shoulders, biatch… and thus, we revived the infamous insta-repent.  

Because our surroundings were so rich with opportunities for amateur sociological research, we missed pretty much the entire content of the service. We snapped out of our judge-y state when the rabbis began the most riveting part of the evening: the lengthy announcement regarding tashlich.** Apparently in recent years, swimming, surfing, and paddleboarding have become increasingly challenging up and down the West Coast as overzealous atoners have cleared the shelves of local grocery stores and heaved entire loaves of Wonder Bread into the Pacific. The rabbis gently and diplomatically reminded everyone that the size of one’s bread product does not need to be directly proportional to the severity of one’s sins. Good thing for us, because we would have had to buy out the nearest bakery for just our sins in the last hour.

We spent the rest of the holiday season getting schmancy at Temple Emanu El of Beverly Hills. Yes, friends, we rang in 5773 in the 90210.  Eager to get back into our judgmental groove, on the ride over we mentally prepared ourselves for Chanel suits, stilettos, and a lot of nips and tucks, if you know what we’re saying. While we weren’t off base with those expectations, we were pleasantly surprised by the warmth of the ‘gogue-goers. And the hotness of the men—Jewish Jason Priestleys, every one of them. This made it easier for Jessica to achieve her personal best of staying awake for a whopping 50% of services attended this HH season. Along with the theme of yearly self-improvement, Lauren fasted for a total of 2.5 hours (if you don’t count her morning latte). With Lauren’s emergency granola bar uneaten and Jessica only needing to be nudged with a prayerbook a handful of times this year, these bloggers have come a long way since 5772.

*In light of the recent controversy that began here in California, we know our readership is demanding that we come down on one side of the circumcision issue. In short, PRO. PRO, PRO, PRO. For more information or personal anecdotes supporting our position, please contact Lauren or Jessica directly.

**For our non-Jewish readers, tashlich is where we throw bread crumbs representing our sins into a body of water. Pretty much the exact opposite of communion. 

Chai-lights:

1) Free tix

2) Jason Priestley lookalikes

3) The efficiency and timelessness of the insta-repent

Kvetches:

1) Debt-inducing parking space at UCLA

2) Old Country temperatures in the sanctuary

3) Our judgmental tendencies lead to overindulgence in the insta-repent—but we have a whole year to improve!

Total Pizzas: 1 (the caloric equivalent of 4.5 bagels)

Stephen S. Wise: Bloggers Fail

You may remember Stephen S. Wise from our High Holiday Special Edition Post last fall.  To refresh your memory, that was the post in which we froze, slept, and ate in the back row of Ronald Reagan’s Presbyterian Church.  To get a more representative perspective of the synagogue, we recently braved post-work traffic on the 405 to daven at Stephen S. Wise’s Brentwood location.  Despite our good intentions, a series of unfortunate events ensued.

To start off, the freeway exit was closed for construction, forcing us to drive approximately 17 miles out of our way. When we finally exited, we found ourselves offroading it through concrete rubble, cranes, and ominous lighting. Shabbat Shalom from the Chernobyl Diaries.

Next, relying on our mere iPhones for guidance, we became hopelessly lost in the dark hills of Brentwood. Irritated and slightly carsick, we were about to jump ship to go drink when we finally saw the pearly gates of the Stephen S. Wise campus, guarded by a heavyset Salvadoran woman wielding a plastic badge. Word to the “Wise” (pun intended): get your ass on Google Maps if you want anyone under 72 to find you.

At that point, we thought we had this Shabbas in the bag, arriving only ten minutes after the scheduled service was supposed to start. A note to our readers: after parking, leave extra time to find the correct chapel. On the way to our service, we barged into a 5th grade Shabbat dinner, a bridal primping room, someone’s Bar Mitzvah, a circumcision, and a ritual lamb slaughter.*  In short, plan on befriending that Salvadoran security guard if you ever want to make it to the service of your choice.

When we walked in fashionably (45 minutes) late, we tried to slip unnoticed into a pew in the back. While we can’t speak to the portion of the service that we missed, the final eight minutes were mellow and traditional, and we recovered from our arduous car trip by zoning out to the handsome cantor’s smooth and sultry Hebrew jams. Note to the single ladies: don’t drive all the way out just for him; at the oneg, his Bubbe made sure to repeatedly name-drop his live-in lady in our presence.

What you should drive out for is the bomb-ass oneg. Jessica can sniff out free coffee from three miles away, and our back pew location gave us strategic access to the post-service snacks. As we shoveled butterly delicious black-and-white cookies into our mouths, a steady stream of congregants chatted us up. In between bites, we tried to respond. Mostly we just nodded our heads silently as 50% of the congregation (approximately four people, rabbi included) apologized for the “boring” service and suggested we come next week for the younger, sexier, sweatier musical service. Been there, done that. Given that we were still in recovery from the kosher sausage-fest that was Friday Night Live, we appreciated the chill pace, older crowd, and lack of eligible bachelors at this quieter ‘gogue.  

*At least one of these statements is a lie.

Chai-lights:
1) The black-and-whites (and we are not talking about racial diversity)
2) Cool rabbi--we know you like our blog, Rabbi Stern, and we like you, too!
3) Less pressure to mate than our last service

Kvetches:
1) We still hate you, 405
2) Logistical difficulties ruining our reputation for punctuality
3) Lack of doggie bags for the oneg cookies

Total Bagels: 3.5

Friday Night Live: Welcome to Club Shabbat

I bet you’ve wondered where we’ve been. So have we. In all this connecting to our ancient roots, we found ourselves wandering through the desert since last November. Let’s just say Alotta Shabatta has been Alotta Nada in the last five months. Sorry, readers. To make up for lost time, we decided to go big this Shabbat. Get ready to RAWK!

Friday. Night. Live. Bitches.

After months of living on nothing but matzah in the desert, we stumbled upon a schmantzy stretch of Wilshire Boulevard. In a pre-makeover Pretty Woman moment, these East Side-istas gazed up at LA’s own shimmering, behemoth of a Mount Sinai replica, Sinai Temple. In case you don’t know, once a month Sinai Temple hosts the infamous Friday Night Live, a raucous Shabbat service that’s kind of like Jesus Camp for hip, single Jews.

Amongst a sea of BMWs, we arrived in our Shabbas chariot, Lauren’s dented 2002 Prius. Sensing that we were strangers in a strange land, five security guards kindly asked us to pop the trunk before entering the expansive, multi-storied parking garage. Spotting a mere twelve yoga mats in our trunk, we were reduced to Code Yellow and granted access. Cha-ching! Let the mayhem begin.

We immediately noted the demographic differences between this ‘gogue and the rest. For once, the twenty to forty age range was well-repped, and these peeps were dressed to impress. Unaccustomed to the cultural norms of West Side natives, we showed up in East Side formal attire (ironic cowboy boots and denim). We just couldn’t compete with the Shahs of Sunset. 

The sanctuary was poppin’ when we walked in. The service was led by a famous Celebrabbi, a charismatic camp counselor cum song leader, and an eclectic Israeli rock band. There was also a token crowd fluffer wandering between pews and clapping vigorously. We tried to avoid eye contact. With all of the clapping, dancing, and jamming happening, you’d never guess that the entire crowd of 300+ was on Day 8 of the annual Passover Atkins diet.

With a captive audience of young writhing bodies, Sinai’s Celebrabbi took advantage of the opportunity to deliver a sermon about meeting romantic potentials at Friday night services. Hott. We started to speculate that this whole shebang may have been sponsored by JDate. Following the sermon, we were ushered into the special “Young Adults” oneg (#MakeJewishBabies) complete with an endless supply of wine and kosher-for-Passover cake (#ImminentConstipation). Once we made it through the El Al-trained security at the door (not an easy feat), the meat market that ensued was a shellshock to these innocent vegetarian Jewesses. Skirts seemed to be hiked higher, yarmulkes were checked at the door, and men exaggerated their employment statuses to woo marriage-minded Jewish vixens on the prowl. It seemed that everybody but us was looking for a hot piece of Shabbas ass.

Given the revelry of the night, we were a little grumpy to find out that this place is pretty rigid about Shabbas decorum. For people who typically follow the straight and narrow, we were surprised to find ourselves repeatedly breaking the rules and getting in trouble. To be fair, there are a lot of rules at Sinai Temple. For your convenience, we’ve listed the rules that we broke below.

RULES OF SINAI TEMPLE
1. Don’t talk about Sinai Temple
2. No cell phones
3. No returning to your seat post-bathroom break when Rabbi Goforthandmultiply is speaking (there was straight up crowd control and we almost got pepper sprayed)
4. If you want to attend the young adults’ oneg, you’d better be between 21 and 39 and have the valid state-issued identification card to prove it

Chai-lights:
1. Cheap live music if you can’t afford Hollywood Bowl tickets
2. Ample multi-level parking
3. Free non-Manischewitz wine at the oneg = bloggers be buzzed

Kvetches:
1. Rules, rules, rules.
2. The occasional Jesus Camp vibe freaked out these Southern Jews
3. Passover-induced constipation

Total Bagels:
Bagels aren’t kosher for Passover, people. This ‘gogue gets two boxes of matzah.