This week I found myself far from home for Shabbos after a Megabus failed to arrive. Don’t weep for me: instead of Washington Heights, I wound up on the Delaware shore in a beach house. My major crisis was that I’d packed NYC clothes, and had to choose between wearing sneakers or 3-inch-heels to the beach. Seuda Shlishis was to the sound of a bunch of middle-aged men in Hawaiian t-shirts plinking away at 70s rock with various string instruments.
Havdala, though, was an issue. Short a candle and anything that smelled particularly nice, we walked out to the nearest shul to listen in. There was some curious peering over the mechitza during ma’ariv (tsk tsk, gentlemen. Haven’t you ever seen women before?), and then everyone retired to the back for the ceremony.
It was a sonorous one. The rabbi had a pechant for chazanus. But finally he finished. “Ah gutteh vuch, ah freilichen voch, a mazaldikeh voch,” he wished his audience. “Ah shidduchdikeh voch,” he nodded at us.
We nodded, smiled, and headed out.
“I’m affronted,” I murmured to my friend.
She rolled her eyes.
“Oh stop it. He saw three pretty young women and singled us out for attention. When he doesn’t identify you as matchable, then you should start to be offended.”
Okay. Point taken.