SAN DIEGO –As spring turned to summer, more Jewish activities began to emerge. It was almost as if the collective Hebrew community was dipping its toe in the water of social gatherings. Outdoors and with everyone at least six feet apart, I attended shul for the first time in months. In the midst of the swaying and chanting that so often accompanied davening, I felt some sense of normalcy return. While there was no kiddush after services, some people lingered around to chit chat.
One such lady, whom I will call Leah, was very friendly. After asking my name and backstory, she clapped her hands together and announced “I’m an engineer too!” I learned that my new friend shared many of my same interests in aviation but that she had changed career paths years ago to be a personal tutor. This allowed her to stay home with her children while also building up the next generation of learners. I was impressed by her backstory and intellect, and we got along splendidly. I was honored that Leah had opened up to me so quickly about her history, family, and career choices. In the engineering world, it is not uncommon for women to hide their desire for family—that’s just the culture—so I knew straightaway that she was a brave woman.
As synagogue attendees began to depart and the crowd started to thin out, we both decided it was time to go home, as well. Before leaving, Leah asked for my contact information, which I gladly provided. To my pleasant surprise, she kept in contact with me regularly. Leah would send over “Shabbat Shalom” messages and “Shavua Tov” cartoons throughout the month. We even exchanged photos of our pets— my cat and her dog. While my Hebrew is not as good as hers, I laughed along to Hebrew comedy skits she sent me. Not fully knowing the words but completely grasping the jokes, I chuckled at a video of a Jewish couple arguing; not wanting to hear another word, the husband turned on a blender with a smirk on his face.
As our friendship progressed both via the synagogue and phone correspondence, Leah invited me to a women’s group. Dubbed “the yentas,” this is a circle of Jewish women who meet for friendship and study. The meeting cadence is about once a month, although sometimes they meet more or less frequently. At my first session, I was honored by a fellow yenta’s hospitality. A woman I shall call Margaret opened her home for all of us guests and even provided snacks / beverages. With a fire pit and glorious views of the mountains, the setting was perfect. Kind as can be, the host introduced me to her daughter and told me all about her maritime adventures, which impressed me a great deal.
After getting to know the other women in the circle, I felt as if I were in the eye of a strong female hurricane. Together we held each others’ secrets, struggles of faith, personal issues, and more. All without judgment. Then, a woman I’ll call Julia began her lesson. Studious and smart as a whip, Julia began teaching from her notes in a classy Russian accent. I learned about the Holocaust and its rich yet sad history. I learned of men and women who fled Europe to start life over in America. I learned of famous American actors and movie stars who helped Jews start life over. New understanding of old stories washed over me as I sat in the presence of our collective history. As women, we shared our emotions and opinions on the history. The discussion went late into the night as we eventually all went home with the setting sun.
Excited for the next yenta meeting, I found out that there was a need for more ladies to present and lead group discussion. Having led studies in college, I figured why not have a go at leading a yenta group discussion. Nervous that I wasn’t wise enough for the task at hand, Leah encouraged me. Hesitant but aware of the loving comradery of the circle, I felt safe to try. So, some time later, it was my turn to present. My worry must have been visible, as many of the women raised my spirits. “You can do it”. “Let’s hear what you have to say.” “Go on now.” “Hush ladies, Teresa’s starting”.
So, like a swimmer diving into the deep end, I began my lesson. The topic was 1 Kings 22, an ancient chronicle from the Tanakh (Hebrew Bible). The books of Kings had always fascinated me since I was a child. With tales of royal drama, the books practically read like a soap opera! This story in particular centered around the king of Israel’s decision about whether or not to go to war with Aram. After several false prophets act as “yes men” for the king, the Hebrew prophet Micaiah is brought in. After sarcastically appeasing the king, he declares that the king will lose in battle and meet his death. Prophet Micaiah even goes so far as to call the false prophets out on their lies, at which point one of the false prophet slaps him in the face.
Reading through this dramatic tale, I stopped every few paragraphs to ask questions of the ladies in the circle. I asked them whether they prefer a convenient lie or an inconvenient truth. I asked them how they decide between speaking up for what is right, remaining silent, or simply following the crowd. I asked them what they thought of G-d and prophecy in general. I asked them who they thought sent false prophets. These questions led to hours of discussion amongst the wise women. They each shared their views, thoughts, and opinions. Some were even on the verge of tears as they talked about never giving up on G-d, even when things are tough. The ladies’ words both inspired and touched me.
As the day turned to night and the hot evening turned cool, it was time to start wrapping up. There was a bond that tied us all together as we shared ourselves in that circle. While undoubtedly the youngest member of the group, I felt I had officially become a yenta. Despite all the seriousness of our faith talks, I wanted to add a bit of humor to our circle before ending the session. Contemplating life and the seriousness of our Judaism can be very somber—why not lighten it up a bit? When Julia asked where G-d came from, I smiled before blurting out “from Russia, of course”. The ladies burst into laughter.
*
Teresa Konopka is a freelance writer.