Downsized

That's the only way I can describe it. I've been downsized. At shul.
I came in one Friday afternoon before mincha, and my seat was gone. Not just the seat; the whole row.

And I don't just mean that someone was sitting in my seat. I've dealt with that endlessly in the past. I usually just sit somewhere else. I don't like to ask people to move. My first time in the shul, I didn't know anyone, so I picked the last seat in the last row (my default position). About halfway through the davening, this crotchety old Polish Jew taps me on the shoulder and says, "Geddouta my seat."

In those days, there was no shortage of seats in the shul, so I just moved up one row. A little while later, another tap on the back: "Why there so many people in shul?"

"There's an auf ruf*," I replied.

"Yeah? For who?"

"Me."

Anyway, since then, I could never bring myself to ask someone else to "geddouta my seat." It wouldn't matter much, except that I like to sit with my boys, and kine-hora there are 4 of us. So the third row behind the bima has been our traditional makom kavuah, our designated spot.

Everyone knows it. That's where we've been sitting for the past 6 years, since we moved into the new building. Still, guests, and sometimes regulars will sometimes take our seats, if there's nowhere else to sit. Since I'm not always the first one into the shul, I deal with it.

But that wasn't the case this week. The seats are gone. No row. Where there were 3 rows, there are now 2. It was like that episode of the Twilight Zone where people kept disappearing ("no, there were only 2 of you..."). A little digging around revealed that the row had been cannibalized for chairs, which were placed elsewhere.

The configuration of the shul is as follows: There are a number of rows of seats with tables, presumably for men to place their sforim (books) that they can read while they are waiting for the Chazzan to catch up to them; then comes the bima (platform where the Torah is read); then the 3 rows of table-free chairs. More recently, a few more rows of tables and chairs were added behind this but in front of the mechitza (divider). The mechitza was pushed a few feet further back to accommodate this. Those new seats were grabbed up pretty quick, like they were plots of land in the new West.

So I spoke to the shul President and asked him what gives. I've been a dues-paying member for 13 years. What did I do wrong? Well, nothing personal, he told me, but there have been some new families moving in to the community, and they would like to sit up front with the tables. So they made an executive decision to take the "extra" chairs from my row (ie the whole row) and move them up front with some new tables. And then they moved the bima back a few feet to make room.

As I stood there with my mouth hanging open, he proceeded to show me why I shouldn't be so upset. We walked back a few feet, past where the ghost of my row would be, and he showed me the first table behind where I used to sit.

"See," he said, "we've reserved these seats for you." And he pointed to the table. I looked. I saw nothing. Other than the other people that were already sitting in our "reserved" seats. Then he said, "see, we put your name on these spots."

I looked again. I saw a white table cloth. I looked back at him.

"Well, actually, you'd be able to see the names, except that right now they are covered by a table cloth." He pulled up the table cloth, and sure enough, there were three spots marked "RESERVED FOR SKIER". Then he quickly recovered the table. He then encouraged us to claim our seats and went away. I looked down on the people at the table. They looked at me.

I had little interest in displacing someone else. To me, that's like saying "Palestine is taken, but we can make a homeland for you Jews by moving some tribes out of Uganda." But I think they had some rachmunos (pity) for my boys and me, and they vacated the seats. So we sat. And we did not look comfortable.

My guilt and anguish were misplaced, anyway, since the next morning the same people were sitting in those seats again. This time we just scattered around the shul and davened separately.

I think I need to do something about this. I have nothing against those people in the helige front rows who took my seats. But I'm not sure why I have to be the refugee.

Where's Adam Ragil when you need him?


*auf ruf- literally, "calling up". The Shabbos before a wedding, the groom gets called up to the Torah.