A Synagogue Romance

They met in the synagogue. On the first day of Rosh Hashana, the Jewish New Year, one of the holiest days for Jews everywhere. It was a modern Orthodox congregation. The men and women were separated physically from one another, but still clearly visible. The young men, wearing kipa and talit,  who were supposed to be asking for forgiveness were ogling the well-dressed young women who were ostensibly praying devoutly.

The way the women dressed, however formal, was more for the eyes of the opposite sex than the Almighty who was supposed to pardon them. So as both sexes battered themselves on the chest for misbehavior during the year, they were only adding to the accounts receivable. During the Amida, the holiest of prayers, he looked over at her and was smitten,  just as Adam had been when he bit into the apple many thousands of years before. Perhaps on this very same day!

Right before the Rabbi’s sermon he saw her heading out to the bathroom, and followed unrepentently. He managed to bump into her on the way back, kindling some small talk that was enough to set the fire burning. Their feverish romance was similarly inappropriate, coming during the ten days of atonement.

It was soon Yom Kippur. After the Shacharit prayers, they walked together to the park, a safe distance from the synagogue. “I have something to tell you,” she said, blushing the color of a macintosh apple. High holidays are the time to ask forgiveness from one another as well, right?

He nodded. “Ive also been keeping something from you,” he said, looking into her sea blue eyes.

“I’ll go first,” she said. “I’m Lutheran. I have no Jewish blood at all. Will that spoil everything?”

“Fine with me,” he answered. I”m Presbyterian. I’m sure we’ll manage to sort out the differences.”

“But you’re, you know what, down there,” she said.

“You mean circumsized? Isn’t everyone these days?”

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?” Her voice was joy.  “That you’re not Jewish?”

“Of course,” he said. “I was even fasting for you. Know what? Let’s go grab a pizza. Pepperoni with bacon?”

“Suits me. But if you’re not Jewish what have you been doing in the synagogue?”

“I’m doing surveillance on one of the congregants. I’m from the FBI”

“Oh, no,” she cried. Her eyes became dark clouds of despair. “You’re targeting Mr. Rabinovich?”

“Yes, he replied, “and what about you?”

“Same target. But I’m CIA.”