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Being on time brings rewards at services
Marty Latz
Special to Jewish News
I got to Arizona State University's Memorial Union early for the Hillel Yom Kippur services. My folks would have been proud. After all, of the four kids, I was the one who always waited to the last minute to get ready. I'd wait until I saw my dad putting on his tie to run into my room and throw on my dress clothes. Then, I'd hoof it to the car, where the rest of them would invariably be waiting. My dad would not be pleased.
One time in my early teens, I messed up on my timing, and Dad threatened to leave me upon the count of three. One. Two. Three. Then, they left. I was shocked. I still remember looking out from behind the gold drapes in our living room as our Buick station wagon drove up the hill. My father tells me it was one of the most difficult things he had to do in raising me. To this day, my mom is uncomfortable that they left without me.
Dad, though, said it was a lesson I had to learn. My consistent tardiness, according to him, exhibited a lack of respect for my parents and my family, who were usually ready on time. Perhaps he was right. After that day, I was pretty much ready on time.
In retrospect, I suppose I was testing limits and seeing just how far I could push.
In any event, after getting to services early this year, I then did something I figure would have made my parents doubly proud. I volunteered to read a portion of the services from the bimah (platform). Rabbi Barton Lee, Hillel's rabbi and executive director, assigned me the Haftorah portion. Luckily for me (and for the congregation), he assigned the English translation.
Several hours later, he called my name, and the butterflies in my stomach started flapping their wings. When I got up there, Rabbi Lee and the others took their seats. So much for their moral support standing next to me. I paused then and looked out over the congregation. Some might have mistaken this for a dramatic pause, used to gather up everyone's attention before starting. It was no such thing. Instead, I thought if I took a moment and first looked over the congregation, the butterflies might take a rest. False assumption.
"Make a path! Clear the way! Remove all obstacles from my people's path!" I intoned, starting the Haftorah at Isaiah 57:14. Another pause. "For thus says the exalted one who inhabits eternity, whose name is holy: Although I am exalted and holy, I also dwell with those who are humble and contrite, to revive the spirit of the humble and the heart of the contrite. I will not contend forever, nor will I always be wrathful, for I am the source of all spirit, all life."
Another pause. A dramatic pause, this time. To see if the congregation is paying attention. They are. And my butterflies have gone into hibernation.
It's a powerful Haftorah section, dealing with the fundamental meaning behind fasting. "This is my chosen fast," I read on the top of the second page, emphasizing the "my," "to loosen all the bonds that bind men unfairly, to let the oppressed go free, to break every yoke. Share your bread with the hungry, take the homeless into your home. Clothe the naked when you see him; do not turn away from people in need. Then cleansing light shall break forth like the dawn, and your wounds shall soon be healed."
I made it through the rest of the Haftorah, and sat down. In the end, I enjoyed it, and promised myself to volunteer again. And my folks were proud when I told them. I'll have to be early again next year. Hear that, Dad?
Marty Latz is a Valley attorney and negotiation consultant. Send comments to mlatz@negot.com.
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