Last evening, I had an uncomfortable encounter with a man I had just met.
We had been invited to an intimate Chanukah celebration at the home of a dear friend. My parents were also invited, but other than them, we were unaware of the guest list. I suspected my friend's cousins would also be there, and I was excited to see them again. It had been far too long between visits. So, we packed my folks into the car and off we went.
When we arrived, I was thrilled to see my old friends. The hostess had also included her business partner, who kept my overly gregarious father busy with her tales of woe, and her 99-year-old uncle, whom I hadn't seen since we shared a Pesach seder over thirty years ago. The man is still as sharp as a tack and twice as witty. Rounding out the attendees were two couples from my friend's building that she is close with; one originally from New York and transplanted to South Florida, and the other snowbirds from Toronto. We shook hands, made our acquaintance, and dispensed with the superficial social conventions.
I am often shy and quiet in new social situations. I initially listen to conversations around me and get a feel for the people I have just met. Some people mistake this for rudeness. I promise I'm not rude, but rather unsure of my surroundings. Introverted people lay back. We don't jump into new conversations with both feet. More often than not, we take stock and then engage. I absolutely avoid discussions about politics or religion until I can get a handle on how people react. I needn't have worried. Between my dad, who is never at a loss for words, and the other guy from Toronto, there wasn't a moment to participate in the conversations. Have you ever been confronted with a situation whereby you know immediately and instinctively that somebody rubs you the wrong way? That was me with this gent from my hometown. He walked into the house like he owned the place, was loud and obnoxious in his demeanour, and had an opinion about everything, from the Chanukiyot on the table to the choice of which Chanukah songs we would sing. He overshadowed his lovely wife in every way imaginable, including correcting her multiple times during her stories. He was boorish, pompous, and pontificating. I stayed quiet. All Jews are talking about Israel these days, but I was silent. All Jews are discussing the rise of antisemitism, but again I simply listened. I wasn't shocked to hear Mr. Boor and his wife spout long-disputed conspiracy theories about Mr. Trudeau or the CBC, but again I remained mum.
The Husband and I did that marital glance we do when we want to roll our eyes but refrain from doing so for fear that someone might see us. We were definitely on the same page about this dude.
Mr. Boor settled in comfortably for the evening. People like him always do. They take command and control of the setting and the people and then proceed to dominate every conversation. Our hostess was gracious and charming. She invited The Husband and me into the kitchen to point out the vegetarian options she had prepared especially for us. She went out of her way for her aged uncle and was attentive to her guests. She even made sure that all of the food was strictly kosher because Mr. Boor and his wife are practitioners. The conversation at dinner was lively and engaging. I offered an opinion on something I thought was benign, but it turns out nothing is benign these days. I decided to shut up for the rest of the evening.
And then, it happened. I was asked by another of the guests what I did for a living. I told her I was a retired cantorial soloist. For some reason, Jews always find this fascinating. We talked a bit about my career and what it was like for a woman to be a clergyperson. Well, Mr. Boor went off on me like I had two heads. He'd never heard of a woman officiating at a funeral. He told me that Reform Judaism has a different Halacha than his brand. He was condescending and contemptuous. I was firm but polite. There was no way that I was going to disrespect my host by losing my temper, but this fuckwad had grated on my last nerve. I told him that perhaps he hadn't seen a woman officiate at a Jewish funeral in his circles, and I proceeded to tell him that there are many women clergy in Toronto. I had personally officiated at dozens of funerals. I even was so bold as to remind him that the senior rabbi of Holy Blossom is a woman. I suggested that maybe he should expand his Jewish circle and broaden his knowledge. He started to come back at me when I told him that it was perfectly okay with me for him to observe Judaism in any manner that he wished, so long as he afforded me the same courtesy. I wasn't rude and I never told him he was wrong, even though I desperately wanted to.
I am certain that he went home and complained about me to his wife. I'm sure that he thinks that I am a first-class bitch. It wouldn't be the first time that some arrogant prick thought I was too mouthy, but I am so over caring what other people think about me. As we got into the car to drive home, The Husband and I said in almost perfect unison, "What an asshole." My parents, who were having a perfectly lovely evening at the other end of the table, had no idea what had occurred. I had to recount the entire evening for them. They were stunned and a bit mortified.
I will never understand what drives a person to be so rude to someone they have just met. We should have been talking about the Leafs or the Jays. Instead, this guy decided to make me a target and I refused to allow it. I am proud of how I handled him, but I never want to be in his company again.
There is a freedom that comes with aging. I refuse to take shit from anyone. I've spent far too many years swallowing my opinions and my thoughts. This guy had it coming. I hope he remembers me as the bitch who came to Chanukah.
