The Universe Has A Sense Of Humor, part 368

It's been a long week--all God, all the time: on Tuesday afternoon, singing at the ordination of a new bishop up at St. Mary's (AKA St. Mary Maytag our Holy Agitator) up on Holy Hill; Tuesday evening singing Copland's "In The Beginning" for the Symphony's opening Gala, Wednesday evening Erev Rosh Hashanah and Thursday morning Rosh Hashanah services, Thursday evening church rehearsal at St. Dominic's. I could really go for something a little different (too bad the Buddhists never got around to writing hymns......).

So, I'm singing the Jewish High Holy Days again this year at Sherith Israel. Unfortunately, they're at a point in the renovation of the temple where they cannot accommodate the congregation in the building itself right now, so we're doing all the services at Calvary Presbyterian, a few blocks away on Fillmore Street.

As it happens, I realized as I sat there for his morning's services....
1. My mother's side of the family was Presbyterian.
2. My father's side of the family was Jewish (as a matter of fact, my great-grandparents worshiped at the very same temple that I, three generations later, am now singing in).
3. None of that mattered in my upbringing, as both sides had lapsed long before my parents ever met, and so when they married, they decided to celebrate the Christian holidays--Christmas and Easter--but in a purely secular manner, or, as I like to describe it, "all of the chocolate, none of the guilt!"

And yet, there I was.....sitting in a Presbyterian church....celebrating a Jewish holiday.
Go figure.
RM