Rubbing the sand from my eyes that was deposited there due to a long night of sleep induced by Bennydril, I grab my watch and realize its 10:30am. Oh no shull is almost over I think, oh no they may run out of kishka at the Kiddush my mind screams- as I hastily pull on my pants tztitzis shirt and so on. No time to debate if my socks are matching or clean for that matter. Kiddush is waiting and I must get to it before its too late. My Listerine is called vintage lemon lime seltzer, it burns the whole way down your tender allergy laden throat, but it cleans you out real good. No wonder why my old man loves seltzer. Actually when I was younger we had the seltzer delivery man come once every couple weeks with the crate of old glass spray seltzer bottles. The seltzer had enough fiz to wake a heart attack victim right up, but unfortunately costs started going up as all the old Yiddish speaking men in back of shulls were dying left and right. These old spray bottles also saved those few unfortunate incidents that always seem to happen on pesach when someone opens the bottle before letting it hiss a bit- theres always someone who gets stuck with having all the old Yiddish speaking seltzer connoisseurs screaming at whoever wasted good seltzer for no reason.
After my traditional shabbos morning seltzer swig, I head out into the bright sun only to be greeted by the last thing any one wants to be greeted by on shabbos morning. All around me there are women and children and old folks walking to shull. I am the lone man in a sea of estrogen, the lone male in a sea of chatter and sneering “why aren’t you in shull” looks. I can almost hear them talking amongst themselves about how we better remember this guy who woke up late on shabbos morning when he is read to our daughters for shidduch dates. Some even make eye contact with their sheitle hairs standing on edge in frustration at how someone has the chutzpah to show up during kedusha for musaf.
There may be no more shame full feeling then casually trying to walk to shull when all the sudden ahead in the distance you see 3 or 4 women you know coming your way. It is almost as bad as walking in the downtown of a rustbelt city and encountering 3 or 4 youths who stare you down and make you want to pee in your pants. Its almost as bad as going to the mall with parents on a Saturday night and seeing people you know. Indeed almost but as bad. This would be called the Jewish Walk of Shame. Those brave souls that venture out from their homes during musaf to try and sneak in during the repetition unnoticed- but always seem to be noticed. “Hey did you just come for the Kiddush or something?” or “Think you can just show up and eat, that’s right you have to endure 3 hrs of shachris just like everyone else buddy.”
And so all across the land many of us must endure the Jewish Walk of Shame, in order to fress our faces off at Kiddushim everywhere. But remember the next time you come face to face with some shadchun you have been working closely with while walking 2 hours late to shull, you my friend are not alone.