By Adam Brownstein
Dearest Readers, I dug up this quasi-gem from the old Yiddish Hustle days. It was originally published on October 4, 2016 during my quarterly trip to Amsterdam. Enjoy!
On a crisp Fall morning in suburban Amsterdam, two young men wielding assault rifles are smiling at me. I grin back sheepishly, reflecting how grateful and how saddened I am by their presence all at once.
They are a security detail from the Koninklijke Landmacht (Royal Dutch Army), you see, and they’re standing guard outside of the Liberaal Joodse Gemeente Amsterdam, a progressive shul I found on the internet before boarding my quarterly flight from Narita to Schipol. I’ve been invited by Mevr Chelly, a staple of the LJG Sisterhood to join for Rosh Hashannah services.
Entering the synagogue I am comforted by welcoming architecture and the gracious young family hanging the coats along with me at the entrance. As we make our way up a sweeping cedar staircase I am met with another “high and low” moment. The sanctuary, elegantly laden with three tiers of maple pews and awash in early autumn sunlight, is nearly empty. Scattered around the room with a capacity to seat 700 davaners are a few dozen couples in their 60’s and 70’s. Outside of the young family I appear to be the Spring chicken of the bunch, and I am left to wallow in the notion that I’ve found the last Jews of Northern Europe. Whilst a young blond cantor belts out a litany of warm-up niguns I am playing Willie Nelson’s “The Party’s Over” inside of my brain.
But then something happens. 15 minutes go buy, and I note a cadre of young, attractive couples exchanging triplicate kisses before dawning their tzitzit. Another few minutes go by, and I know I am wedged between families with young children. By 10 am, the place has nicely filled up. Avinu Malkeinu, a great drash from a young entrepreneur in the community (who cares if I can’t speak a lick of Dutch! I know it when I see a great public speaker!) and a wispy bald guy who blows the shofar in front of a phalanx of kids.
As I make my way past the guards towards the nearest Metro to LJG they tip their berets at me and wish me “L’shannah Tova!”, and suddenly I’m hopeful.
Not too bad at all.
The Tokyo Yenta 