Dear God, Where's my skirt?

On Friday I decided to go to Jerusalem to spend Shabbat in the Old City at the same hostel I stayed at the last time I was there.  I felt a strong need to get off the kibbutz and enjoy a more spiritual and religious Shabbat than I've had in a while, plus the allure of the Ashkenazi foods I grew up with (gefilte fish and kugel, to name a couple) was incredibly tempting.  (For as much as I love the food of Mediterranean Jews, the Eastern European stuff will always hold a special place in my heart.)  So I packed my bag quick, hitchhiked to Rehovot, and hopped on a bus to J-town.

After stopping at the shuk and also buying a new pair of cheap brown sandals to replace my way-past-dead tan flip-flops, I walked to the Old City, bought some bread from a vendor, and managed to make it to the hostel without getting lost!  Huge accomplishment, if I do say so myself.  As I expected, the moment I walked in I was greeted with warm smiles befitting the return of a good friend more than the entrance of a stranger.  I picked out my bed, got myself comfortable, schmoozed a bit then went to get ready for Shabbat.

That's when I noticed that disaster had struck.

After making my bed I had taken out the one skirt I'd brought with me - one of the beautiful, silky wrap-around skirts I'd bought since coming to Israel - and spread it on the bed in hopes that it might de-wrinkle a bit.  I'd gone downstairs and when I returned to take my shower, my skirt was gone.

Now, I know that I have a penchant for misplacing things, forgetting what I've done with something, or other similar acts of mental clumsiness.  But I searched high and low for that skirt, on every visible public surface of that hostel, under beds, and through all my belongings (which amounted to one lightly-packed backpack), and it was absolutely nowhere to be found.  I talked to every single person in the building asking if anyone had seen it and with the exception of the one girl who saw me take it out of my bag, all answers were negative.

If the last time I was there was any indication of the norm, then I had no reason to feel that either I or my belongings would be at risk among such generously warm-hearted girls.  In fact, once they heard I had nothing to wear for Shabbat, two girls dressed me up like a doll in a black skirt, black shoes (since my new brown sandals couldn't possibly work with black), a beautiful azure blue shirt, and a necklace to match.

But their kindness did not negate the fact that I was upset over losing my skirt.  And unfortunately, it tainted my entire Shabbat experience.

Yes, it's just a skirt.  It's a material possession, and not even an expensive one at that.  It's more or less replaceable, and it's not as if it had significant sentimental value, other than being something I bought myself in Israel.  Being a person who doesn't buy a lot of souvenirs, that was important to me.  And not knowing where it is, if someone took it or if I absentmindedly put it somewhere else is challenging for me to handle.

Still, I tried to enjoy myself.  I made a new friend before dinner Friday night and we went together to a family's house for some wonderful food and warm companionship.  But in this ultra-Orthodox community, I wasn't entirely comfortable with the man of the house.  His wife was absolutely lovely and often chided him for bringing up topics or making comments on things that might have been better left unsaid or ignored, but I felt ill-at-ease with my impression that he thought I was new to religious Judaism and somehow ignorant of the customs.  Far from it - just because I'm not an orthodox Jew doesn't mean I don't know the blessings, the rituals, the rules.  Secretly, I was offended.

The next day we ate lunch with a most eclectic group of ultra-Orthodox Jews.  The wife - a happy, smiling, loving woman who loved bright colors, art, and sequins - was very much into Jewish mysticism and seemed to connect every aspect of her life to spirituality and God.  Some of her guests were equally esoteric while others were more interested in pragmatism, though all seemed impassioned and excited to be living lives founded in unwavering faith in God.  Though the woman's smile and spirit were contagious, I felt challenged by the way even the most seemingly mundane things were given a spiritual significance.  Additionally, when I tried to offer my own opinions or potential reasons for religious experiences, she doubted them and almost immediately countered with explanations she considered more correct, more true.  Perhaps she was right, but I was silently defensive and I began to recognize in myself a distinct unwillingness to accept the outlook and way of life she represented.  (Click here to read about my observations of the dichotomy between pragmatism and spirituality in Judaism.)

And throughout it all, I could not stop thinking about that stupid skirt.

One of the beliefs members of the ultra-Orthodox community often hold is the concept of fate, predestination, and that all things happen for a reason. These are concepts I have always personally had trouble accepting for a variety of reasons.  But if I put aside my walls and barriers and unwillingness for a moment and think as they do, I can ask the following questions:

Why did my skirt go missing?  And what am I to learn from it?

For the last few years I have been making a conscious effort to calm myself in the face of trifling upsets, to go with the flow a bit more and make clear distinctions between what truly matters and what is simply not worth worrying about.  Intellectually-speaking, I know that losing that skirt is not really that important.  It wasn't a prized possession of significant monetary value, it wasn't a gift or memento from a long-lost friend, nor did its existence in my wardrobe make any real difference in the grand scheme of things.  And losing that skirt provided strangers an opportunity to act in kindness and generosity - in a word, a mitzvah (good deed).  Looking at it that way, perhaps it was a good thing I lost that skirt.

But similarly, in the grand scheme of things, why would God not want me to have it?  Did he feel I only need two instead of three?  Or maybe he has better fashion sense than me and it was actually ugly or made my butt look big.  

You see where my skepticism of this philosophy starts kicking in?

By the end of Shabbat, I was feeling worn out and frustrated, upset and even angry that the weekend I had been looking forward to turned out to be so much less than I expected.  But as I contemplated it all on the bus ride home, it occurred to me that the events of the weekend had revealed my own insecurities and defenses, things that I still have to work on in order to become a kinder, happier, and more open person.  Isn't that what we should all be working towards, religious or not?