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  • Writer's pictureLeah Jones

I wish I already had my jewish fiance.

While I’m really proud of myself for making this decision on my own–knowing that I’m not becoming a jew for my in-laws, knowing that it is something I want/need for myself. Part of me really wishes I already had my jewish fiance or at LEAST a jewish boyfriend. Next week is the big day and I’ve found myself without a way to get to the mikva.

Now that isn’t really true, my cantor said I can ride with her and a couple other folks offered along the way to drive me. But it feels wierd to call someone I barely know and say, “Remember that time you offered to drive me to mikva? Well it’s time, can you drive me?”

It isn’t just the drive. It is what that person will or won’t say on the drive. Expectations that I’ll come out glowing or that I’ll say something profound. Expectations, maybe, that I have on myself and don’t want a friendly aquaintence there to here me say, “Well, I’m a jew n stuff.” when I should be waxing poetic on the transcendental moments that just happened.

The one person I really wanted there won’t go. It’s a work day–and asking someone to take a 1/2 day off for a ride is a lot. It’s also a ride to a super-religious thing. I knew he would say no when I asked, but am trying to get out of the habit of filling in the blanks for other people. So even though I knew the answer was no, I put it out there.

On the other hand, Ronnie’s been around for everything else important that’s happened in Chicago. He pushed me to buy my condo and was here the night I closed for a champagne toast. He listened to me when my job was falling apart and when I waltzed into a new career in PR. He listened to horror stories from roommate crises and held onto tapes of shows I missed. Even girly shows that no man should admit to taping. He’s seen me do stand-up, came to my one-woman show, read nearly everything I’ve written since I’ve lived here–even the terrible shit.

So just for tonight, I’m going to whine about having gone down this conversion road without a fiance. There is nobody who is supposed to be with me. No easy answer. I’m reluctant to ask any friends from shul, because I always want to extend the invitation to everyone. This is why I should probably never get married–I’ll want to invite 8 bajillion people, give or take.

But then who am I to think that 8 bajillion people want to sit in a foyer while I’m naked and stuttering hebrew blessings and becoming, officially, a jew? And how do you ask? Ronnie had to know I would ask–I’m terribly predictable in some ways. How do I explain my invitation? No this isn’t the big public thing, this is the little thing, but it is the big thing.

I dunno.

I do know one thing. I finally washed the dishes and went back to the gym.

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