Shabbat Services in Rome...sort of...

I walked over to the synagogue at 7:30 for an 8:00 pm service. I wanted to wander and get into a Shabbat mood. When I arrived, any sense of Shabbat I had was gone. I approached the men sitting outside the shul and asked where the entrance was. They at least offered me a Shabbat shalom and then waved me off in some other direction. I found some people taking phots casually of the Bar Mitzvah boy. I sat down amongst the pockets of family members, friends, and guests. I wished Shabbat Shalom to a few people and was perpetually ignored. Eventually, I noticed the crowd was thinning. They had wandered off to the door which I was no where near (the first people I contacted had sent me in the general direction of the entrance but to the wrong side of the building.) I passed through security without a hello, acknowledgment or anything.

I encountered a woman sitting on the steps. I thought I had heard her speak Hebrew with her husband so I struck up conversation. She was nice enough. Israeli, visiting for a few days in Rome. A congregant walked by and her husband asked him a question. He began speaking with us in Hebrew. I thought he said there were 50 synagogues here in Rome. I asked if there was another one on the property where we were. (I watched many people walk past the entrance to another side of the building). He waved me off.

Eventually, the woman's husband went in leaving she and I sitting on the steps. (I was in no rush to get inside) A congregant then stepped out from the sanctuary and yelled at us for sitting on the stairs. This is a synagogue, go sit in a piazza over there. This is a place for Jews to pray...

The impression I had was he felt we were non-Jews loitering in a pretty place.

I felt sick to my stomach, I felt so out of place. I really had been looking forward to connecting with people after a day all alone. I went inside with the Israeli woman who walked ahead of me on the stairs. I sat in the high balcony for 10 minutes and then left.

There is a 2nd synagogue on the property. It is the Sephardi space. I went there. As I entered, I met a Hebrew-speaking, pregnant, French woman. She and I tried to make a place for ourselves in the back part of the shul where the women sit. The women who had entered prior to us were sitting such that getting to the empty seats meant climbing over those already sitting. The pregnant French woman and I just tucked ourselves in to a corner where we could see even less than the usual limited view of the woman's section. We each wanted a siddur but could not find one on our side of the room. The far side of the room had a bookcase full of prayer books but accessing it felt uncomfortable disruptive.

After 10 minutes there, I left.

I took a deep breath and headed across the river to Leonore Rosenberg's home