The Kittel and the Motorcycle

On Yom Kippur, at shul during Neila, I felt like I and all of the women around me were angels.

And then Yom Kippur ended, and I heard havdalah and ate and cleaned up a bit and went on a walk to stretch my legs.

And during my walk, I saw something that shook me up and that I’ve been thinking about ever since.

I saw a man still wearing a kittel roaring down the street on his motorcycle.

An angel on a motorcycle. It felt weird, jarring, WRONG.

But over the hours since then, I’ve been thinking differently about what I saw.

I was an angel during Neila.

But what about when my kids were at each other’s throats on Yom Kippur night.

Or my son wouldn’t brush his teeth.

Or my kids made post-fast sandwiches and left all the ingredients out on the counters I’d just cleaned.

Or tomorrow when somebody butts in front of me at the supermarket checkout.

Or my husband wants to do something his way, and I want to do it my way.

I can’t stay in Neila forever. I’ve got to go back to real life. Swallow the paradox, between being holy and being human.

Ride a noisy motorcycle with a kittel flapping in the wind behind me.