The only sounds I could hear were the
clacking of small Bakelite tiles and the calls of "crack, bam, dot"
from the four women seated around the table. As I peeked over the shoulder of
one of the players, who was allowing this learner to sit in, I studied the
designs on the vivid squares filling the center of the table.
The tiles were imprinted with Chinese
characters and symbols, and the women's exclamations came as each one discarded
a tile she had picked up, or one plucked from the rack facing her.
You may recognize that I was observing the
ancient game of Mah Jongg. What you may not fathom is what Elaine Soloway was
doing at the table. For wasn't she the gal who swore she shunned card-, table-,
and hide and seek- games? Isn't this the former Chicagoan who insisted she
hadn't the patience for anything lasting longer than 30 minutes?
Moreover, isn't she the Los Angeles
transplant who declared she preferred solitary, rather than group pursuits,
especially those not under her control?
So what are we to make of this picture of our
Elaine perched on the edge at several Mah Jongg games, her view focused on her
teacher's line-up and folder outlining the possible hands.
Sit for a bit, as I pull back the curtain to
this recent phenomenon when I (time to switch to first person) decided to
discard all of my restrictions, including my previous snobbery about the game.
My conversion -- aptly enough -- came at a
weekend retreat for the women of Temple Israel of Hollywood. That's the
synagogue I attend for Saturday morning Torah study. My friend Thelma, who
chauffeurs me for the weekly lessons, urged me to sign up for the retreat.
"You'll get a chance to meet women of all ages and enjoy the Ojai scenery
and clean air," she said.
I hesitated before agreeing, because as I
have stated, I was a non-joiner; and on top of that, was not a camper. Although
there were opportunities to attend summer sleepover camp during my childhood, I
was a scaredy-cat. I never wanted to leave my mama; and since I was slightly
pudgy and uncoordinated, I preferred for my school vacations the concrete
sidewalks of Division Street or the greenery of Humboldt Park.
Despite all that, something spurred me to
sign up for the weekend retreat, which offered exercise classes, Jewish
learning, hikes, and Mah Jongg. But the first entry in my journal on the
morning after check-in, read: I have made
a mistake. I don't belong here. Everyone knows more about Judaism than I. Where
will I get my coffee when I wake before breakfast? I can't figure out the heat
in this room. I wish I could leave early.
Oy, such a complainer! Even I got tired of
me. Then, I said to myself: Would it kill
you to get with the program? Go to beginner Mah Jongg! Instead of whining, be
game.
So, I did, and as I sat at the table with
women decades younger than myself, I imagined my dearly departed mother and her
sisters hovering overhead. I could almost hear Min, Rose, Etta, and Molly
clicking the tiles. I could listen to their conversations, gossip, and
laughter. I could practically smell their perfume. I easily saw their beautiful
faces -- pinup girls all of them -- and their smiles as they relished their
time together.
Let's pause for a bit of history: While Mah Jongg originated in China in the
19th century; it became part of Jewish life during World War II. In fact, 12
Jewish women who raised money at tournaments for various relief organizations
formed the National Mah Jongg League. The game spread in the 1950s and 1960s to
our mothers' card tables. And currently, it's popular among younger women. For
example, my Ojai teachers were in their '30's and '40's.
Now, I'm not sure if I'll ever really learn
the game or even play it again. But, that's not the moral of this story. It is
this: sometimes you can leave your comfort zone and try something you've previously
avoided. Sometimes, you can say to yourself: would it hurt you to play? Would it be a disaster to stay awake past
your normal bedtime? Could you possibly enjoy being part of a group? Would it
kill you to take directions from someone other than yourself?
As for my misgivings cited in my Day One
journal, it turned out that I loved the Shabbat services despite not knowing
the Hebrew lyrics and melodies, I joined new friends at an early morning coffee
run, and the low heat setting in my room kept me toasty.
Crack, bam, dot!