This morning as I was walking home from the synagogue with a friend of mine, a fellow congregant caught up to us and softly said to me “You do realize that your pants are split.” Before I could answer, he advised me to just keep walking, and I placed my Tallit bag and volume of Gemara behind me, to cover the evidence.
Of course, he was right, and I knew it even before I walked in to my house with the color drained out of my face. It had occurred as I was rushing to get to the airport to fly to Australia for dad’s funeral. In my mad rush, I had sat down suddenly and split my pants. Now, somehow between then and now, they had made their way back in to my closet, and I had forgotten about it. Not only that, but I had managed to put them on without noticing the split at the back. And when I say split, I am not talking about a tiny little hole. I am talking gaping. I am talking “so big you can see what I am wearing underneath if I happen to move my legs too far apart.”
The question was: how many people noticed? This morning, I was at least wearing a tallit in synagogue, which would have covered the breach. But after the services, I had stayed at a kiddush in honor of the barmitzvah boy, and had socialized for a while. Had anyone there noticed? Perhaps it was confined to the congregant who had brought my embarassing plight to my attention?
Then with horror I realized I had worn these same pants last night. Not only was I not wearing a tallit, but I was actually the chazan for one of the services. Which basically means:
1. I was at the front of the synagogue, in view of everyone.
2. I had to bow a few times.
To make matters worse, after I finished being the chazan, I sat in my normal place – a few rows in front of the ladies section.
Now I know quite a few of my fellow congregants read this blog. If this is all news to you, then good. If not, then I forgive you for not mentioning to me the minor detail that my backside was almost exposed to everyone. Thankfully, I can laugh at things like this, and..err..take them in my stride.
Meanwhile, just call me Rip Torn.