"Sheli buzzes around making introductions. She introduces the bible-study women (whose hair is hidden because they are married) to the Minerva women (whose hair is hidden because they have crew cuts.)"
Dancing seems inappropriate, because a relative of Sheli's husband just passed away. But the reporter notes that drug-abuse appears to be ok, at least for the Minerva crowd. One half "slips out to the terrace to smoke marijuana; the other half goes to the ladies' room to snort cocaine but only after listening to the speeches of the bar-mitzva boy, his grandparents, and of Sheli and her husband."
"Who in the world are those friends of yours?" Sheli's mother pulls her off to the side to ask.
"Which ones?"
She stalls to catch her breath and calm her pulse. "All those ultra-Orthodox girls in the ankle-length skirts," her mother says, as if Sheli is being willfully obtuse.
Whether Sheli tells her mother what she has told me countless times about "those ultra-Orthodox friends of hers" that they are the "most understanding, most intelligent, kindest, and most uplifting people" she has the good fortune to know is not clear.
The piece is funny, but disjointed. I'm still trying to decide what the point was, or if it even had a point.
One of my cousins is a lesbian, and has a "partner." They have adopted and raised two fantastic kids, and are a welcome part of my extended family. They and a couple other examples indicate a trend in my family, at least on my father's side: as long as you're Jewish and raise your kids that way, no one could care less if you're gay, straight, or from Mars. If anyone does care, they do a decent job of keeping their mouths shut.
<< Home