Whenever I go to a Synagogue service I insist on getting there before the service begins. Not sure why – maybe it’s a respect thing or maybe it makes the entire experience complete for me when I’m there at the start.
I also dislike people in the congregation looking at me when I arrive late.
Anyway, this was not a priority for my husband. He would take his time getting dressed and it almost seemed like he was doing it on purpose to aggravate me. And having only one car at the time, we needed to go together since it was about a 10 minute highway drive.
One Saturday morning I was biting my fingernails waiting for him and finally he said, “just go ahead, I will find a way to get there and meet you at the Synagogue.” So I left and arrived on time for the service.
About 45 minutes later I see him walk in and sit 2 rows behind me because there wasn’t a seat next to me.
I mouthed the words to him, “how did you get here?” He showed me a hitchhiker thumb.
Then I said, “How are you getting home?”