I sat by myself in the chapel at my school looking out the window as a duck floated along the pond while the Rabbi read through the prayers of Yom Kippur. I had very little energy having already started my fast the night before, but a voice in the back of my head (my mother’s voice) saying, “are there any cute Jewish boys?” kept me alert.
In fact, there were. Two boys sat diagonally behind me and every time I had the chance, I’d allow my eyes to casually shift over and get a good look at them. Honestly, I couldn’t decide which was cuter; there’s something about Jewish boys in suits, and every time I turned my head, I made attraction-worthy eye contact with one or the other. It was a sinful game I figured, to be flirting with two boys, friends I assumed, all the while atoning for the sins I committed the previous year. I reasoned that God must’ve placed two cute Jewish boys behind me for a reason.
As the service headed into it’s final section, one of the boys left. Only the handsome blond one and myself remained. We made some critical eye contact obviously revealing a deeper attraction and within ten minutes of his friend leaving, the boy sat down next to me.
The remaining twenty minutes of the service were pure bliss. We named our children, discussed the summer camps they would be attending, and discovered our mutual love of houses with intricate crown moldings. At least, that’s what happened in my head. In reality, we whispered our way through the typical college small talk of sharing our names, ages, majors, and hometowns with each other. When it was time to sing or pray as a group, we joined in together. He knew all the prayers.
The connection between us was undeniable. Never have I ever stayed through an entire Yom Kippur service before but, I just could not walk away without talking to this boy and, the fact that he made the move to sit down next to me must’ve meant that he felt the same way. I became instantly happier just being next to him. It easily could have been a love-at-first-sight situation.
When the service ended, we left the chapel still discussing my love for writing and his need to write two six page papers for a business class. (Yes, a cute Jewish business major. He was perfect.) He admitted, unsubtly dismayed, to being a senior. I decided to part ways with him because I was honestly unsure of where to go from there. He was a senior with a rigorous workload and I was on my way to the mailing center to send a letter to a friend. I told myself if God brought us together once, and it is meant to be, then He will do it again.
It’s been a month. I have not seen this boy since and I never even got his last name. Dear fate, I’m growing very impatient.
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