Dancing With Sharks in Portland.

Trust is a main ingredient in dancing, and in life.

My brother invited me to his daughter's Bat-Mitzvah last weekend. I don't speak Hebrew, but it was interesting, though I am not big on religious rituals. I avoid them if at all possible. This is what happens to a lot of ex-Catholics. The ceremony was okay, but the best part was seeing my niece's sincerity and obvious preparation to do a Bat-Mitzvah. 

Catholicism and Judaism are not that different. Yeah, there is the difference of opinion about Jesus. That's a big thing for some people, but not for me. The liturgy, especially in the orthodox Jewish congregations I've been to, remind me of mass. In Temple Beth Israel, in San Francisco, the women wear scarves like in the old Catholic masses, and are seated on the left side of the temple. The men are on the right side, bobbing incessantly. Apparently, men are always on the right side of God. So I guess a woman rabbi is a welcome idea to a lot of women. 

We didn't do much bobbing at St. Mary's; we were genuflectors (kneeling, standing, kneeling, etc.). We had first communion and confirmation, instead of Bar-Mitzvahs and Bat-Mitzvahs. We had the stiff perfunctory prayers to memorize (which I have since forgotten). Now the thought of all that stuff numbs my mind. My kind of religious experience isn't found in a building. It could be helping a stranger push their car. That is God's love in action. Faith in God is, for me, all about being genuine. I talk to God as I ride on buses, or while I peel carrots. I guess I believe in a George Burns sort of God. Maybe that makes me John Denver. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNUUFVLkYII

In Denmark and Germany, my ancestors were probably Jews, Lutherans, and Catholics. Now I am not a member of any denomination. Memberships scare me. I also avoid political party affiliations. I even dropped out of Boy Scouts, but I had my reasons. I witnessed a kid plant a hatchet into his foot while pounding in a tent spike. That cured me of memberships for life.

Religious experiences are fine; I am simply not a big fan of the pageantry. Several of my brothers and one sister also attended my niece's Bat-Mitzvah. The rabbi was a woman; I had the impression she was a lesbian. I could be wrong about that. How that fits into Judaism I have no idea. She also seemed short on patience, though she was a great presenter. She reminded me of a stand up comedian. It was the little things she did, the curt way she talked to kids, and how she grabbed the challah from me. Maybe I just notice too much, or expect too much of those in the clergy. I should probably have mentioned my observation to my brother and sister-in-law, but who am I to tear down their temple? It doesn't really matter what I think about their rabbi. And possibly they would have told me more about the rabbi and I would have a different opinion. Maybe I was just looking for sharks that day.

I mention the rabbi because this is what Portland is like. People are hip or they pretend to be. But their dorsal fins are shark-like. After the Bat-Mitzvah ceremony a light lunch was served in the basement. The building is also used by The Church of Christ, so there were postings on the bulletin board about Christian events. I like the idea of a melting pot of faiths. Ultimately, we all could have gotten our beliefs wrong. Maybe we are stooges who swallowed lies. I enjoyed the communion of ideas as I ate lox and bagels, and drank Newman's Own lemonade. I gave my niece a cool CD from the Sounds True Collection, that featured a Jewish couple. One of their songs is 'Shalom,' which is like a meditation length song with only one word to remember: Shalom.  http://www.amazon.com/Shalom/dp/B0040PUKE2

I had time to kill after the ceremony so I hopped off the MAX rail at Pioneer Square, drawn by the sound of live music, where couples were dancing to swing music. I felt the stiffness of the temple ceremony sloughing away. It was balmy for the second day in March, and a few of the men had sweat marks on the backs of their dark shirts. I stood behind the five piece band checking out the dancers and the musicians. There was a man on an upright bass, a trumpet player with a muffle on the end of his horn, the lead singer sat in a chair strumming a mandolin. Brother, they were cookin.' They just needed a fiddle player, but they were doing pretty good with what they had. I didn't even catch the name of the group.

I love watching dancers. What intrigues me about men and women connecting in public is that they are often strangers to one another. This was also the case during my tango years. I am sure there is a voyeuristic element to it; but it isn't necessarily a sexual thing. I am simply amazed by humanity in all its multi-faceted beauty. On the dance floor, there are no political, religious, economic, or ethnicity barriers. You just bring your sense of timing, and ability to connect with your partner, and then you make art or you don't make art. Whenever I get down on humanity I get these doses of humanity's goodness and it really cheers me up. Why do most women love to dance and not so many men do? Women are romantics. This is why my bookcase has more books by women than men. As a man, I feel women have a great deal to teach me. And, who knows? maybe I have some things to teach them about men.

Many of the dancers appeared to know one another, so there is the possibility some of them were from dance clubs. Their steps were too well understood: Jitterbug, Charleston, and other dances of the 1920s and 30s. But wherever they got their knowledge, and chutzpah, they made my day. Some of them were hipsters, because Portland is a hipster-town. When you are walking in most parts of downtown you will quickly realize you are walking on an elaborate stage filled with characters who have made niches for themselves. Their language is cool and understated. Their common bling are tattoos, which rise up from their shirt collars or are displayed next to their rolled up sleeves. It is as if the men got their clothes from the Cherry Popping Daddies outlet store, and the women raided a retro Buffalo Exchange clothing boutique.

The same facade of confidence and showmanship pervades the work environment in downtown. When you go into the suburbs people are less hip. Further out, in the rural towns of the Willamette Valley, and almost all the towns east of the Cascade Mountains you could just as well be in the Midwest. The language is more rural too, sprinkled with the wrong tenses, euphemisms, but among the young - Internet slang is commonplace - as if heralding the demise of country lifestyles.

I was raised in the country, and I miss it. I do not care for the sound of traffic outside my window, or if I am branded uncool because I have no tattoos. I must find a way back to my roots. In the wee hours of the morning I attached a fiction manuscript to an email. It went to the Dundee Book Prize Competition. Dundee is eight hours time difference from Portland, so I only had until five in the morning to enter. I felt the presence of sharks swimming around me as I sat in bed doing the final edits to the manuscript. It had to be anonymous, so there was an element of trust. Sort of like the trust I witnessed in downtown Portland amongst the dancers. And, I suppose from my niece at her Bat-Mitzvah.