Kiddush, by its very nature, is a crowded, fluid gathering in which attendees drift from person to person, only pausing for a pit stop at a bowl of crisps or platter of Madeira cake. Otherwise polite adults gate-crash our chats, spraying kichels as they go, seemingly unaware that they are being impossibly rude.
The other week, I was chatting to an old school friend I hadn’t seen for ages. We were abruptly interrupted by a lady old enough to know better. The reason for her urgency? She knew my friend’s parents and inquired whether they still had a flat in Netanya. How to get rid of the tiresome interloper? I’ve deployed various tactics over the years. One word answers. Saying, “well, nice to see you then” (polite speak for “get lost”) .
Perhaps we need to rethink the whole event, starting with the frantic stampede when the doors open. The unseemly jostle for a swirl of smoked salmon or the desire to stab a crudité, Brutus-like, into a puddle of hummus. Hundreds of people crammed round buffet tables, expiring over a plate of fanned melon, stubby (and possibly grubby) fingers rubbing through bowls of peanuts? Perhaps some canapés during the service would help us stay calm.
So, if you see me deep in conversation next Shabbat, please keep your distance. There’s nothing coming out of your mouth (be it your interruptions or your fish ball) that I want to see or hear.
