NONFICTION
Wall Mural, 152 Clement Street, San Francisco  -  Photo by Charlene Anderson

The Mahjong Game
by Dina Martin

“Two crak. So that was such a nice tribute at temple to David Katz’s mother last Saturday,” Leslie said, discarding her tile on the card table that had become a permanent fixture in her home over the last three years. That’s how long the every-other-Tuesday evening mahjong game had been going on, with all of the original players intact. The ladies initially met in the usual way, through their children’s schools, Little League, the temple. Now with the children grown, they had more time to get together.
 
“Three dot. I can’t believe she’s 106! David is such a sweet son to her. A real mensch,” Rachel said, trying her best to keep a poker face. She was still hoping against hope that one day she’d be skilled enough to play mahjong at the Jewish Community Center. But that may take years of practice.
 
“I’m so pleased the new cantor seems to be settling in. He’s a real find, isn’t he? I’ll take that joker,” Nancy said, sweeping up Rachel’s tile. She just needed two more of the right tiles to mahj for the first win of the evening. “Speaking of temple, how did the first choir rehearsal go, Diana?”
 
And there it was. The question Diana had hoped to avoid.
 
You see, Diana wasn’t trying to pass as Jewish. But having married a Brooklyn-born Jewish atheist, she had sort of, you know, adopted it, culturally. No question Diana had learned things over the years: She knew the difference between schlemiel and schlimazel; she knew the best places for pastrami sandwiches and sour pickles in New York; she could cook a brisket as good as any Jewish mother, and she learned how to talk over others in conversation.
 
Most recently, it was mahjong. Like a cafeteria Christian, Diana had learned to pick and choose from various parts of Judaism, without choosing the actual Judaism, of course. She had once seriously considered converting, and had even met with the Rabbi about it. And it might have worked out until he asked if her husband would be joining with her. “Oh no, he wouldn’t come to temple,” she said. Hadn’t she already told him he was a secular Jew? The Rabbi mulled over the situation and told her it had been his experience that conversion doesn’t work without the participation of everyone. It was then Diana realized that to keep her marriage to a Jewish man, she had to give up Judaism.
 
Still, she considered it a compliment that friends thought she was Jewish. They invited her to Break Fast after Yom Kippur, even though she hadn’t fasted. She was always welcome at the Passover Seder. She had marveled at the symbolic foods on the seder plate: The shankbone, karpas, charoset, maror, and egg—each food told a story that had been passed down from generation to generation. The chocolate bunny she had grown up with couldn’t hold a candle to this. And the songs that are sung! She especially loved “Dayenu,” which translated into “It would have been enough.” It all gave her a sense of belonging.
 
That was all tested however, when she had been invited by Joanne Pollack to join the temple choir for High Holy Days. It was a compliment indeed since Joanne was the past president of the temple—the very same temple that she had sought to join. Diana immediately wondered if she would be able to master the Kol Nidre, the sacred prayer that was sung on the Day of Atonement.
 
But she was hesitant.
 
“You do know I’m not a member of the temple, Joanne?” she asked. “And that I’m not Jewish?”
 
“That doesn’t matter,” Joanne said. “You’re as Jewish as me, you love to sing and we could use you in the choir.”
 
So Diana showed up at the synagogue that week, prepared to give the Kol Nidre a whirl.
 
Cantor Michael warmly greeted her. “Welcome! It’s always wonderful to have new members.”
 
Before Diana could respond, Joanne intervened. “Well Cantor, she’s not a member, but I invited her.”
 
“This could be a problem, Joanne, but let’s talk after rehearsal.”
 
As the choir settled in, one soprano muttered, “We’ve never had singers who weren’t members. Never.”
 
Diana cringed. In all these years, this may have been the first time her particular form of Judaism was questioned. She muddled through the practice, doing her best with the Hebrew pronunciations. Later, she would email the Cantor to thank him, but said she wasn’t ready to make a commitment to the choir or the synagogue.
 
And now, here she was at mahjong, among friends eager to hear about her experience singing that most sacred of Jewish music.
 
“How did it go? . . . How did it go? I was rejected, that’s how it went,” Diana said, drawing a tile. “They didn’t want me.”
 
Just then, Diana gazed down at her hand. There it was. One beautiful consecutive run of Bams.
 
“Mahj!” she said with renewed enthusiasm. It would be enough.​
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
​Dina Martin was fortunate to have earned a living through writing, first as a newspaper reporter and later as an advocate for public education. She found her husband of 34 years the same way, by writing a personal ad in the Bay Guardian. Now retired, she occasionally finds time to write in between folk dancing, OLLI classes and trying to do a little good. She and her husband reside in Bernal Heights, and are happy to have their two adult children living and working nearby.


Other works in this Issue:
Inside OLLI
Meet Andrew and Lola Fraknoi: When Science Meets Art   

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​Vistas & Byways Review is the semiannual journal of fiction, nonfiction and poetry by members of Osher Lifelong Learning Institute (OLLI) at San Francisco State University​.
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Osher Lifelong Learning Institute at San Francisco State University​ (OLLI at SF State) provides communal and material support to the Vistas & Byways  volunteer staff.