Beware Audacious Inhospitality!

Isn’t it funny what memories and new thinking can be triggered by the most unlikely of incidents?

Traveling by train has changed over time. Decades ago, there were smoking cars. If you chose to pass through them to reach a smoke-free section, you had already inhaled plenty of secondhand puffs while your clothes soaked up the aroma. But I didn't grouse at the smokers. I just held my breath and walked on by. 

Before the wonder of cell phones, you would generally hear lively conversations or see people playing cards or hear a snoring commuter. Noise was just something all passengers had to deal with, regardless of their potential preference for silence. These days, there’s a designated “quiet car” for riders who want to avoid other people’s loud cell phone conversations.

There’s no smoking on trains now, not even in the caboose, and though you might still hear the din of chatter while traveling, sitting in a designated car will dull the sound.

The other day, a traveler sitting opposite the aisle from me practically smacked me with his scowl and persecuted me with his eyes when, upon sitting down, I said something to the colleague with whom I was traveling.

I was flummoxed. Why the look?

That guy chose not to identify my egregious error verbally, so I had to guess why he looked so irritated. I was relieved when I happened upon the pronouncement, a tiny sign overhead that read “Quiet ComMUTE.”

I had entered the twilight-of-sound zone. The quiet car. No cell phone use. Turn off cell phone or laptop notifications so zero sound will escape. Keep your headphone volume low, and conversations must be conducted in subdued voices.

Got it. I just hadn't realized. 

My fellow traveler resumed his reading, but now it was I who was perturbed. He could have given me the courtesy of pointing to the sign with a smile, or he might have whispered, in a subdued manner, that I had (apparently unwittingly) entered a car in which everyone takes a temporary vow of silence. 

I looked up again at the way-too-subtle-for-a-newcomer announcement and smiled as I read the first two words above the listed guidelines: “Welcome Aboard.”

Not so much, in this case.

Outsiders to our communities may not catch the written guidelines or the unwritten customs in our congregations. Some might expect to experience the congregation of their childhood. Others might feel uncomfortable without even knowing why. 

So the next time I hear some people in the row behind me talking too loudly while I'm trying to meditate on the cantor's inspiring chanting, how will I handle it? Or when I notice a gum-chewer in our midst of Yom Kippur services, what might I think? 

Maybe the talkers needed to share a significant idea. Maybe the gum-chewer had a medical issue that required that action. Sometimes, we just don't know. 

Maybe I'll just assume the best, smile, and try to remember the meaning of “Welcome aboard” – and do my best to put it into practice. 

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