Read Online Yom Kippur as Manifest in an Approaching Dorsal Fin by Adam Byrn Tritt - Free Book Online
Authors: Adam Byrn Tritt
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wall
with a large pane of glass, door to wall, on
either side. The second room, twenty by forty,
was solid wall on the north and east. Sepa-
rated by glass from the front room and, on
the south side, made of century old wood,
plaster and glass. Mostly glass.
The windows were high and wide with
broad sills. In the second room, three of them
stretched from the front to the back. As one
looked to the lower edges of any of the win-
94
The Harmony of Broken Glass
dows, as one looked to the grass below through
the bottom of the pane, the world stretched,
became bulbous, swirly. If you put your hand
on the glass, you could feel it thicken as one
got closer to the sill. Thin at top and thick at the bottom. Old poured glass windows—a
super-viscous liquid that slowly, over nearly
one hundred years, poured towards its own
bottom. Kids would love to sit there and stare
though the bottom and watch the world wig-
gle, fatten, and wave. So did I.
This was the room we used for classes and
workshops. Around its perimeter, it held rugs
and t-shirts, dresses and scarves as well as
other textiles, folded on tables, hung from
frames, and tacked to the walls. So large, it
was, we never had to move anything much
for a workshop or fair.
We had bands too, and we’d serve coffee.
We’d be open until eleven and many of the
coffee drinkers would not purchase anything,
so we figured the coffee would pay for the
electric that evening, at the least. The coffee
was in the small kitchen area off the large
room and it was self-serve, as we were neither
set up nor licensed for food service.
95
Adam Byrn Tritt
At first it was by donation. When we found
the donation can with little money but filling
fast with empty sugar packets and gum wrap-
pers, we decided the honor system wasn’t
working and charged a dollar for the cup. Not
the coffee. Just the cup. All our mugs went
behind the front counter. Folks could ask for
one, pay their buck, and drink all night if they wanted. On an average night we should have
made thirty to fifty bucks from the folks who
otherwise would not have spent a cent. Folks
who came in and bought books and such, we’d
happily hand a cup to. Everyone gets to do
their share.
It wasn’t long before I started seeing people
walking around with coffee in vessels I had
never seen before. Little ones. Big ones, Even
stainless steel thermoses and double-size
travel cups. I’d ask for the buck for the night’s coffee and they’d show me their one quart
mason jar, telling me they had brought it from
home so no need to hand any cash over to
me. I suggested, along with the cup, next time
they should bring their own coffee, too. Late
nights at the bookstore ended soon after that.
96
The Harmony of Broken Glass
But the workshops continued. Authors,
therapists, artists. Book talks, dances, song-
fests. I taught a few myself, on occasion.
I had, over the few years prior, been doing
a workshop on chants from the Kabbalah. I
had been doing them at the local Unitarian
Universalist Fellowship, at churches as far
away as Greensboro, North Carolina, in the
forests of Ohio, and even in a hot tub. So why
not do one at my own store?
The night was set and we had a very nice
turnout of over thirty people. Someone vol-
unteered to watch the register and I set to
work. Three rules only. These rules, along
with the chants themselves, were taught to
me by Rabbi Shelly Isenberg, who was the
Chair of the University of Florida Depart-
ment of Religion. They seemed to work for
him, and they work for me.
Three rules:
Everyone stands who is able to stand.
“I’m tired” is not a reason for not stand-
ing. We always lose a few at this one.
People walk out in a huff because they
aren’t going to be able to sit and chant.
97
Adam Byrn Tritt
No full breaths from a full body while
sitting curled in a chair.
Everyone singing. No gawkers. We
always lose a few more at
with a large pane of glass, door to wall, on
either side. The second room, twenty by forty,
was solid wall on the north and east. Sepa-
rated by glass from the front room and, on
the south side, made of century old wood,
plaster and glass. Mostly glass.
The windows were high and wide with
broad sills. In the second room, three of them
stretched from the front to the back. As one
looked to the lower edges of any of the win-
94
The Harmony of Broken Glass
dows, as one looked to the grass below through
the bottom of the pane, the world stretched,
became bulbous, swirly. If you put your hand
on the glass, you could feel it thicken as one
got closer to the sill. Thin at top and thick at the bottom. Old poured glass windows—a
super-viscous liquid that slowly, over nearly
one hundred years, poured towards its own
bottom. Kids would love to sit there and stare
though the bottom and watch the world wig-
gle, fatten, and wave. So did I.
This was the room we used for classes and
workshops. Around its perimeter, it held rugs
and t-shirts, dresses and scarves as well as
other textiles, folded on tables, hung from
frames, and tacked to the walls. So large, it
was, we never had to move anything much
for a workshop or fair.
We had bands too, and we’d serve coffee.
We’d be open until eleven and many of the
coffee drinkers would not purchase anything,
so we figured the coffee would pay for the
electric that evening, at the least. The coffee
was in the small kitchen area off the large
room and it was self-serve, as we were neither
set up nor licensed for food service.
95
Adam Byrn Tritt
At first it was by donation. When we found
the donation can with little money but filling
fast with empty sugar packets and gum wrap-
pers, we decided the honor system wasn’t
working and charged a dollar for the cup. Not
the coffee. Just the cup. All our mugs went
behind the front counter. Folks could ask for
one, pay their buck, and drink all night if they wanted. On an average night we should have
made thirty to fifty bucks from the folks who
otherwise would not have spent a cent. Folks
who came in and bought books and such, we’d
happily hand a cup to. Everyone gets to do
their share.
It wasn’t long before I started seeing people
walking around with coffee in vessels I had
never seen before. Little ones. Big ones, Even
stainless steel thermoses and double-size
travel cups. I’d ask for the buck for the night’s coffee and they’d show me their one quart
mason jar, telling me they had brought it from
home so no need to hand any cash over to
me. I suggested, along with the cup, next time
they should bring their own coffee, too. Late
nights at the bookstore ended soon after that.
96
The Harmony of Broken Glass
But the workshops continued. Authors,
therapists, artists. Book talks, dances, song-
fests. I taught a few myself, on occasion.
I had, over the few years prior, been doing
a workshop on chants from the Kabbalah. I
had been doing them at the local Unitarian
Universalist Fellowship, at churches as far
away as Greensboro, North Carolina, in the
forests of Ohio, and even in a hot tub. So why
not do one at my own store?
The night was set and we had a very nice
turnout of over thirty people. Someone vol-
unteered to watch the register and I set to
work. Three rules only. These rules, along
with the chants themselves, were taught to
me by Rabbi Shelly Isenberg, who was the
Chair of the University of Florida Depart-
ment of Religion. They seemed to work for
him, and they work for me.
Three rules:
Everyone stands who is able to stand.
“I’m tired” is not a reason for not stand-
ing. We always lose a few at this one.
People walk out in a huff because they
aren’t going to be able to sit and chant.
97
Adam Byrn Tritt
No full breaths from a full body while
sitting curled in a chair.
Everyone singing. No gawkers. We
always lose a few more at
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