Trapped

I don't think of myself as claustrophobic. I'm normally fine in enclosed spaces, even in crowded, closed-up spaces like elevators and subway cars, even for extended periods of time.

So I'm at a loss to explain what happened to me today. My husband's old synagogue, where he grew up, where his mother is a major force, deconsecrated its old building to consecrate a new one close by - one newly built.

The first ceremony was fine. I got a seat high up - the sanctuary is a theater-in-the-round with a glass topped wall dividing the men from the women on ground level and on either side. Gave me a nice view - my husband happened to sit right across from me. He claims he never saw me, though. The speeches were lovely, especially that by the soon-to-be retiring cantor, who'd been there since the beginning. It was a tad uncomfortable at the end because I put my coat on too early and it was hot, but nothing at all strange. The sanctuary was crowded, which was brought home when everyone stood, but that was only impressive.

The walk to the new synagogue was easy enough - took some time for a crowd of several hundred to file towards the new building, and I was separated from anyone I knew so I was kinda bored, but it was a short distance.

And then I stepped into the lobby of the new building and it was awful. I was inside,completely surrounded by people I didn't know, in a strange place with all exits cut off, and they were playing music. Loudly. In a space made of hard surfaces. I hit sensory overload. Fast. Found myself breathing deeply. Only reason I wasn't stimming was that I was carrying a chumash, a heavy book containing the five books of Moses, so that I could feel like I was carrying on of the Torah scrolls. Except I just felt like I was carrying a heavy book.

The door to the hallway leading to the sanctuary was on the other side of the lobby, so I had to move with that too-close crowd to get there, with that blaring music. I was a light-show short of meltdown. Fortunately, synagogue lobbies tend to not do light shows.

Then things lightened up, as we passed a line of Torah scrolls, which I was able to kiss with no problem and no pushing. By the time I reached that hallway and walked to the end to the women's side of the sanctuary, I was calmer.

Which was full. I could not see any empty seats at all. I can't say I was surprised. I actually expected it. I walked out, and waited for things to settle in and things to start to stand in the aisle. I was a little uncomfortable - probably a remnant of whatever in the lobby - but I could see and hear and that was enough. And then they started closing the doors to the single entrance. Yes, there were panic bars but I didn't see them. I just saw that the doors were being closed and I had to run out before they closed completely. Women were wondering if I were all right, I was so panicked. I made it out in time and found a seat in the hallway and there I stayed.

Crying. I'd run out on my mother-in-law, who was to play a small role and why I was there. I'd looked foolish. And I was angry. This was so poorly managed and I do not know why they closed those doors.

Eventually the dedication ended and everyone left. I went to the other side of the hallway to avoid the crowd and the music started and I was scared to go to the lobby again.

I tried calling my husband (who, it turned out, was looking for me) but he couldn't hear his phone. I did find him and he was very worried - worried enough that we left as soon as possible, even though it meant going through that hell-lobby.

By the time we were back on the subway, I was perfectly fine again.

Was it claustrophobia? It certainly looked that way, maybe felt that way. But I don't know. I just didn't want to be trapped on my feet in that crowded place full of strangers. I really believe that if I'd had a seat - a defined space - I would have been just fine, if bored.

It also proves to me that I should never attend a general admission concert, which would also have the light show to add to the overload. But I knew that already.