It was an unusually pleasant shabbat experience last weekend. As part of my monthly visitation series I had intended to sample an orthodox shul not far from my in-laws. As a courtesy, when I visit a place where people walk, I park the car in a shopping center or similar place about a half mile away. There are occasions that warrant my enduring some precipitation but congregational exploration and voyeurism is not one of them. The forecast warned of showers at about the time services would conclude so I redirected my schedule to Har Zion, a megashul in a ritzy area whose wealth and prestige allows them first dibs at professional religious talent.

In many ways it was the finest Conservative Judaism that money can buy. The Rabbi seemed younger than I might have expected for an appointment to preside over such a monument to the USCJ. The Cantor chanted in a lyrical manner befitting ongoing vocal coaching. While I'm not a great enthusiast of cathedrals, particularly Jewish ones, I left with a better appreciation of why our ancestors insisted that the Mishkan and Temple be ornate, though I think sacrificing a bullock on the shulchan of Har Zion's bimah would detract from its visual, auditory and olfactory appeal. Art hung from the wall. Every room had a donor plaque. There was a spiritually appealing alcove where they kept their yahrtzeit plaques, gated and specially illuminated. For kiddush, they served Johnnie Walker Black in heavy-bottomed shot glasses and wine in stemware. Their kids wore clean clothing on shabbos. No artificial fiber ever touched the president's skin. Plush Judaism. It was also competent Conservative Judaism, something I do not experience often enough.