In Vilnius, we did speak about the synagogue (בית הכנסת). The only operating one, from the many that used to serve the abundant and divided community in Vilnius, is very centrally located and close to the central station. Until recently, it was shared even with Chasidim, until a major conflict got many mainstream Lithuanians realising that the mythical Jewish unity is a myth :) More or less everyone knows the place, though, and many young people in Vilnius have been to one or another concert that this religious institution generously hosts.

The community, which uses Russian as its lingua franca and 'imports' rabbis from abroad, does not expect to fill the space. They are happy to have some random American or Israeli tourists around, because at least they don't need to worry about a minyan (quorum, necessary for a prayer to happen). On a weekday as it was, the small group of men spread around in the front. My companion preferred to stand in the middle and pointed a place for me in the row on the left. "Maybe I should..." I pointed my head at the balcony, where women are supposed to sit, separated (but at least invisible), but my companion just told me to sit there.

I did want to become invisible (and not to meet anyone I know by some chance) - the only woman in the building, wearing a skirt and sandals, unable to follow (the men were praying in the ancient Ashkenazi accent, the one where they say adonoy), feeling lost among the 15 or so religious men, whose scattered group looked kind of lonely there and then, amid the end of a regular workday. But my companion was right - nobody paid attention to me. The men were there to pray. Sitting quietly in the corner, I spotted wires and curtains that one can draw exactly around the place I was sitting - apparently, it is meant for women, as the balcony is locked, apart from religious holidays or public events. When the men had a break, they chatted to one another, the rabbi went to talk to my companion, but nobody even looked at the place where I was sitting. Soon after the break I was joined by a young lady I apparently already knew on Facebook, who said she comes to observe the prayer once in a while, guided by interest.

Vilnius is definitely not a boiling marketplace of different religions, and there are even tinier communities around. However, the space and the way the men act in it makes you think about the gap between what you see and the numbers of people the synagogue was planned for. Rumours suggest that the men who come there every day are even paid or given something for attending, but I would not bother checking. It's much more likely that they enjoy it, and they seemed to know each other well. As short as he was staying in Vilnius, my convert companion seemed integrated quite well. As I was sitting alone, bypassed by the flow of super-hurriedly pronounced words in Biblical Hebrew, I was thinking, how do these men work every day? Where do these men eat? One can get kosher food at Chabad, but I think these men would rather go vegan than ever step in there. How do they buy things, how do they dress during the hottest summer days? How does one live as a religious Jew in Vilnius?

Of course, the 'invisible' women interested me much more. I admit, I presume that in their daily life these men are accompanied by equally religious women. Many religious requirements have to be negotiated. As far as I know, there is no ritual bath for them. Not being equal in this space in central Vilnius, do women feel/ behave more secular? Is the religiosity of these men sustained by these everyday meetings in this spacious building, which isolates the noise of a nearby busy street? And so here they are, silently waiting for some foreigners to join them.