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Friday August 27, 2004

Next time I need ‘aura-cleansing,’ I’ll visit a rabbi

by michal lev-ram

“You’re going through a lot of changes; I can feel it in your aura,” she said, leaning against the purple-painted storefront of her “fortune telling” business.

Yeah, right, I thought, grabbing the piece of paper from her outstretched hands. Aren’t we all going through a lot of changes?

I looked down at the flier.

“Mrs. Julia,” it said in big, bold letters, next to small pictures of the 12 zodiac signs. “Card, Palm and Psychic Readings. Twenty Years Experience.”

The woman standing in front of me — presumably, “Mrs. Julia” — was a petite, dark-haired young woman who couldn’t have been much older than 25 or 26.

“Come see me,” she said enthusiastically, waving after me as I walked away from her downtown San Francisco store.

I crammed Mrs. Julia’s advertisement into the pocket of my jeans and walked the rest of the way home, wondering how normal, intelligent people could willingly shell out their hard-earned money just to hear some quack with a crystal ball tell them what she thinks they want to hear.

Then again, I thought, I have always been a little curious about what goes on behind the doors of these “psychic” places.

After all, Judaism has a long history with fortune telling and mysticism,

doesn’t it? Joseph interpreted prophetic dreams and visions, Elijah and Isaiah were known as “bearers of revelation” and King Saul once asked the witch of Endor to “foresee” his future. My own grandmother — a good model of Jewish superstition — sprinkles salt for good luck and says strange phrases to ward off the evil eye. Even Madonna reads the Kabbalah.

So why shouldn’t I appease my curiosity and go see Mrs. Julia?

Besides, I really have been going through a lot of changes lately.

“See her today,” said the flier. “Tomorrow may be too late!”

Two weeks later, I went back. She was right where I last saw her, leaning against her storefront. She smiled as I approached.

Mrs. Julia got right down to business, informing me of her selection of services and range of prices. I finally settled on a $25 palm reading.

She led me into her small and dimly lit office, and asked me to sit across from her at one end of the wide, glass table in the middle of the room.

At her command, I laid my hands in front of her on the table, and she quickly grabbed my palms and fingers, turning them over in her hands.

“You’re a very good person,” Mrs. Julia said, leaning back in her armchair. “You’re extremely giving, you’re always there for everyone and you’ve never wished anything bad on anyone else.”

It was a pretty general, blasé observation to begin the session with, and — although a nice compliment — an overly optimistic description of me.

Mrs. Julia continued, describing in vague, equivocal terms the many ups and downs, good and bad times, and continuous changes I have experienced in my life.

Suddenly, Mrs. Julia became more serious, peering at me with dark, worried eyes and speaking in a low tone.

“God gave you a life to live,” she said earnestly. “I don’t know why, but you’re not living the life he gave you. You’re supposed to be married, with one child and another on the way. And your career should already be set and successful.”

I wondered if Mrs. Julia was aware of the fact that I was just 24 years old.

“Your aura is very dark, empty and lonely,” she continued. “You’re supposed to be pastel-colored.”

The muscles in my upturned palms suddenly began to ache, and I had an overwhelming urge to force Mrs. Julia to take her words back or throw salt over my shoulder — anything that would undo this potential “aura” jinx.

Luckily, my session with Mrs. Julia ended soon after. I paid her the $25 I owed for the palm reading, and got up to leave.

Mrs. Julia invited me to come back for private spiritual meditation in order to “cleanse” me of my problematic aura — for a small fee, of course.

It’s been a few weeks, and I still haven’t been back to see Mrs. Julia. I don’t think I ever will. Somehow, she just doesn’t seem to compare to our own noble biblical prophets.

Next time I’m in need of some “aura cleansing,” maybe I’ll go see a rabbi. Until then, I think I’ll work on getting back to “pastel-colored” all by myself, thank you very much.

Michal Lev-Ram, born in Israel, is a journalism major at SFSU who can be reached at mlevram@hotmail.com.

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