As the rabbi entered, wearing a beautifully embroidered tallis, the yarmulke still placed at the top of her head, the congregation quieted.
“Tonight we have someone special here who I am inviting to begin our celebration by lighting the Chanukah candles. As you know, this congregation has been engaged in campaigns to end the epidemic of homelessness that particularly affects LGBT youth. Well, right before this service, I met with one of these young people, a teenage girl who comes from a Hasidic family. She left her community recently to search for her girlfriend who’d run away to avoid an arranged marriage. Please welcome her as we all stand for the lighting of the candles.”
When I accepted her invitation to sing the blessings, I asked her not to use my name, in case there was anyone who might connect me back to Am Masada. I stood and walked slowly to the front, Robin and Tracy on either side of me. I lit the shamash, the center candle, and then used it to light the others that surrounded it. I sang the first blessing in a loud, clear voice that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. When I paused and took a breath to start the second blessing, I heard my name piercing the silence, getting louder with each repetition.
“Chava! Chava! Chava!”
I turned, the shamash still in my hand, and saw someone running down the center aisle coming toward me. At first, all I could see was dark brown hair flying forward, and then her face became visible. It was Tova! I quickly put the candle back and ran to meet her.
“Tova!”
Our arms grasping one another in a tight hug, we stood together not speaking for a good number of seconds. Then the rabbi spoke.
“For anyone who doubts the existence of modern-day Chanukah miracles, I suggest you observe what is happening right now at Shaare Avodah as we commemorate our peoples’ miracle from ancient times.”
“I’m sorry I lost the phone,” Tova whispered in my ear. “Someone tried to take it from me on the pier, and it dropped into the water.”
“Where have you been?” I whispered back. “We’ve looked everywhere.”
“With Shuli and Sarah, two Orthodox women who are together like us. They found me in the subway station, and when I told them where I was from, they took me home with them.”
“Do you want to go somewhere to be alone?” It was Robin standing next to us.
“No, I want to finish the blessing, with Tova.”
The rabbi looked down at us and smiled. “Ready to continue?”
I nodded and gave Tova the shamash so she could light the candles while I sang the second blessing.
“One more thing, before you are seated,” Rabbi Goldfarb said to the congregation.“ We usually recite this blessing only on the first night, but I think it’s more than appropriate that we all recite the prayer that thanks God for helping us to reach this day.”
I smiled up at her as she used her arms to invite the entire congregation to join us.
When we finished, I turned to Tova, the lights from the nine lit candles were shining brightly in her eyes.
“I love you. I always will,” I said.
She wiped away a tear that was forming. “I love you and I always will. Happy Chanukah, Chava.”
“Happy Chanukah. Tova Chava, a good life.”
Glossary
Bar Mitzvah (Bat Mitzvah for girls): coming of age ritual when a boy turns thirteen
Bimah: a raised platform with a reading desk where those leading the service stand
Hashem: a name for God used by religious Jews outside of the context of prayer
Hasidism: a traditional, mystical-based sect of Judaism; communities adhere to strict, fundamentalist practices
Hazzan: or cantor; a non-rabbinic clergy trained in vocal arts who leads a congregation in prayer
Kashrut: or kosher; the laws that define what foods can be eaten by religious Jews
Latkes: potato pancakes; a traditional food for Chanukah
Minyan: a group of at least ten people (men only in this context) assembled for prayer
Pesach: the holiday of Passover, commemorating the ancient Jews’ flight from Egypt
Rebbe: or rabbi; the religious leader of the congregation
Shabbos: the weekly Sabbath that begins at sundown on Friday and ends at sundown on Saturday
Shayna: term of endearment meaning beautiful
Shul: or synagogue; the house of worship
Tallis: a Jewish prayer shawl
Torah: the first five books of the Hebrew Bible
Treyf: not kosher
Yarmulke: the round head covering worn by religious Jewish men and by observant, progressive Jewish women
A Christmas Epiphany
Wendy Temple
Claire Shaw sat at the kitchen table sipping an espresso while casually flicking through The Scotsman newspaper. The sweet scent of fruit and spice mingled with the heavy coffee aroma; Christmas carols played in the background.
The light, airy ambiance of the kitchen belied the bleak, damp scene outside. Thick rain spattered off the windows, the ominous dark sky blurred by the water running down the outside of the glass. Inside, Claire was shielded from the elements.
A ping from the oven timer nudged her to her feet. Moving with a fluid grace, she opened the oven door. The blast of heat dissipated rapidly to reveal twelve identically shaped mince pies. Bubbling with sweet hot filling, the golden brown Christmas pastries, all in a row, presented themselves like soldiers awaiting inspection. They were perfect, exactly the way she intended them to be.
Leaving the pies to cool, she cleaned up the kitchen. Humming along to the Christmas carols, Claire went through her mental checklist. The decorating was complete, food was prepared, that only left the handful of small packages on the kitchen table waiting to be wrapped. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and sat down to complete her final task, wrapping each item with care and precision. She loved Christmas.
Ding-dong! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Ding-dong! Ding-dong!
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Startled, she shot to her feet, Christmas wrapping forgotten. Whoever was assaulting the front door certainly wanted her attention. She hastily made her way from the kitchen along the hall, then opened the patterned glass door into the foyer.
Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Thump! Thump! Thump!
“I’m coming!”
Claire looked through the peephole of the heavy wooden door and saw Margo Blair-Scott Q.C. standing on the other side, staring straight at her. Beginning to panic, Claire hastily opened the front door to the prominent lawyer. “Margo? Is everything okay? Zoe?”
“Zoe is fine.” Margo stormed past Claire into the foyer, her long wool coat billowing behind her, much like her black silk gown in a courtroom.
Claire scanned the gravel driveway expecting to see her daughter, but Margo’s sporty Mercedes, parked right in front of the house, was empty. Turning back for an explanation, she watched as Margo shook the rain from her coat before hanging it on a peg. Obviously she was staying. Claire closed the door with a sigh, shutting out the patter of the falling rain, cloaking the pair in silence.
“Who is home?” Margo asked, her tone abrupt, eyes searching the hall.
Claire’s forehead wrinkled. “I’m alone.”
Hands on hips, Margo turned her full attention to Claire and ground out through gritted teeth, “The girls are sleeping together!”
Claire barely managed to refrain from rolling her eyes. Margo clearly hadn’t lost her flair for the dramatic. Claire was sure the woman must be a sight to behold for the impressionable young lawyers, but she was too long in the tooth to be affected by Margo’s histrionics, so she waited patiently for the courtroom dramatics to subside.
When she was satisfied that she had Margo’s attention, Claire answered, “I have no idea of the sleeping arrangements at your house, but they do share a bed when they stay over here.”
“Don’t be obtuse. You know exactly what I mean.” A long bony finger poked the air for emphasis.
Claire sighed. “Mar
go, how can you be sure?”
“I heard them!” The thunderous reply echoed in the tiled hall.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t snoop around.”
The lawyer’s eyes narrowed. “You knew! You knew about this and told me nothing.” Margo paced in the hall. “How long? How long have you known?”
Claire waited for the tantrum to subside before answering in a soothing tone, “I didn’t know, but I suspected.”
Margo stopped abruptly. Tendrils of blonde hair escaped from the loose bun, softening the lawyers flushed features. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Margo accused, anger and frustration lacing her reply.
“Because I knew you would overreact, like this.” Claire waved a hand towards Margo to underscore her point and leaving the other woman open mouthed. Sensing an opportunity to defuse the tension, Claire changed tack. “Would you like some coffee?” She gently touched Margo’s shoulder as she walked past her to the kitchen.
Shaking her head, Margo followed Claire. “I’ll have tea, please.”
Claire filled the kettle at the kitchen sink before turning to face Margo, who sat stiffly in a high backed chair, her hands clasped on the table in front of her. The lawyer looked out of place amongst the baking and unfinished wrapping as she sat taking in her surroundings. Claire knew those sharp grey orbs saw everything, absorbing the important and dismissing the irrelevant in seconds. She watched as they slowly scanned her own body before meeting her gaze. Claire remembered that look well—unapologetically bold, with a hint of challenge.
“This is very festive.”
“I enjoy it.”
“Baking, too,” Margo tilted her head towards the pies. “You are a veritable paragon of domesticity.”
Turning from Margo to fetch the tea tray, Claire closed her eyes, ignoring the sarcasm and verbal sparring. She would not be baited. With a polite smile plastered on her face, Claire placed the tray on the kitchen table then poured tea into fine china cups decorated with delicate pink roses.
“Milk? Sugar?” Claire indicated the containers on the tray.
“Milk, please.”
Margo watched as Claire added milk to both cups. “You could have had a full-time career and had someone in to do all this.” She swept an arm over the table.
“I could have, but I enjoy lecturing part-time. It has allowed me to spend more time with the children over the years.” Claire placed a cup and saucer in front of Margo, then took the seat opposite.
“Thank you.” Margo sipped her tea. Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she glanced down before returning her gaze to Claire. “I skipped breakfast.”
Claire gestured at the cooling mince pies. “Please, help yourself.” She watched Margo gingerly pick up one of the warm pastries and examine it thoroughly before cautiously biting into it.
The look of surprise that crossed the lawyer’s features was almost comical in its transformational powers as Margo’s eyes went wide, then closed. “My God, Claire, this is delicious,” she mumbled around a mouthful of flaky crust and fruit, her hand covering her mouth.
“Thank you.” Claire’s smile turned genuine. She was pleased to see Margo enjoying something as simple as a Christmas mince pie.
As Margo ate, her tongue poked out to lick the crumbs from her red lips. When the pie was finished, she used a napkin to primly dab the corners of her mouth. “That was heavenly. Thank you.”
Margo sat back in the kitchen chair, sipping her tea, some of the earlier tension evaporating from her slim frame. She picked up a small, neatly wrapped gift and read the tag. Holding it up, she said, “How is the grand old bag? Coming for Christmas dinner?”
Claire recognized the wrapping on the gift that was for her mother-in-law. Having Roger’s mother for dinner was always a polite strain. The veneer of tolerance that emanated from the older woman tested Claire’s patience to its limits. Constant criticism, nothing overt, but the “you will never be good enough,” lurked below the surface of the carefully crafted barbs cast her way.
“Oh, you didn’t go to Jenners” meant the gift wasn’t quite right. Claire’s response was a polite feigned indifference, and everyone would act as if they hadn’t noticed.
“She’s lonely,” she replied as she placed her empty cup on the saucer.
Margo rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows she is insufferable, only you would find a way to excuse her. She was like that before her husband died, and I suspect she is a lot worse now that he isn’t here to listen to her complaining.”
“Roger and the children are the only family she has.”
“So you put up with her antics for the sake of everyone else?”
“Something like that.”
Margo rested her elbows on the table. “Well you certainly play the role of daughter-in-law to perfection.”
Claire chose to ignore the comment, and the challenge in Margo’s eye. She rose from the table and collected the teacups to put into the sink, giving them both a moment to collect their thoughts. Hearing the scraping of a chair along the tile floor, she turned from the sink.
Shaking her head in frustration as she pushed her empty chair back under the table, Margo asked, “Can we move rooms? This place is stifling.”
Claire wasn’t surprised by the request, Margo was being distracted by the ambiance in the kitchen, and Margo Blair-Scott Q.C. did not tolerate distractions well. She lost focus when her thought processes were disrupted. Claire knew that better than anyone. She had been the cause of Margo’s lack of focus on more than one occasion.
* * *
Margo’s heels echoed on the patterned tiled floor as Claire led her past the large drawing room to a door further along the wide hallway. Claire knew Margo would prefer this room to the one decorated for Christmas morning.
Standing to the side, she invited Margo in. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation as she caught the familiar scent of jasmine wafting from the Q.C. as she passed. The scent triggered memories long buried under layers of self-protection and expectation. Claire’s eyes closed as a warm sensation washed through her. Inhaling deeply, a smile sprung to her lips, her shoulders relaxing as she exhaled.
“Claire?”
Claire’s eyes shot open. The sound of Margo’s voice catapulted her back to the moment, her hand unconsciously rubbing away the knot in her stomach.
She entered the office and closed the door behind her, the clicking of the latch signalling a privacy they had both avoided for many years. They had bumped into each other numerous times at functions and parties, dropping their daughters off at school or each other’s home, politely skirting around each other, but an invisible connection bound them together across distance and time. Casual glances in a crowded room full of memories only they shared, and yet not a meaningful word spoken. Cultivated conversation in the company of others oblivious to the undercurrent swirling around them. So many words left unspoken, so many opportunities not taken.
Claire watched as sharp grey eyes assessed the room in one sweep, taking in her sanctuary with laser-like precision before turning to meet her own eyes. The look held a familiarity that transported Claire back to a time when they were younger, a time when they were free to explore and have fun before the crushing weight of expectations snuffed out the last vestiges of freedom. The weight still hung heavy between them, the tension still creaking after all these years.
Regarding Margo warily, like prey would a deadly predator, Claire stepped further into the room. She dared not take her eyes off the other woman. This was dangerous territory.
Margo picked up a foot high nude female bronze, and Claire shuddered as long, slim fingers traced the curves of the smooth metal, and a memory of those fingers caressing her skin shot to the surface.
Claire’s breath rasped in her chest as she watched, transfixed by the cool hand moving slowly up her bare leg towards the juncture of her thighs. Muscles quivering, gasping as the hand reached its goal. Encountering the slick, wet arousal, two long fingers entered her swiftly.
Clai
re’s vision swam as arousal flooded through her. Biting down on the inside of her cheek to prevent a gasp escaping, she squeezed her eyes shut and hoped Margo would not realise her predicament.
“This is a beautiful piece.” Eyes dark with desire held Claire’s as Margo caressed the cool bronze with her fingertips. She blinked, breaking eye contact as she turned from Claire to replace the statue. Clearing her throat, breaking the spell, she said, “Anyway, about the girls.” The veneer slammed back in place, instantly shutting out the memories.
Claire motioned towards a dark leather sofa. “Shall we?”
Sitting in the corner of the sofa facing Claire, Margo crossed her legs and stretched one arm along the back.
She appeared relaxed, but Claire was not taken in by the deceptively calm pose.
“So, how do we put a stop to this nonsense with the girls?”
Claire shook her head. “We don’t.”
“You can’t seriously be thinking of letting it continue.”
“We should leave them alone.”
Lips pursed, Margo’s long fingers drummed impatiently on the back of the sofa. “How long have you known?”
With effort, Claire managed to keep her feelings under wraps as she sat at the opposite end of the sofa, one leg tucked casually behind the other, hands clasped loosely in her lap. She remained silent as she considered her reply. She wasn’t surprised that it had taken Margo so long to spot the attraction that had been developing between their daughters. The Q.C. tended to be wrapped up in her career.
Unwrap these Presents Page 4
