David turned to Fr. Matthew and asked: “So are you here visiting or are you here to stay?”
“I’m here to have Aunt Sarah fatten me up. I’ve had several bouts with malaria, and so I think my missionary days are over. Or at least curtailed. The provincial, that’s my superior, wants me to rest and is letting me do it in Manhattan. I may wind up at our retreat house in Massachusetts, but I’ll be at a parish in Manhattan for the year. So Aunt Sarah can fatten me up, and Sr. Mary Baruch can restore my spirit.”
I think I must’ve blushed, but I was very moved by what he said. “It will be a blessing for us to have you so close. Too bad, “I said jokingly, “we can’t go to Tea Time on the Tiber…”
“And turn over some tables!” We all laughed.
Chapter Eleven
Shulchan OrechThe Third Cup
Now as they were eating, Jesus took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and giving it to his disciples said, “Take and eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant, which will be shed on behalf of many for the forgiveness of sins. (Mt. 26:26-28)
Summer came and went without much disturbance. Mother Rosaria was proving to be an exceptional prioress. Sr. Agnes Mary was keeping up as Novice Mistress, but she knew she didn’t have the energy for lots of things. I wasn’t young myself, of course, but I was renewed in spirit with the new relationship with my brother. I was so grateful to God for everything. Ezra came for a visit in mid-June and was already looking healthier all the time.
We only had less than an hour in the parlor, so I got right to the point. “So tell me, my dear old friend, how are you really doing?”
“Physically, I’m doing much better. By the end of July I was hoping to go back to Zimbabwe, but my provincial informed me that we are pulling out of Zimbabwe. He wants to keep our missions going in Haiti, Honduras, and Jamaica, and, as you know, we’ve got retreat houses all over. West Springfield is closing, however, as are a few others. We’re feeling the vocation crunch, you know.”
“I know. We are here, too; although we’re holding our own. There’s talk among a couple of the monasteries of closing. It’s really sad, isn’t it?”
“Yes, the renewal after Vatican II was supposed to renew all of us. I don’t know what went wrong.” Ezra spoke softly and put his head down for the moment as if he were praying.
I waited a moment before responding. “I don’t know, but I suspect that some Orders or Congregations of Sisters went beyond what was asked of them, and in adapting themselves to the world, became more and more secular.” He didn’t respond, sitting there in his khaki pants and a black polo shirt. I thought for the moment that he was looking like a middle-aged junior executive on his vacation yacht, his salt and pepper hair looking very distinguished, and his horn-rimmed glasses making him look very executive; but he didn’t look like a priest.
Almost like he was reading my mind, he said: “Tell me about it. Look at me. I look like I’m a college student.”
I had to laugh. “A college student? How about a college professor looking to retire and go sailing on his yacht.”
“You’re right. Although I’m not so sure about the yacht! Not to change the subject, but I don’t suppose you got to watch any of the Pope’s visit to Israel last March?”
“No, we don’t even have a television, although times are a’ changing there, too; so who knows what’s coming. But we read all the articles from both the New York Times and L’Osservatore Romano. It was wonderful, wasn’t it?”
“Oh it was, you should have seen him. He began, you know, with a verse from Psalm 31. I carry it around in my college professor’s wallet.” He pulled it out of his back pocket and read it.
“I have become like a broken vessel. I hear the whispering of many. Terror on every side, as they scheme together against me, as they plot to take my life. But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, You are my God. Psalm 31, verse 13.” He folded it without comment and put it back in his wallet.
I waited silently for his next words, but then I repeated out loud the opening line: “I have become like a broken vessel. Do you feel like a broken vessel?”
He looked up again with such a sad face which I had never seen on him before. “I do. I loved my work—my ministry—with my orphan kids, and I loved the missions, period; but over the years it’s like my priesthood was squeezed out of me. All the fervor I had in the beginning dissipated somewhere along the way. My prayer life seemed to disappear completely. I was just mouthing the words at Mass, but my heart wasn’t in it. I used to be faithful to writing in my journal, you know, ever since I left New York and Greta gave me my first one.”
I just sat silently and listened. My left hand quietly went to my side rosary. I didn’t want to pray it, just to hold it while Ezra poured out his heart to me.
“That’s why you didn’t hear from me for months on end. I wasn’t really depressed, as I said; I loved my work with the kids, but I was empty…a broken vessel. When I heard the Holy Father pray that, I knew he was speaking of the Lord, but it went straight to my poor heart. It was strange. Like I suddenly had a huge love for the Jewish people. I felt one with them again, although maybe it was just the emotion of John Paul being at Yad Vashem.* (*Footnote: The Holocaust Memorial in Jerusalem, established in 1953 on the Mount of Remembrance.) I didn’t lose my faith in Christ, but I felt like I had abandoned Him.” He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. “I was also sick, you know, and my provincial called me home right after that. So, I’m doing much better now. Aunt Sarah has been cooking up a storm for me.”
I quietly spoke up: “Yes, it shows even from Holy Week here. What was the last line of the Psalm that Pope John Paul prayed?”
He took it out of his wallet again and read: “But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, You are my God.”
“Yes, isn’t that powerful too? There’ve been a few times when I’ve been scraping bottom, spiritually and emotionally; and in the end, it brings me back to surrendering everything into His hands. I trust in you, O Lord. I’ve had lots of periods when my Jewishness surfaces, and I’m filled with wonder at how blessed I am; it’s like I haven’t renounced my Jewishness, but really fulfilled it. I say You are my God…and I know that is Yeshuva…”
Ezra smiled his old smile. And putting his hand on his head like a ready-made yarmulke, he softly said: “Shema, Israel, hear O Israel, the Lord our God is One.”
We both sat silent for a minute. “It sounds to me like malaria was the least of your problems; I think you suffered from a bad case of Acedia. It’s a dangerous illness because one can almost lose one’s faith entirely. But it’s also curable, you know. Broken vessels can be glued back together.” I paused for a moment to collect my thoughts. “I’m blessed, you know, because I have a community right here to catch me when I fall, and a few wonderful Sisters who know how to repair broken vessels. I’ve thought of it recently as the charoset of the life, not chopped apples and honey, but tough love and a dash of humor, and plain old perseverance. I’ve been thinking a lot about our Seders when I was a kid, and all the foods Mama prepared with such devotion, and how Papa led the prayers. I’ve even dreamed of Mr. Eli, remember him? He was our doorman, who in my dream told me everything was going to be just fine, when I let Mama’s Seder plate smash on the floor. So don’t let it all get to you, Ezra Goldman, everything is going to be just fine; you are going to be just fine. Just slow down, maybe, and…”
“And what?”
“And listen to the words when you’re saying Mass; it’s Our Lord’s Seder and it has been fulfilled in you…in us…aren’t we the blessed ones!”
I could see the tears flowing down Fr. Matthew’s cheeks. “You’re right, Becky Feinstein, such wisdom you should have since we met at Tea on Thames.”
“I don’t know about wisdom, but I know if we let prayer go, we’re letting our inner connection with the Lord go, and without that, none of this makes any s
ense. You showed me that a hundred years ago; you preached about it on Holy Thursday too. There’s a real presence of the Lord in the Eucharist, but there’s also the real presence within you, and only you can go and adore and commune with the Lord there.” He just sat silent, taking it all in. The frown lines and grimace he showed minutes ago faded away. For a second he was my old friend Ezra sitting on a bench overlooking the Hudson River and talking about the Incarnation.
“Thank you for that, dear Sister Mary Baruch.” His old smile changed his face completely.
“You’re welcome,” I whimpered back, adding: “Such a homily I should be giving to a priest?” And we both laughed at ourselves, knowing the Lord was laughing with us.
It was maybe two weeks later that Fr. Matthew came to say Mass for us, and we had a parlor afterwards. He was wearing his clerical shirt with a tab collar. His curly salt and pepper hair shorn down to a buzz cut, and his eyes regaining a twinkle he had lost before.
“The Passionist Fathers in our province of England and Wales was asking for some help for about a year at their Shrine in Lancashire, England. Lots of activity going on with pilgrimages. The tombs of Blessed Dominic Barberi and Mother Mary Joseph, the foundress of the Cross and Passion Sisters are there. It’s like a retreat mission with lots of time for prayer and in a beautiful location. The Provincial asked me if I would be willing to go.”
“And you said?”
“And I said ‘Yes, I’d love to go.’ I think it’s just what I need at this time. You gave me the desire to really let the Lord renew my priesthood, you know. I’ve always wanted to be a part of a Shrine, and I’ve never been to see our Fathers in England; they’re even fewer in number than we are, so I’m going for just a year, maybe a little longer.”
I could only smile and say: “I think it’s wonderful. I was hoping you’d be around here for a while longer but I’m really glad for you; it sounds wonderful.” I didn’t let him know I was interiorly crushed and sad that he would be away, but I knew the Lord was at work in all of it. I trust in you, O Lord; I say, You are my God.
“When do you leave?”
“Right after the Assumption.”
“And how far is Lancashire from London? Because you know who’s there.”
“Indeed I do; I’ve already emailed her and let her know I’m coming. I think she would be a great asset to the hospitality end of the Shrine. Lancashire Penguins can be delicious.”
* * *
Late in August, Mama and Millie Hutner were off for a week in the Catskills, again, a gift from David who himself couldn’t go, but paid for their transportation and room in the “Jewish Alps.” Late summer in New York is always lovely, but the Catskills? “Such a blessing.”
David, however, did come to see me on his own for the first time. “I want to discuss a few things with you, if that’s okay. Could we meet in both the morning and afternoon?”
“Of course, David, that can be arranged. You can even stay here for lunch, if you’d like.”
“No, that’s fine. There’s a Greek restaurant not far from the monastery that I’ve been wanting to try; I’ll go there for lunch and come back for the afternoon.”
We set a date for the last Friday of August. I was a little nervous wondering what it was that he wanted to discuss with me without Mama being present. I prayed that it wasn’t anything about his or her health. He always appeared to be in tip-top shape, as Brenda the second aspirant on the horizon, would say. Usually she was speaking to a Sister in the infirmary who was far from tip-top, but Brenda thought that being complimented was good medication for the soul. She was a nurse and knew these things.
Mother Rosaria was again very kind in giving me the day to visit with him. “It’s a good day; the novices are not having class in August; my correspondence is practically nil in the summer; it will be good for you to talk to him without your mother there.”
“Blessed be God, Mother, I just hope there isn’t anything seriously wrong with him or Mama.” Mother Rosaria could read the anxiety on my face.
“He’s a good man, your brother. He may be a professional psychiatrist, but he has years of separation from you which he may need to talk about, and didn’t want to in front of your mother. Who knows?” she said in her best New York Jewish accent.
“You’re right, Mother” I responded laughing at her. “Such a Jewish Mother you could be.” And we both laughed.
David arrived on time. He was wearing a sport shirt and seersucker pants that looked very stylish. He sported a Panama hat which made me think of Papa who loved a straw hat in the summer. Mama had him trained well: he arrived with three dozen fresh bagels for all the Sisters and two cartons of Starbuck’s coffee, which he claimed was better than Zabar’s, but couldn’t argue it with Mama.
After the usual small talk about the weather, and the Yankees, which he thought I was still into, he sat down close to the grille. “You know, Becky, I’m terribly sorry for causing you so much pain when we were kids, well, not really kids, but pretty young. We were both at that time in life when we were going to break away from the nest; we all wanted Mama and Papa to be proud of us. Papa was the most open to all four of us—to all five, counting Josh. It about killed them, you know, when he enlisted in the army; it was so contrary to what they believed about family and school and settling down. They laid the groundwork for all of us. Running off to the army was not in their script; and like with you, Papa tried to accept our choices better than Mama did. Her power wasn’t in being a boss, or controlling, not even controlling us, but in making a home where one was always welcomed. That’s why I made sure Mama kept her apartment after Papa died—it was all of our home, and with all of us gone, it was Mama’s security.”
I smiled at him. “I’m really grateful you do what you do for Mama; she still feels like she has a purpose and reason to get up. It’s for you she can cook supper and go shopping for a new outfit for her cruise. I’m so grateful she comes to visit me now. I think she’s come to terms with my life.”
“I think so. She talks about you now to all her Hadassah friends, almost in a bragging way, that her ‘daughter, the nun,’ lives such a life. She probably would never tell you this, but she suffered over Ruthie’s life more than she ever did yours. She didn’t understand your life, but then, she didn’t understand Ruthie’s either. The singing and dancing part, yes, but not the drinking and drugs. I think all parents credit or blame themselves for how their children turn out. You? You did something strange but good; ‘Ruthie had talent, why did she drink so much?’ Mama would lament.”
“And Sally’s life?”
“As Mama would say: ‘Oy, such a life she should live?’ But somewhere along the way, Mama didn’t understand any of that either, and couldn’t figure where the blame went. The good part, I guess, is that Mama came to know she couldn’t control our lives. I never married and gave her a wallet full of grandchildren; you ran off to the nunnery, and Sally gave up a prestigious job to become a barber for dogs, as Mama would say; Sally says she runs an upscale Canine Salon.” We both had to laugh.
“Well, I’m glad it’s not a downscale canine salon.” We laughed again. I thought, it was true, Mama never really delved into the gist of Sally’s life; it was more foreign to her, in a way, than my life.
“We all had a problem with your choice, except maybe Ruthie and Papa. I think Papa actually admired you for becoming a Catholic; it’s amazing.”
“Between you and me, David, he did. He even told me so. I think he knew that I would become a nun before I knew it. Dear Papa…”
We sat in silence for a moment, each lost in our own remembrances.
David: “Mama could never get it in her head that Ezra hadn’t brainwashed you; for years she blamed him.”
“I know. None of you, I don’t think, ever got it, that I had been thinking about Christ before I even met Ezra. It was Gracie Price’s fault, if blame needs to be placed, although, it’s really the Lord Himself to blame.” I half smiled and waited for his
reaction.
“I suppose so, if that’s the ‘spin’ you want to give to it.” He said this without rancor. I hadn’t heard the verb “spin” used in that way, but I understood what he meant. It was my way of explaining it all. But I was hoping he didn’t want to go into the whole “religious spin”.
“I’m not religious at all, as you know. I’m certainly not a very good Jew. Funny, huh? You were probably a better Jew than I was when you became a Catholic. But like I’ve said, I’ve had many Catholic patients in my practice, and they really do come around much better than people without any belief in God. It certainly has given me pause over the years.”
“Hmmmmmm” was my brilliant response so far. He didn’t know it, but I was not chanting Ommmm, but calling on the Holy Spirit to enlighten me and to touch David’s soul.
“My whole field, you could say, is dealing with the mind. Like, our lives and personalities, and fears and neuroses all come from the way we think. Somewhere along the way, I think it was from a patient actually, but I don’t remember, who dropped the idea that ‘God’ is the mind behind the design. The design, of course, being the cosmos, the entire universe, but also the very makeup of the human mind, the brain, the electrode forces and synapses involved in simply being alive, as opposed to being ‘brain-dead.’ I could accept that there is a mind behind every other design in the world—human beings are artists and creators, and we are minds, the brains, behind every design.”
“But we didn’t create the molecules and the planets with their moons or the solar system, or the human brain itself with all its, what did you call them, synapses?”
“Exactly. Well, I stewed over this one for a while, like for a couple years. I met Olivia, that’s Sharbel’s mother. She was not only the most beautiful doctor I ever dated, but also the most intelligent. She became a neurosurgeon, you know. She is brilliant.”
“Beautiful and brilliant!” I chimed in.
The Middle Ages of Sister Mary Baruch (Sister Mary Baruch, O.P. Book 2) Page 12
