The Middle Ages of Sister Mary Baruch (Sister Mary Baruch, O.P. Book 2)

by Jacob Restrick

  Poor Sally looked quite bedraggled by it all. She probably hasn’t gotten any sleep.

  “Are you staying in David’s apartment or at home?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  “I’m in our old apartment. I’ll go over to David’s this afternoon. I have to meet with his lawyers; I have a key to his place, however, as Mitz and I have stayed there before. I don’t know what’s going to happen to any of their stuff. We never talked about that. I know David has a will, and he made sure Mama did too; he was good that way. We’re the only ones he’s got left, and I don’t know…” She hesitated, like stopping to measure her words. “I don’t know if he redid his will since you and he were… talking to each other again. You know what I mean.”

  “Oh, I don’t expect anything. I can’t inherit anything anyway because of my vows. I haven’t even thought about that. And all their things…all Mama’s things, what will happen to them all? Isn’t it awful – we can’t even have a proper funeral and Kaddish, and sit Shiva. Poor Mama. I think she had a girl at the Helena Rubenstein Salon pre-hired to do her hair when she passed.”

  “Oy.” That’s all it took: Sally’s little forever-Yiddish “oy” and we got the giggles which turned into good old fashioned sisterly laughter, which ended in sobbing for our loss.

  We managed to get it all out, and settled for another cup of coffee and croissant with orange marmalade. It calmed us down, and we talked about lots of trivial things, like the traffic in New York, and that Mama and David and she were planning to go see 42nd Street. She said Mama wanted to go see Elizabeth Taylor and Michael Jackson at Madison Square Garden the night before, on the 10th. It was a 30th anniversary show of Michael’s. She wasn’t sure that David could get tickets.

  “May I ask you something? You don’t have to answer it, and I’m not asking to start an argument or anything…it’s just that you seem so ‘together.’ You were the closest to Ruthie and to Mama these last couple years…”

  I didn’t know what Sally was going to ask. The last of my croissant went down, and I just sat there staring at this poor woman who was my sister, but could easily have been a stranger come-in off the street. “Yes?”

  “Why would God, whom you say is All Love, allow such a thing to happen? Maybe to really evil people, but Mama? Mama never hurt a fly; she was always kind to people. Granted, she had her opinions and loved to gossip, but she wasn’t cruel. Why would God let this happen; she should die in such a horrific way? And David: he was a good man – you saw how he took care of Mama.”

  I sat for a moment, collecting my thoughts. “I’ll take more coffee, if you’d be so kind.” I put my mug on the turn and spun it over to her side. I could see Sally’s hand shaking as she poured the coffee.

  “I’ve asked myself that question, of course. It’s an ancient one, actually. It’s the old old question of why is there evil in the world if God is a good and loving God. I can’t put it into a clear answer like our Dominican Fathers do, but I know that God doesn’t cause evil things to happen; there is not an ounce of evil in Him; the letting bad things happen began with us, and from our human ability to freely choose it…Remember on Yom Kippur, the sound of the shofar? That aching, hollow, blare of the horn that was like the soul crying out to God for mercy. God made us with these free wills, and if we choose to do evil over good, He allows it, because we have to be free. We’re not computers or robots, even though we’re creatures of habit, thank Goodness, or we’d never know how to dress ourselves in the morning.” Sally smiled and sipped and grimaced and stared back at me, listening.

  “Sometimes when we choose to do something not so good, it affects, not just us, but other people too. I’ve wrestled with that one for years, you know. When I became a Catholic, the whole family, except for Papa, thought I was doing something awful, and it affected you all. If you listened to David, my abandoning Judaism, as he put it, affected all our relatives for generations of Austrian Feinsteins whom I was betraying, not to mention the State of Israel.”

  Sally laughed. “I remember that. David, the self-made Talmudic scholar and historian whose shadow never crossed the doorway of a synagogue.”

  “The evil of the attack on the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and that plane full of innocent people in Pennsylvania affected thousands of people; it’s affected us, in our grief and nightmares. Mama and David did not die that cruel death as a punishment from God, but because there’s evil in the world, and we are affected by it.” I sat silent for a moment. I’m always afraid I’m going to get preachy.

  I went on: “You know, as terrible as it was, I have to think, I want to think, that Mama and David, didn’t know what was coming. The impact of the plane was so powerful, their dying was instant. That’s too awful to imagine, but can you imagine if Mama had some illness that lingered for years; how she would have hated it all; what she would have deemed ‘useless suffering’ – for what? Everything sagging and hurting; being bedridden…”

  “Her hair all tangled up and greasy,” Sally added to my image. “No nail polish on cracked nails and her memory fading.”

  We both sat lost in our imaginations, not wanting to say it was good Mama went so quickly and so suddenly, because it wasn’t good, but she was happy at that moment. She was celebrating her birthday with her son, the doctor, in a gorgeous restaurant high above the New York she loved. She had all her cards in order, as they say, with her three living children…she was a grandma.

  “More coffee?” Sally was up and heading for the remains of the Pyrex pot.

  “No thank you,” I said politely, “another cup of that and my back teeth will be floating.” That was an old expression of Mama’s. We both laughed to break the seriousness of the air in the room.

  Sally added: “Such a blessing, orange marmalade.” And we laughed. Funny how we human beings ease the tension of sadness with laughter. I picked up from it to say:

  “You see, even the good things we do and say affect others. The novices here and half the community see the little things of life as ‘such a blessing,’ and say so. Mama’s had an effect here all these years, and she never knew it.

  Seated again with a newly smeared croissant, Sally said, “Do you think Mama’s life was…I don’t know what word I want… shallow? You know, it was all appearances and what people thought.”

  “Oh, I guess on one level, yes, Mama certainly lived on the surface of life; most people do. We get caught up in the externals, that’s for sure, and what the world thinks is important, or notorious, or meaningful. Some people, I dare say, never get beneath the surface. I’m reading a wonderful book by an old Dominican Father who says that everyone has an interior life—it’s our talking to ourselves; we all do this, hopefully silently; but we’re always talking to ourselves, making plans, worrying about the future, or brewing over something in the past…that’s all an interior life, he says. But when the interior conversation turns to God who is within our heart of hearts, then this interior life becomes a spiritual life. And some poor people spend their whole lives only talking to themselves.”

  Sally was listening intently. After all, she was always considered the smartest of the Feinstein girls; she could delve into deeper thoughts. She was probably thinking about her own life too, I hoped, but we had Mama to use as our example.

  I went on. “I think Mama discovered the spiritual life within herself. She kept it very private, but you know, you have to be able to see deeper than the surface of things to see everything as a ‘blessing’…a favor from God. I used to love to watch and listen when Mama lit the candles for Shabbat, and closed her eyes, and prayed. And remember, she was married to Ruben Feinstein, no slouch when it came to the spiritual life, and living life a little deeper than what meets the eye.” It was a spontaneous gesture, but I lifted my coffee cup to Sally: “L’Chaim.”

  “L’Chaim.” She responded in good Jewish fashion. “I guess you don’t think you live your life on the surface, do you? I think I always judged you and ‘it’ looking only at t
he externals, but there must be more going on after all these years to keep you here.”

  “In the nunnery?” I reminded her. “I think maybe David came to see that too. Some days I’m not so sure, but yes, we try to live life at the deep end. We even have a verse from Scripture where Jesus tells Peter to go out into the deep water and drop your net. And they caught more fish than the boat could haul.” Sip, munch. “I’d say that the really deep part escapes us much of the time. We are living in a mystery, not like a murder mystery or a puzzle, but a spiritual reality—we are living in Christ, or He lives in us in a very real way. His life is in us…we spend a lot of time studying and praying and meditating on this, so I can’t explain it all in five minutes.”

  Sally just nodded.

  “It’s a very Jewish life, you know, although I’d never say that here. But to live in Christ and He in us, is very mystical. He is not just the Messiah, but the fulfillment of all the sacrifices, all the prophets, and of the whole Torah. He is our sukkah in whom we live, and we are His sukkots in which He lives, filling us with the lights of Chanukah all year round...we pilgrim people on our way to the homeland. Next year, Jerusalem…the Heavenly Jerusalem that is. Purgatory…” it just dawned on me after all these years. “Purgatory is where we burn up all the chametz before we sit down at the heavenly banquet. And our prayers are His prayers—the Jewish Psalms, we chant over and over. And most of all…” I slowed down and paused so Sally could hear it all. “…most of all He is the true lamb of Pesach; His blood is spread on the lintels of our souls, and evil passes over us when we live in the blood of the Lamb. We pass through the Red Sea of Baptism, and our sins, like the Egyptians, are drowned in its waves and we are saved. The salt water for dipping karpas, remember? Sometimes that’s thought of as the Red Sea. And most especially, or as one of our postulants would say, the ‘most awesome,’ Jesus is the matzah of the new Seder, the new order of the new covenant. His body is broken in death on Good Friday before the shofars are sounded announcing the Sabbath, and He is hidden in the tomb, and found alive again by Mary Magdalen and His apostles on the day after Shabbat…the new Shabbat, the eighth day.”

  No response yet. Sally drank her coffee and the croissant lay uneaten, so far, on Sr. Paula’s guest plastic-ware. (“Such a blessing, you can drop it, and it won’t break or crack or chip.” Those are Sr. Paula’s sentiments. And I suppose it’s all very convenient, but I kind of hate plastic dishes. There’s something more real when dishes can get chipped and break, like us. I had a quick flashback of Mama’s Seder plate crashing on the hardwood floor. If that had been plastic it would still be with us; but if it were plastic, it would not have been so beautiful.)

  “Now that’s just part of the depth we strive to live in, but sad to say, we can spend a lot of time living on the surface too. We come in with all our ‘chametz.’ It takes more than one night to find it all…it takes a lifetime.”

  Sally laughed, but she was deep in thought. Remembering, she said: “I haven’t thought about that in years. I remember when it was just David and I who searched for the chametz, and I knew we’d find some because Papa always ‘planted’ some. And we’d always have flashlights to search for the chametz.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I forgot that. I think in ancient days it was probably a candle. The light of a candle lights up our way. On Holy Saturday night we begin in total darkness and light a large candle called the Paschal candle, the Passover Candle, and we follow it in the dark, and light our individual candles from it. Oh, dear, I hope in a hundred years they aren’t using plastic Paschal candles with electric flames.”

  Sally was still thinking about the chametz, however, and asked: “Do you still find a lot of chametz in your life? I’d think it was a pretty kosher kitchen by now.”

  “Well, if I think about it, our whole life here is really like a life-long Pesach. We have times each year, like Advent and Lent, but really a time each day, to search for the chametz, the leaven, St. Paul calls it. It’s part of what keeps us from real purity of heart. Ha! The kitchen may be kosher, but the heart isn’t there yet. It just dawned me that Cassian, I think, says the ultimate aim or ultimate end of our life is Eternal life, but the immediate end, like the daily aim—is attaining purity of heart.”

  “A kosher heart!” That was my intelligent sister catching on!

  “Yes, a kosher heart,” I said. “That’s very good.”

  “But even then, it seems like such a waste. Like you aren’t doing anything to help people – you know, like Mother Teresa.”

  “A lot of people think that, probably even within the Church. But, again, it’s the affecting-others-thing, like evil, but the opposite. And actually, I’ve realized over the years, that Catholics have a specific and maybe a unique understanding of the Church, very different from Protestants. It’s more than an organization or institution, it’s also an organic body—we call it the Mystical Body…the Mystical Body of Christ. And we become a living member, or cell, of that Body at baptism—it’s that Christ living in us again. What we do or don’t do, affects the entire Body. And we here, like other monks, nuns, and even hermits, devote our lives to prayer and penance and sacrifice for others—for their eternal salvation. So it’s not a ‘selfish’ or self-centered life, but a hidden life lived for others. We don’t see the fruit of our prayer and sacrifice as a teaching Sister or hospital Sister might see it. Even Mother Teresa, you know, also has a contemplative branch of her Order. They are not strictly enclosed like we are, but they live a life of prayer and sacrifice.”

  “No, I didn’t know that. But, back to you, your life is so regulated, doesn’t it get boring? Don’t you wish you could get away from it all, you know, go out for dinner, have a few drinks, go to a movie, go dancing, go on vacation?”

  I laughed. “All of those have passed through my mind; I miss the theater, certainly, and the beauty of the ballet, and the symphony at Alice Tully Hall or Carnegie Hall – not that I went so much, but it was always nice to know it was all going on. I miss walking down Fifth Avenue, especially at Christmas. Yes, I miss a lot of ordinary things, and our life is very ‘regulated’ as you put it, but that holds us up when we’re going through the slouchy periods. And actually the life is never boring; it may be tedious at times, and repetitious, but it’s never boring.”

  Sally sat silent for a moment, taking it all in, along with her croissant and orange marmalade.

  “We also have classes, and retreats, and special lectures to fit different seasons of the year, but the rhythm of the life comes from singing the Psalms and reading the Scriptures…we’re like an All Girls Catholic Yeshiva.” Sally laughed at that, as I thought she would.

  “Well, I can see you’re not bored; your face gets all animated and lights up when you talk like this. I’m glad David got to see this before…before it was too late.”

  Our thoughts were interrupted by the bell for Sext. “That’s the bell calling me to prayer, and then we have dinner or lunch, although it’s really our main meal. You’re welcome to stay and have some lunch here in the retreat dining room, and I could meet with you afterwards.”

  “Maybe the next time; I’ve got to get back to Manhattan and uptown and see what’s what with the apartments, and I’m meeting with the lawyer, I hope, this afternoon. Can I come back in the next couple days? I’ll have more information then.”

  “Of course you can, just call ahead of time and let Sr. Paula know when you’ll be here.”

  “She’s the cute one, right?”

  Laughing. “That’s right…she’s also the portress, the extern sister, and the phone-sister when the machine isn’t on. Good luck with the lawyers…I’ll keep praying at this end.”

  Sally didn’t quite know how to respond to that, but smiled, squeezed my index fingers through the grille, grabbed the last croissant on the tray, and exited saying “Later, Sis.”

  I just stood there speechless. I don’t think she’s ever called me “Sis” even when we were little.

  Chapt
er Eighteen

  October 2002

  Now when Job’s three friends heard of all this evil that had come upon him, they came each from his own place…They made an appointment together to come to condole with him and comfort him. (Job 2:11)

  I kept October 1st 2002 as the first anniversary of Gwendolyn’s visit. I’ll always remember it as it’s also the feast day of St. Thérèse, the Little Flower. St. Thérèse was the first Catholic saint that I met and with whom I became friends. I guess I’d have to say St. Vincent Ferrer was the first Catholic saint that I met, but I didn’t know him as “a friend” like I came to know Thérèse of Lisieux. I first “met” her riding the crosstown bus after visiting my Catholic friend, Gracie Price, at Mt. Sinai Hospital. I had stopped that day to light a candle for her at St. Vincent’s, and helped myself to a handful of the pamphlets and booklets on the rack in the vestibule. The first one I read had on the cover, the picture of a young nun in a brown habit holding a bouquet of roses. It talked about her “little way” of doing everything for the Lord with love.

  I don’t know the full extent of everything that happened to me that day, but I always remembered little Thérèse as being a part of it. St. Thérèse loved little things. I still pray to her to help me find the Lord in the little things of each day.

  Maybe she helped me find Tea on Thames, owned and run by a lovely woman from Yorkshire, England, named Gwendolyn Putterforth. Little did I ever suspect then that Gwendolyn would wind up being my godmother!