The Tenth Song

by Ragen, Naomi

  “Abigail?”

  “I’m sorry. I was just . . . the sunset . . . I’m on a mountaintop facing the sea. Adam, if you could be here with me . . .”

  “I didn’t realize you had time for sightseeing.” His voice was cold and strained.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself, chilled. “Adam. I’m still alive. I’m not going to apologize for that. I’ll do what you want me to do, but don’t take that away from me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and she thought his voice sounded suddenly husky. “I’m just . . . it’s so hard. I miss you.”

  “Adam . . . I love you. I’ll hurry. Take care of yourself. Don’t forget to take your pills. What are you eating . . . ?”

  But before he could answer, the phone connection suddenly went dead. She tried to redial, but it was too late. The signal had disappeared.

  “We’re about to start,” someone whispered in her ear.

  She looked up. It was an older woman with the lean body of a teenager wearing all blue with a red-cotton scarf and long, dangling earrings. She smiled, beckoning. “Come.”

  Oil lamps and candles lit the interior, which was filled with pillows and a few scattered plastic chairs. Floor space, she saw, was already filling up.

  “Would you like a chair?” the woman asked. Abigail nodded gratefully. She sat down, waiting.

  Suddenly she saw everyone jump up. She automatically joined them, unsure what had happened. Then she saw him.

  He looked like a kid, she thought, his body strong and beautifully proportioned, like a trekker’s. The long sidecurls spilling down to his shoulders from beneath a white knitted skullcap reminded her of an Old World Chassid’s, except for their silky blondness. His eyes, wide set, were of indeterminate color in the dim light, but she imagined they must be blue. A honey-colored beard outlined his slender face and high cheekbones, surprisingly delicate for such a large man. His wide forehead glistened with light and also (she admitted to herself almost reluctantly) with intelligence and youthfulness. He wore a plain white button-down shirt whose long sleeves were neatly folded just below his elbows, and simple dark pants. He wore no black hat—that easily noted symbol of religious affiliation with the ultra-Orthodox. And yet, she noted that the fringes of his tzitzis hung out over the waistband of his pants, clearly marking him as one who was not modern Orthodox either. The skullcap was the white cap of the Breslavers, those lovers of Jewish mysticism and song, followers of the dead rebbe buried in Ukraine who had left behind only his cryptic books, but no Chassidic dynasty.

  Where, exactly, this person fit into the gradations of religious observance she could not decide. In fact, he reminded her of guitarists sitting on the pavement in Haight-Ashbury in the sixties although that was years before he was born.

  She leaned over to the woman in blue. “Who is that?”

  “Our teacher. Rav Natan.” Her face shone.

  Abigail shifted uncomfortably. She’d expected someone older, greyer, fatter, swathed in the usual black uniform. Looking around the room, she realized nothing was as she’d imagined. In front of her, a woman in harem pants and a Himalayan Arveda Yoga sweatshirt sat next to a black woman in a red turban. An Asian girl in boots and a red beret and pink tights, her legs stretched out before her, gently massaged the forehead of a young blond girl whose head rested on her knees. A man with a grey beard, wearing a huge purple-and-orange skullcap, sat in a lotus position. Next to him sat a grandmother in green-and-black pajama pants topped by a black-flowered skirt and a purple blouse. Silver chains dangled around her neck. A heavy woman in boots and a jeans skirt was leaning against her, hugging her. And in the back, among the men, Abigail was amazed to see the Arab chef, his kaffiyeh wrapped around his neck, standing and waiting for the lecture to begin.

  “No matter how dark our lives may be,” Rav Natan began, “one need never despair. Real despair comes from feeling abandoned. The source of all sadness is in this loneliness. You feel there is no God, and this belief is the source of anger, depression, destructiveness. But in that fog, in the lowest depths, that is where He is, waiting for you. And what your heart desires most is to find Him, as a baby seeks its mother, a child its father.”

  Abigail listened, watching as he drew his long fingers gently, contemplatively through his beard. His smile was lopsided and charming.

  She looked around her at the rapt faces. They were all in love with him; that was plain. Their eyes were dark and wide; they rested their cheeks on folded fingers, like young women in Monet paintings. They looked at him as she had recently gazed at the sunset.

  “But in order to connect with God, you first have to find yourself. Self-discovery is the purpose of creation, and ordeals are the way God stretches us, showing us, who we really are.”

  Abigail suddenly sat up.

  “The Hebrew word for ordeal, nesayon, contains the word for miracle, nes. A person looks at a wall and says: ‘I could never climb over it.’ But if that wall imprisoned you in a concentration camp, and you were being chased by Nazis and their guard dogs, you would scramble up that wall and jump to the other side. You would find that you did have it in you all along. You just didn’t know it. But as wonderful as that would be, it wouldn’t be miraculous.

  “Where, then, is the miracle in our ordeals? It is when God asks you to do the impossible.”

  Abigail felt her heart beat faster, the sweat break out on her forehead.

  He suddenly stopped, looking up and into the faces of everyone in the room.

  “If God told you to jump off a cliff and promised to catch you, would you jump?”

  There was an exchange of anxious, amused glances, as people tried to decide the right answer, the answer he wanted.

  “If you knew, absolutely, that it was God talking to you, and you weren’t hallucinating, of course you would! God can ask you to do the impossible, because it is impossible for you, not for Him. When we are faced with such an ordeal, we should not ask if it’s possible for us to overcome it; we must ask if it’s necessary. If the answer is yes, and you are willing to make that leap, then He will catch you. But you have to make the first move. You have to lift up your feet. You cannot see who you are meant to become from where you are standing now. You can only see it once you arrive, when you allow God to stretch you beyond your real limitations.”

  Abigail felt light-headed, as if she’d been given a great revelation.

  “Lech-Lecha. Leave who you are now and go to who you were meant to be.”

  She felt the tears suddenly, unexpectedly flow down her cheeks. Like the Mona Lisa who gave all onlookers the sensation that she was staring directly at them, and only them, Rav Natan looked to Abigail as if he was talking to her, saying those words only to her. She searched vainly in her purse for a tissue.

  “Here.” Someone handed one to her.

  “Thank you.” She blew her nose, and wiped her eyes.

  “Do you need another?”

  She looked up. It was a young man with tangled dark curls, tragic green eyes, and a three-day stubble.

  “I’m Kayla’s mother,” she whispered with some strange instinct that he already knew.

  She got up, wanting desperately to go somewhere private. Her feet wobbled as if they’d been frostbitten. Her back ached. Her heart felt as if it had grown in her chest. She placed her hand over it, counting the beats.

  “Are you all right?”

  It was him again.

  “I don’t know,” she answered. He took her arm and led her outside. He brought a chair out for her, and she sat down.

  “I’m Daniel,” he said. “Your daughter’s friend.”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I thought so.”

  “Really?”

  He spoke in English, which surprised her. He looked so Israeli. “Is Kayla here?”

  “Yes. She’s inside. You were measuring your heartbeats. Do you have heart problems?”

  “No . . . that is . . . I have a mitral valve prolapse. But so do millions o
f others. It’s not dangerous.”

  “Maybe you should lie down. Is your heart racing? Do you take beta blockers? I’m a doctor,” he said simply. “Let me help you. Was there something in the lecture that upset you?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “It’s just that . . . I’m too old to jump, too old to grow. The trials God has given me are really too hard for me. Impossible.” She felt the tears welling over. “I’m not a bad person. And God is about to strip me of everything I have, including my self-respect, and my good name.”

  “Rav Natan once taught us that when God removes our familiar boundaries, when He changes the landscape of our lives, it’s the scariest thing in the world.” He nodded. “But also the most blessed. A second chance to be born—not like a baby, but with all our knowledge. A chance to start over.”

  “I was happy with who I was!” But even as the words left her lips, she felt the sting of regret, wanting to take them back. That isn’t true, she admitted to herself.

  “You will be happy again.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You are already in the air. You’ve already leapt.”

  She stared at him, and past him at the little holes poked in the sky letting in the abundance of celestial light that had traveled from billions of light-years away. She felt a strange sensation as this light poured through her, entering through a tiny crack in her desperation that she hadn’t known existed. It would not stop. Undeserved, unearned, it refused to listen to reason, gathering strength, flooding all her senses with unearned hope.

  23

  “Mom?”

  The sound of Kayla’s voice brought her back to earth.

  “Kayla. I’m here.”

  She saw her daughter exchange intimate glances with the young man, the unspoken expression of married people and lovers. Her heart sank. He was glue. Superglue. And she had been assigned to pry her daughter loose.

  “So you’ve met my friend Daniel.”

  “Yes. He’s been very kind, but I really think I need to lie down. Will you come with me?”

  “Of course.” Kayla reached down and took her arm, helping her up.

  “Here, let me . . .” Daniel offered.

  “NO! I mean, thank you, it won’t be necessary. I think I need a little alone time with my daughter, if that’s all right. I don’t mean to be rude.”

  She saw the two of them signal to each other with their hands and eyebrows. She imagined it must be code for “meet you later, honey, when the old lady is disposed of.” She felt like the meddling busybody in some Noel Coward comedy, trying to thwart the obvious. She would no doubt achieve the same farcical results. Besides, she had her own problem, she realized. A gigantic one. She actually found Daniel more congenial than Seth, who had always intimidated her a bit. Also more attractive. He seemed more rugged, more manly. Seth had always secretly reminded her of those male dolls manufactured to serve as Barbie’s boyfriend. She secretly blamed him for Kayla’s leaving. If he had been more of a man, if he had supported her . . .

  “I’ll see you later.” Daniel nodded to them both, turning back into the lit tent. She watched Kayla’s eyes follow him greedily until he disappeared.

  “So, how did you like the lecture?”

  Abigail was silent for a moment. “Tell me, Kayla, you didn’t say anything to him . . . your Rav Natan . . . about . . . our situation, did you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ah, I was just wondering if that speech was custom-designed for me . . .”

  Kayla shrugged. “As I’ve already told you, Mom, lots of people here have had ordeals. It’s that kind of place.”

  “So I gather. A place to run away to. What is your friend Daniel running from?”

  She met her mother’s eyes. “Sorrow.”

  “Yes. He has sad eyes.”

  Kayla nodded, some of the brightness fading from her own.

  “He says he’s a doctor. A medical doctor?”

  She nodded. “But he doesn’t practice. Not anymore.”

  “He seems a bit young to have retired.”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “And what’s the story with the black woman and the Asian girl? And that Arab chef with the kaffiyeh who comes to lectures? They aren’t even Jewish.”

  “They aren’t. There are people here from all over the world.”

  “Really? How did they even find out about this place?”

  “Through the Internet. Rav Natan’s lectures are online, translated into several languages. Anyone can read them, or hear them.”

  “Why would a Muslim or Christian or Buddhist be so fascinated by what a rabbi has to say? And why, in Heaven’s name, would they travel all the way here just to be near him?”

  “Why did Madonna start learning Kabala?” Kayla shrugged. “People all over the world are overwhelmed. Things are happening too fast. Awful things. All the red lines have been crossed. There isn’t a single person alive who isn’t terrified about the future. No place seems safe anymore. People are searching for a way back, a way out. The old religions seem so helpless.”

  “So, you’re founding a new religion here?”

  She grinned. “Nothing so exciting, Mom. We are just listening to some of the old wisdom that has been forgotten. Trying to figure out a better way.”

  That actually makes sense, Abigail thought. “But what’s with the clothes?”

  Kayla laughed. “I also thought it was weird at first. I think people here just shed whatever they’d brought with them because the climate here is so different. And then, a certain style just evolved: comfortable, modest, sun-friendly . . .”

  “But why the turbans? And those colors?”

  “A few of the married women decided to follow Orthodox Jewish tradition and cover their hair. But they made the custom their own, doing it with elaborate headdresses and bright colors. My own theory is that it’s sort of a protest against the idea that women should cover themselves up in order to become invisible.”

  “They do look pretty!”

  Kayla nodded, pleased.

  “But why Israel? Why the desert?”

  “Some people say that just like some places have an abundance of sunshine or rain, Israel has an abundance of God.”

  Could this be true? Abigail thought, strangely elated and even a bit frightened by such a concept.

  “And the desert has always been God’s crucible, hasn’t it? It’s got no distractions. It’s easier to find God here. Easier to find yourself. That makes sense, doesn’t it, Mom? And if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll admit that you’re in the same boat. We all are.”

  Abigail was silent.

  “So, what did you think of the lecture?”

  “He’s a very stirring speaker. But maybe that’s because I am so vulnerable right now.”

  “Did you do the meditation? That would have clarified things for you.”

  “What meditation?”

  “He always ends each session with a guided meditation.”

  “No, I left before that. It’s . . . I’m . . . too . . .”

  “What? Too skeptical?”

  “Let’s just say I don’t know if I could force this stiff body into a lotus position.”

  “Mom, I know you’re afraid. But that’s normal. It’s terrifying to open yourself up like that. I was so frightened the first time. Being alone with your thoughts is the scariest thing in the world.”

  Abigail stiffened. “I’m not afraid.”

  Kayla looked at her mother with compassion: “You’ve never had a real communication with God, have you?”

  Abigail felt her insides contract. The words scrambled hotly to her lips: “Don’t presume to tell me what kind of relationship I’ve had with God! Do you really think you are the first person to discover ‘the meaning of life’? I’ve been around a little longer than you! Everything you think you’ve just discovered is old news.”

  “I can see I’ve hurt you.”

  Of course, that was t
rue.

  “Promise me you’ll try to meditate. Just for ten minutes. It isn’t hard. Just cleanse your mind of everything.”

  “I’ve had enough . . .” Abigail said firmly, rushing down the path back to her room, her heart beating wildly. She slammed the door, then leaned back against it, feeling dizzy with anger, and sorrow. Could Kayla be right? Was she terrified of facing a God she didn’t really know, had never encountered despite a lifetime of faithful ritual observance? Or was it herself she was afraid to meet? Had it all been a waste, then? Years invested in faith with nothing to show, and one minute alone with herself and God too much to bear?

  She walked out of the room into the night. There were so many, many stars! A kaleidoscope of diamonds that had been hovering over her for a lifetime unseen, hidden by city lights. An amazed shudder went through her.

  She closed her eyes, sinking down to the ground, her back resting against a tree. Her mind went suddenly blank—a white screen with no subtitles, a white nothingness, an emptiness. This is stupid, she thought, jumping up and opening her eyes. But some mysterious force pulled her down again. She closed her eyes once more, leaning back. She sat awkwardly at first, sensitive to the slightest discomfort, shifting to make her legs more comfortable, taking her elbows off her knees. Gradually, she found a place for all her limbs, which seemed to melt away, moving out of her consciousness. She was no longer a body, she realized, just a yearning soul crying out in the wilderness in its terrifyingly separateness. She took deep breaths, trying to keep herself from panicking.

  Then came the images. She glimpsed a sea turtle gliding along the ocean floor in the Great Barrier Reef. Giant sea lions basking in the sun on a riverbank in Alaska. The sunset over the ocean in Kauai.