by Yael Levy
He smiled broadly. “I’m studying to be a rabbi.”
She blanched. God, I didn’t mean that good! She couldn’t see herself as a rabbi’s wife. She was too quirky. She was a lousy cook. Plus, she always said the worst possible thing at any given moment. She was the anti-rabbi’s wife. Or, as Fitzgerald put it, odd. But more important: How could she ever bring a rabbi home to her mother? Rabbis didn’t make a lot of money. Her mother would have a fit.
The train’s brakes screeched as if her mother had heard the news: A rabbi? Then the train car lurched, throwing Rachel into Jacob’s arms. At his touch, a jolt of heat buzzed through her, like the electric sparks that kept the trains moving fast.
Jacob helped her stand, lingering a few moments longer than needed before releasing her from his arms. But he didn’t offer a perfunctory apology. Instead, he smiled shyly. He was blushing. Rachel realized he’d felt that bolt of lightning, too.
Passion. Now she finally understood what they were all talking about.
CHAPTER FOUR
Leah tried to corral her frizzy hair but was having a hard time with it. “I hate you!” she shouted at her reflection in the mirror.
“Well, I love you!” Rachel said. She sat curled up on Leah’s canopy bed, poring through Elle magazines, while Leah got ready for her date. Leah’s mother didn’t allow her to go on the Internet for anything besides research, but for some reason she didn’t seem to mind that she bought magazines and spent a lot of time in her room, which was a pale lavender color. Once, when Suri was going through a phase in which she wished she had a daughter, she offered to decorate Leah’s room. She covered all the expenses and chose a French country style; she had even started a collection of pretty blond antique dolls to place on the shelves.
“Why can’t you behave?” Leah chastised her exuberant mane.
Leah was clearly flipping out. She often acted this way when she had a fight with her mother, and Rachel could guess what this one was about.
“Leah, could you chill? Wet your hair and be done with it.” Rachel went back to the magazine and spotted a cream cashmere outfit she liked.
Leah started to cry. “I cannot tame this beast of hair and be ready in time for this stupid, stupid date.”
“Who cares? You think this guy will even notice?”
“Yes!”
“And if he doesn’t like you because of your frizzies, so what?”
“He’ll tell my true soul mate back at his yeshiva not to go out with me because I’m ugly.”
“You’re not ugly. But you are certifiably insane.”
“Thanks for your vote of confidence. Remind me to call you the next time I’m preparing for a date. Not.”
“You just can’t stand it that I love you the way you are.”
“Who could love this hair?”
“Your soul mate. Your basherte. Right now he’s on a date with a Vogue model, only wishing he could meet Leah Bloom, pining with all his heart to run his fingers through her wild, frizzy hair.”
“Right. With a lawnmower, maybe.”
“You are your own worst enemy, Leah.”
“Actually, I think my mother is.”
Rachel agreed but didn’t say so out loud. She watched as Leah prettied herself. Black sweater and skirt, black stockings, and shiny black heels. She looked Manhattan sophisticated, yet modest. And as every Brooklyn girl knew, if she spilled her drink on a black outfit while on the date, it wouldn’t show. She’d still look presentable.
“Now check out this outfit.” Rachel uncurled herself from the bed and brought the Elle magazine over to Leah’s desk. Though Suri’s imprint was felt all over the room, the desk belonged to Leah. Piled meticulously on the right side were all of Leah’s textbooks. To the left, her romance novels. In the middle, rows and rows of makeup, stacked by size.
“I hate it. You have horrible taste.” Leah dismissed the photo. “Check out page sixty-three of that Bride magazine on my nightstand. Then you’ll see beauty.” Leah sighed. “I’m tying up my hair.”
“Leah, no. You look fourteen when you tie it up,” Rachel said as she shuffled through Leah’s biology notes until she found the magazine.
“But the frizzies are horrible. It makes my nose jut out and look even bigger.”
“Your mother paid a few grand for that nose,” Rachel said, though she was pretty sure that Suri had helped them out.
“What, you got to go to Florida for your Sweet Sixteen. I got a nose.”
“I told you at the time it was crazy. People with nice noses don’t get nose jobs.”
“I just wanted a better one.”
“Your mother wanted a better one. You looked fine, but you went along with their crazy idea anyway. You are the only person in the world who literally cuts off her nose to spite her face.” Rachel riffled through the Bride magazine.
Leah tied up her hair. “You’re just jealous.”
“You wish. This wedding gown is so frou-frou. Nobody in the world dresses like this. And it’s polyester. How could you choose a polyester wedding gown?”
“I like the style. I could get it made in satin.”
Rachel turned the page. “Nice tux this groom is wearing.”
Leah agreed. “Why don’t Brooklyn boys wear tuxes to weddings?”
“I don’t know. Did you see that waiter I dropped my strawberries on? He was cute. And sweet.”
“I didn’t see anyone,” Leah shook her head. “You’re the one who is certifiably insane. How will you afford to live with a waiter? You know what private school tuition is costing these days?”
“What are you talking about tuition for? I haven’t even gotten married yet.”
“Will you come down from the clouds, Rachel? We have a whole lifestyle to pay for. Kosher food, holiday clothes. Yeshiva tuition and sending the kids to camp. A gaggle of kids. Plus you’ll want to take a trip every now and then and maybe take the kids to Israel to learn about their roots. And we haven’t even talked about paying for college or helping the kids with down payments so they can buy homes when they have kids.”
“Leah, you’re already up to grandchildren, and all I said was that I thought that waiter was cute.”
“One thing leads to another. You have to marry someone who will give you financial security.”
“I thought those matters were in God’s hands.”
The doorbell rang. “Oh, shreck. It’s time,” Leah whispered.
“You’ll be fine.”
“What should I talk about? We had nothing to say on the phone.”
“The usual — family, friends, values. What he thinks about your nose.”
“Oh, stop it.” Leah threw her fluffy makeup brush at Rachel, who laughed.
Leah’s mother chastised her from the hallway. “Leah, come here — now. He’s here.”
Leah stared solemnly into the mirror.
“You look great. You’ll be fine,” Rachel whispered. “I’ll watch you from the window.”
Leah smiled wanly, and then went to meet her destiny. Rachel peeked through her door. Leah’s mother stood in the kitchen, dressed formally, as if she was going on the date. She seemed innocent enough, but Rachel knew that Leah’s mother had an abrasive side to her, and that she kept Leah on a short leash. She was also very meticulous and had thoroughly cleaned the house for the big date. The floors smelled like ammonia and plastic covered the seats, couch, and any uncovered surface. Rachel could see through to the dining room, where the table, covered with a white lace tablecloth (and plastic on top), held plates of fancy appetizers, laid out next to glass cups and bottles of water.
Leah’s mother, suddenly the model of civility, lifted a plate of cookies she’d brought home from the bakery off the table. “Some cookies, maybe? Leah made them. Try one.”
The
boy smiled and nervously took a cookie. “Thank you.” His hand trembled as he made the blessing over food and took a bite.
“Isn’t that wonderful?” Mrs. Bloom encouraged the boy. “Such a baker is my Leah.”
Leah shot Rachel a desolate glance through the door, and then entered the dining room, where her mother stood with the boy.
The boy stopped trembling and gazed at her.
Mrs. Bloom beamed. “Leah, this is Chaim Nudle. He’s machatonim with Suri’s and my cousin Esther; you know, his brother is married to Esther’s niece.”
The boy nodded dutifully.
Leah smiled politely, welcoming the boy into her home. “So you come here often?”
Did she really say that? Rachel was sure Leah was mortified. She giggled from Leah’s room.
The boy gaped.
“Chaim is hoping to go to medical school,” Mrs. Bloom chirped, not mentioning anything about Leah’s dream of going to medical school. “Right, Chaim? What did Esther say — you want to be a neurosurgeon?”
The boy paled. “Well, uh, actually, I was thinking about joining the family business.”
Leah’s mother laughed. “Nonsense. Your mother said you were going to become a doctor!” She shoved another plate at the boy. “Some more, maybe?”
Chaim gazed sidelong at Leah, who frowned at her mother. “Uh, no thanks. I think that’s fine.”
Mr. Bloom nodded approvingly. “So you study Talmud with Rabbi Kaplinsky. What are you learning now in yeshiva?”
They went back and forth for a few minutes, the boy reciting passages from the Talmud. Obviously he passed the test, as Mrs. Bloom told the couple to have a good time.
“Maybe take some cookies for the road?” Leah’s mother offered.
“Ma. Really, it’s okay!” Leah hissed as Chaim Nudle escorted her, without touching her at all, to the door.
From the upstairs window, Rachel watched her best friend leave her home, leave her block, leave Brooklyn. And it struck her that soon — before she knew it — all her friends would be moving on.
CHAPTER FIVE
On Saturday night, Rachel was entertaining Leah and their friend Hindy Goldfarb in her cozy finished attic when Ma called up from downstairs: “What should I tell Suri?”
“Tell her I have to think about it!” Rachel called back. She sighed, knowing what was coming next. Ma clearly thought she could enlist some support from Rachel’s friends if everyone overheard the question.
“Can you just plotz, Abee?” Ma said, loudly enough for all to overhear. “I’m crazy busy at work while trying to marry off my daughter — and she says she has to think about it?”
Abe sat in his Victorian style flower-patterned chair, reading his newspaper. “She’s thinking, all right.”
Ma paced up and down the blue-carpeted living room. “Suri found Rachel a Columbia University lawyer from a nice family. Daniel Gold, she says. A good name — Suri says he’s golden. Smart, handsome; he even sets aside time to learn the Torah. He prays three times a day. He volunteered one summer in a camp for sick children. This isn’t enough? Tell me, Abee, this isn’t enough?”
Her father rustled the pages of the Wall Street Journal. “It’s enough, Debby.”
“He’s a yekke; his family left Germany before the war — with money. They’re fancy bankers and live in Lawrence.”
Abe looked up from his paper. “A yekke for Rachel?”
“What. We have yekkes in our family.”
“For Rachel? You want a disciplined perfectionist for a nineteen-year-old who still needs to be reminded to clean up her room?”
“Maybe he’s not so disciplined.”
“Right. A Columbia lawyer.”
“He can take care of her. God knows she can’t take care of herself.”
“I can’t see Rachel with a yekke — a German-Jew. I wouldn’t push it.”
Ma stomped her foot. “What nonsense, Abe. He’s a catch.”
“He’s a catch for the right fish. Our Rachel is too disorganized to marry a yekke. It would be a marriage made in hell.”
Rachel knew her father would answer after lighting up his cigar. The smell of the smoke wafted upstairs as her mother spoke angrily.
“She’ll just have to grow up.”
Abe coughed slightly and puffed. “Maybe she isn’t ready.”
“She has to be ready. She doesn’t have a choice. I was married with a baby at her age.”
“Maybe she needs more time.”
Ma began to pace. “What kind of nonsense is that? My grandfather didn’t escape from Poland, his family decimated in the Holocaust, to have the chain jeopardized like this.”
Abe turned the page as his wife ranted.
“It’s that farkakte art school she goes to. All that free-choice, feel-good free love. I don’t know. She gets crazy ideas.”
Abe puffed and blew a ring of smoke. “Crazy, all right.”
Ma yelled at the top of her lungs. “You tell me when you’re ready, Rachel Shine! You tell me!”
Rachel rolled her eyes at her girlfriends, who were munching on popcorn. “Okay, Ma! I’ll tell you when I’m ready!”
Her friends laughed, but Leah gave her a poke.
“C’mon, Rach, why don’t you go out with him? When I went out with him, he seemed like a great guy — for the right girl. Maybe you should give it a try.”
“I don’t know.” Rachel smiled, thinking about Jacob Zohar, wondering when she would see him again. On the train? At another wedding? Maybe he’d even call her and ask her on a date. She was sure he felt the same way about her. Sure of it. What would she say if he called?
The Glee soundtrack ended. It was Volume 1, Rachel’s favorite because of the song “Don’t Stop Believing.” She’d had enough of it, though, and she turned on Taylor Swift. Most of her friends didn’t listen to popular American music — definitely not Hindy. But Leah did on the sly. Rachel’s parents didn’t mind, and she loved music. She wondered if Jacob Zohar liked music. Who did he listen to?
Hindy sat glued to Teen Mom on Rachel’s computer while Leah painted her toenails pink. Although she knew she was too old for them, Rachel loved having slumber parties. She smiled as she looked over at her friends, who had already changed into their pajamas. Leah’s mother only allowed her friends over on Friday nights, and Hindy’s house was too crowded. Since Rachel’s brothers had all married and moved out, her attic won by default.
“I can’t believe I’m watching this.” Hindy wrinkled her nose as a lady in a bikini smooched with a Marlboro man endowed with a pronounced square chin.
“Don’t worry, Hindy,” Leah comforted her. “Real people don’t do that.”
Short and chunky with thinning hair, Hindy’s family was very frum — so pious they didn’t own a TV or have Internet access. In fact, if they’d known she’d be logged on to hulu.com, they probably would not have allowed her to go to the slumber party. She stared guiltily at the screen, unable to move.
“Will you look at those hamburgers!” she drooled over a fast food commercial.
Leah adjusted her thick glasses and looked up at the ad. “That’s so unhealthy. You know what they put into that stuff?”
“Yeah. Cheese. Meat and cheese.” Hindy looked as though she might lunge at the screen.
Leah laughed. “A triple header — it’s not kosher, the meat is mixed with the dairy, and it probably has pork in it. Can’t get more treif than that, Hindy!”
“I know. I know. So we all have yetzer haras. But look! They even give a free prize!”
“Maybe you should log off for me, Leah,” Rachel teased, “because we don’t want Hindy getting any ideas.”
Hindy shook her head. “I’m okay. It’s tempting, but I’m okay.”
Rachel turned to Leah. “What�
��s your yetzer hara?”
Leah grinned. “Ask my mother. My evil inclination is whatever she tells me it is.”
Rachel wagged a finger. “Uh-uh. Won’t do.”
Leah thought a moment. “Okay. I want to — no, have to — become a doctor. I think what they do is totally cool — even if they have to touch strangers. That way, I’d have enough money to do whatever I wanted, and everybody would think that I’m smart. And I’d love to yell at my mother and tell her to leave me alone. And I’d drop computers as a major. My mom insists that computing is a stable profession, even though she’s never even touched a computer. But I really hate computers. I hate figuring out algorithms and developing netiquette. Sometimes I fantasize that I have a sledgehammer and I smash my computer screen. And then the hard drive. And I crush the keyboard key by key.”
Rachel stared at Leah as if she had lost it. She couldn’t remember Leah ever saying half these things before.
“And be single,” Leah continued, “and go to slumber parties until I decide that I want to get married to a guy that I chose for myself.”
“Dream on,” Rachel said, throwing back at her friend the very advice she’d always resented hearing from her.
Hindy deflected the question back to Leah. “Is that the worst of it?”
Leah licked her lips. “My yetzer hara is to wear slinky thousand-dollar outfits from Vogue and live like a Manhattan socialite. And go dancing.”
Hindy gasped. “Dancing? The rabbis say that’s like having vertical you-know-what.”
Leah grinned wickedly. “I’m not the one lusting after a treif hamburger, Hindy.”
Hindy covered her mouth with her hands.
“And don’t forget that free prize!” Leah added.
They all laughed and then dared Rachel to divulge her dirtiest, darkest secrets.
“I want to see the world,” she told them. “I want to backpack all over the place, meet interesting people, learn about other cultures, and write about and paint everything that I experience.”
Her friends stared at her as if she’d gone crazy.
Hindy scratched her nose. “Where would you sleep?”
