The three of them, Naomi, Miriam, and Becky, spent almost every moment of their childhoods together. Every morning, they walked to elementary school together and back home in the afternoon. Their summer vacations were spent at the local pool, first learning to swim and then to dive. When puberty hit, their interest switched from doing front flips off the low diving board to watching the boys.
Their families shared Shabbat dinners, backyard barbeques, and a few trips to the Jersey Shore.
Rabbi Morty’s tone elevated and drew Naomi’s mind back to where it was supposed to be, focused on him. She wasn’t a mind reader, but even with her back to Becky, she could guess what Becky was thinking Oh Morty, please, shut up. Do you have to drone on and on today, of all days?
After a few seconds, when Morty floated to the men’s side of the divide, Naomi peeked over her shoulder again. This time she looked at Maria. The poor girl sat with her head down. Imagine the pain of sitting next to a future mother-in-law, whose only goal in life was to stop your marriage, while listening to an entire service chanted in a language that sounded like someone was choking on every word. Maria must have sensed Naomi’s eyes because she looked up. Quickly, Naomi smiled and did a discreet little wave, hoping it would be interpreted as a welcome sign.
Too bad no one told Maria about last Friday night. After drinking three Shiraz’s and more than one sip of the syrupy, concord grape sacramental, kiddush wine, Becky confessed to Naomi and Esther that Maria was a nice young lady, exactly what she prayed Noah would find, but the Jewish version. Maybe knowing Becky’s behavior wasn’t a personal assault would be a bit of a consolation for the girl.
The sermon ended, and everyone stood up. A few prayers were chanted before Noah hoisted the Torah over his shoulder and began a slow parade around the sanctuary. Naomi stretched over a chair and touched the Torah as it passed. She smiled--such a handsome young man.
Noah radiated happiness, but Naomi couldn’t help but think that the situation with his mother must be eating him alive. Mother or wife? I wouldn’t want to be him.
Once the Torah was returned to the men’s side of the sanctuary, Naomi headed straight for the kitchen. Inside, Miriam beat her to the faucet. So Naomi turned and walked toward the hot-water urn.
Leaning backward against the countertop, sipping the instant sludge that passed as coffee on Shabbat, she watched the rest of the crew move into their respective positions around the work table.
Becky trudged through the door, decked out in a forest green suit and a black hat. Her spiked heels belonged on the feet of a twenty-five-year-old fashion model, not a middle-aged Jewish mother. The tension in her face could not be ignored. The wrinkles fanning out from the corners of her eyes appeared deeper and what Naomi saw when Becky removed her hat stunned her--gray hair sprouted from the part in Becky’s hair. Becky never, ever, left the house if there was even a possibility of a gray hair being spotted. If she couldn’t get an emergency appointment at the hairdresser, she plucked each one out. David made jokes about it, telling everyone that she made him hunt gray hairs on her head like elementary school nurses searched out lice.
Maria trailed in behind Becky, appearing small and timid in a plain blue suit, a look of fear frozen on her face. The flamboyant look of the mother clashed with the humble demeanor of the future wife. Poor girl. Naomi shook her head. Becky will eat her alive.
Miriam finally moved from the sink, freeing up space for Naomi to wash her hands before beginning to cut bagels. As she wiped her wet hands, Esther and Laurie trailed in last, absorbed in their own conversation.
The kitchen accommodated four women, five if one was as skinny as Miriam. Six border lined on fire hazard. The room congestion didn’t stop Miriam from plowing between Laurie and Becky, maneuvering her body until she stood face-to-face with Maria. The pretty young lady reached out to shake Miriam’s extended hand, but Miriam changed her mind and clamped the girl in a hug instead.
Maria’s face paled, fortunately the embrace ended as quickly as it began. Miriam loved to hug, but if given the opportunity, she preferred talking. Grateful to have a fresh audience, she launched into graphic detail of her recent shopping trip to New York City. Miriam, as kind-hearted and generous as could be, more often than not caused everyone to wonder how her husband, Joe Weiss, the most humble and richest guy in Pittsburgh, married the biggest Jewish princess west of Brooklyn.
Naomi sliced into a pumpernickel bagel. Her attention split between the knife and observing Maria’s interactions with the kiddush ladies--grace under pressure. Naomi dropped the last bagel into the napkin-lined wicker basket, set it on the cart, and walked to the refrigerator, opening the stainless double doors. A blast of cold air struck her face, causing a shiver to rush through her.
On the top shelf sat an outdated carton of milk. She knew it was outdated because she remembered checking the expiration date the day she bought it. Two Friday’s ago, she and Becky did a Costco run to stock up on supplies for the kitchen. On the way home, they stopped at the kosher supermarket to buy cream cheese, a case of tuna fish, and that carton of milk. Becky had been on edge all afternoon. In hindsight, Naomi regretted what she did. But, as they hauled the groceries into the synagogue, she asked about the wedding plans. Naomi shuddered, recalling the simple question that ignited a hailstorm of words and emotions...
***
“How are the wedding plans coming along?”
“What do I care about this damn wedding?” Becky said, heaving a bag of groceries from the trunk of the car. “Maria’s mother is gloating over the damn event. Let her organize it. I have better things to do and think about.”
“He’s still your son.”
Becky stopped halfway between the car and the front door of the shul. “This is my worst nightmare come true, and no one will ever be able to understand.”
Then Naomi noticed Becky’s face becoming blotchy and tears forming in her eyes. Not a reaction she expected from Becky.
“Naomi,” Becky said, shifting from hip to hip under the weight of the paper grocery bag. “My grandparents died at Auschwitz and my entire family, except a great aunt on each side, didn’t survive the holocaust. It’s only by my grandparents’ foresight that my parents lived, and I’m alive today.” Mascara-tinted tears began streaming down her cheeks. “The only connection I have with a family history is my Judaism. Noah’s marriage breaks the link I hold dear.”
Words of comfort didn’t flow from Naomi’s mouth. What words existed? Noah was an only child--Becky’s sole hope for grandchildren. But after a lifetime of friendship, Naomi knew the underlying truth. It had nothing to do with grandchildren breaking the chain and everything to do with potentially losing her only child to Christianity.
As Becky stood helpless in the middle of the parking lot, Naomi could see the pain in her friend’s eyes and imagined that the ache originated from the stories Becky heard growing up. Tales of the suffering endured by generations of persecuted Jews in Poland. Noble people who never, through torturous pogroms and genocide, let go of their precious Judaism.
“He’ll never convert to Christianity,” Naomi said, reaching her hand toward her friend.
“Doesn’t matter, Naomi. Don’t you understand? The minute he says, ‘I do’ to a shiksa, the connection breaks.
Naomi wrapped her arms around her friend and prayed for some help.
***
“Excuse me, Naomi. I need the mayo,” Esther said.
Naomi pulled her focus out of the memory, stepped aside for Esther, and navigated around the table, stopping beside Becky, who pretended to be engrossed in the task of preparing the perfect cup of instant sludge. Naomi grabbed a couple of bags of potato chips off the shelf and pulled two bowls out of the cabinet.
“Here,” she said, thrusting a bag of barbecue chips at Becky. “Pretend to look busy.” Naomi reached in the cabinet, pulled out a package of tasteless kosher cookies, and began arranging them on a plate. “Becky, you have to relax. The red face clashes with the
green suit. Just breathe.”
Becky pulled in a deep breath through her nose.
“That’s it, yoga breathe,” Naomi said.
After forty plus years of friendship, you noticed the nuances of behavior that others couldn’t see and watching Becky’s heartbreak caused physical tightness in Naomi’s chest. “Maria is very sweet and seems to be very in love with Noah.” Even as she said the words, the triteness of the statement made her want to stuff a sock in her own mouth.
“Stop it. Maria is everything--smart, pretty, sweet, and freakin’ perfect.”
“Lower your voice. She’ll hear you.” Naomi peeped over her shoulder and saw Maria engrossed in scooping hummus and talking to Esther.
“Fine, I’ll lower my voice, but what I really want to do is throw something or scream.” Becky dumped the chips into the bowl and scrunched the bag into the palm of her right hand. “I conceded defeat--you got the invitation. And what really sucks is her parents are pretty decent too. They agreed to hire a kosher caterer if we paid the difference. At least now, we’ll be able to eat at the wedding.”
“Becky, I hate to ask, but who’s going to marry them? A priest?”
“Hell no! Noah knows that would kill me. A judge from downtown, agreed to do it. He’s a friend of Maria’s father. I know him through work. Ironically, he’s Jewish. He’ll do the ceremony at the William Penn. I’m trying to convince Noah to break a glass and stand under a chupah. Since the judge is Jewish, maybe it will count for something.”
“That would be nice.” Naomi spoke the words, without really understanding what Becky meant by “maybe it will count for something,” but she wasn’t about to ask for an explanation. If a wedding canopy and glass reduced Becky’s stress level a bit, that would be reason enough--what a small consolation prize.
“I don’t want to talk about the wedding.” Becky turned to face the rest of the women, who were almost finished with the lunch preparations. Miriam was gone, probably already sitting inside the sanctuary waiting for Musaf to begin. Maria was also gone. Naomi watched as Laurie filled the last water pitcher, and Esther returned the mayo to the refrigerator before walking back to the sanctuary.
The minute the room emptied, Naomi turned to Becky. “I need to ask you a question before we go inside.”
Becky leaned back on her heels, crossed her arms in front of her chest, but didn’t say anything.
“You didn’t invite Miriam did you?”
“Hell no, I told you I wasn’t inviting the old gossip monger. That tongue--she’ll probably put the ayin hera on the marriage.”
“The evil eye! Are you crazy? Why would you suddenly decide to exclude your oldest, closest friend?”
“She’s not my friend.”
“Stop it, Becky. Why in the hell are you saying this? We’re talking about Miriam. Remember her? The friend standing beside you, during birth, funerals, and other assorted major life events.” Naomi didn’t bother trying to control her incredulity. Becky was out of line--way out.
“She’s been a great actress for all of these years. Don’t let her lovey-dovey happy talk fool you. She’s a conniving bitch.”
Becky’s words stung Naomi. Sure, Miriam and Becky squabbled countless times over the years, but never did Becky call her such a horrible name. “You’re ridiculous. Miriam loves you and Noah. As the nurse wheeled you into the delivery room, she refused to let go of the bed railing!”
Becky rolled her eyes. This infuriated Naomi.
“She held Noah before your mother did,” Naomi shot back, hoping her disapproval would be the smack in the face Becky needed to end this temper tantrum.
“Yeah, she probably put the evil eye on him the day he was born, and that’s why he’s marrying a shiksa!” Becky turned sharply and walked away.
As Naomi stared at her back, Becky hissed like a snake. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“Of course, I don’t understand. Nothing you’re saying makes a damn bit of sense.”
Becky smacked open the wooden kitchen door.
“There’s nothing logical to understand. This conversation isn’t over, Becky,” Naomi yelled at her back as she stomped out the kitchen door. The wooden door closed in Naomi’s face, further pissing her off.
She returned to the sanctuary as Rabbi Morty finished reading a chapter of Tehilim--the Book of Psalms. She tried listening as he made a few short announcements regarding the Hebrew school and the Thursday night adult education class. Her focus remained in the kitchen, with anger still controlling her breathing. Becky could be impossible to deal with sometimes, such a bulldog. Naomi inhaled through her nose, counted to three, and exhaled slowly.
When the rabbi finished speaking, the men began the process of setting up lunch tables. Since they were a small congregation, the sanctuary doubled as a community room.
After years of practice, the regulars switched the room from prayers to food in minutes.
Sarah and Ezra unfurled the white plastic tablecloth from its roll. Once the table was covered, they dashed to their favorite spots at the very end of the table.
Esther rolled the serving cart from the kitchen. Two of the younger children began placing paper plates and plastic cutlery in front of the metal folding chairs.
All the women and a few of the men helped unload the cart. Laurie’s husband, Dan, emerged from the kitchen, toting the l’chaim--a bottle of Crown Royal and a stack of plastic shot cups. He set the bottle in front of the rabbi.
Once the set up was completed, Esther and Laurie sat down, side by side, saving Naomi the seat directly across the table. She sat down, reached for the salad, and immediately caught the gist of the conversation.
“I’m telling the truth--Becky didn’t invite Miriam to the wedding,” Laurie informed an obviously-out-of-the-loop Esther.
Before Esther responded, Rabbi Morty silenced everyone by standing and raising his small shot glass.
“I’d like to make a l’chaim to the Rosen family for sponsoring this lovely kiddush in honor of a guest today, Noah’s friend, Maria.”
“L’chaim,” they all responded in unison.
Naomi leaned into Esther. “I think, under the circumstances, he did a pretty good job with that toast. Don’t you?”
“Not bad, considering,” Esther replied. “Did you know he’s been meeting privately with Noah?”
Naomi lobbed a scoop of hummus onto her plate. This information kicked up her heart rate a few notches. “Really, Esther, how do you know this?”
“Well, I’ve been volunteering a few nights a week, helping with the accounting system. Noah comes every Wednesday at seven o’clock. They talk for about an hour and then Noah leaves,” Esther replied. Her pronunciation of Noah’s name sounded more like No-ach in her Hebrew accented English. “Don’t tell Becky.”
“I promise,” Naomi replied, wondering how to gather more information on this subject without talking to Becky.
When Becky and Maria joined their little group, the conversation switched from the wedding to the regular topics: kids, recipes, and the kiddush sponsor schedule. No one mentioned the upcoming nuptials. When Naomi checked her watch, it was already 1:45. She motioned to Laurie and Esther. They began clearing the table.
Ezra snuck up behind his mother and whispered into her ear. “Mom, would it be okay if I asked Sarah to come over and hang out for a while?”
His eyes were wide with anticipation, but Naomi wasn’t sure if was for her answer or Sarah’s. Naomi nodded. “It’s okay, invite her, Ezra. Do you want to ride home with me or hike in the snow?”
He spun on his heel. “I’ll let you know in a minute.”
“He’s really handsome, Naomi,” Esther said, while dumping used Styrofoam cups into the industrial-sized trashcan. “You and Laurie should start planning the wedding. Too many non-Jewish girls will be chasing him at college.”
“That would make Ezra very happy, but I’m not sure what Sarah’s response would be if she heard you.” Naomi stared across the ro
om at Ezra. Since his last growth spurt, the facial softness of childhood morphed into the sculpted features of his father, and if nothing else, that louse could turn heads.
“Naomi, are you going to bring a date to No-ach’s wedding?” Esther asked.
Naomi stopped moving--disorientation flitted through her brain. A date? Where in the hell would I get a date? “Ezra, of course, who else would I bring?”
In Naomi’s experience, Israelis could be pretty blunt. Esther’s heart pumped the blood of Jerusalem. “No, Naomi--you need a real date. Jake’s been gone for over three years. It’s time for you to find someone new.”
Naomi laughed.
Esther gave her the stern eyebrow lift. “This is not funny.”
“Sure, Esther,” Naomi said and walked away from the conversation. What a joke--me and a date. But she wondered why it didn’t feel as funny as it sounded.
“Get back here, Naomi. I mean it. I’m going to find you a date.”
Naomi glanced back over her shoulder to see Esther’s hand jammed against her hip. Her expression left no room for misinterpretation. Esther had taken up the challenge.
“Thanks, Esther, but let the idea go. I don’t think there are any eligible Jewish men who want to date an almost fifty-year-old, menopausal woman with two kids.”
“Sure there are, and I’m going to find you one.” She clasped the handle of the food cart and pushed it toward the kitchen.
Naomi continued gathering the remains of lunch, thinking about a date. What a concept. Technically, she hadn’t been on a date since she married Jake. They never went out on many dates. He proposed after two months. She was so deliriously in love, she said “yes” without hesitation. Naomi shuddered a bit before walking over to Ezra and Sarah. “Well, what’s the story? Walking or riding?”
“Sarah wants to ride because of her shoes,” Ezra replied.
“Okay, grab your coats and meet me at the car. Give me a minute to say Shabbat Shalom to Becky before we leave.”
The Kiddush Ladies Page 5
