Introspection and repentance for my past misdeeds? All of them?
“These next ten days are a time when all life on earth is subjected to God’s review and judgment. This is the time to seek God’s forgiveness.” He folded up his glasses and walked off, exiting from a door behind the platform.
She must have been so preoccupied with the man’s opening statement that she missed all the rest of his sermon.
Rabbi Dan moved up to the lectern. “Kiddush everyone! Please join us, especially for some apples and honey.”
Following the others as they made a quick exodus from the sanctuary, Naomi arrived back in the downstairs social area. Each table had a white platter with apples cut into slices and arranged around the rim of the plate. In the center of each was a bowl glowing with honey.
Stationed inside to warmly greet everyone was a petite silver-haired lady. In a face aged with wisdom and experience was a smile displaying youthful dimples. This woman managed the unique ability to carry herself with dignity while at the same time exuding a folksy old world sense of Jewishness. Yiddishkeit is what Naomi’s parents called it.
“Hello, I’m Sylvia, Rabbi Lehrer’s wife.” Introducing herself to Naomi, she extended her hand and offered a firm handshake.
“Hello, I’m N—”
Daniel walked over to the two women. “Sylvia, this is the young lady who helped me with the apples yesterday. Naomi Goldblatt.”
“Oh, I was hoping to thank you.” Continuing to hold Naomi’s hand with a firm grip, Sylvia confided, “I had a horrible toothache and when our Daniel volunteered to get the apples instead of me, I was thrilled. But when I told him they must be Red Romes (my husband doesn’t like any of the others –oy vey, don’t ask), you should have seen the look on this sweet boy’s face. He’s thinking, ‘apples, shmapples, what’s the difference?’” Sylvia turned to Daniel and asked, “Am I right?”
Daniel laughed. “Sylvia, I’ve told you, stop reading my mind.” “I watched him walk out the door and said, ‘oy veis meir, an apple is an apple, all I ask, let them be red ones! That’s all! Let the apples be red.’ And lo and behold, I come down here this morning and I see this beautiful collection of sparkling Red Romes.”
Rabbi Lehrer joined them. “Who is our new friend?” he inquired of his wife. “Please, introduce me.”
“Naomi, thisismy husband,Rabbi Joseph. Joseph, thisisNaomi.” Sylvia put one hand on Naomi’s back and gently nudged her toward her husband. “You need to thank her for getting the kind of apples you like.”
Trying to modestly protest, she was interrupted by the Rabbi. “It’s always good to see a new face.” While shaking her hand, he turned to Daniel. “Rabbi, would you care to do the blessing over the food for us?”
Daniel thanked the Senior Rabbi, and quickly moved to the center of the room amongst a crowd of about one-hundred and fifty. All eyes turned to Rabbi Dan as he did the Baruka over the food. Naomi noticed the Cantor move to stand alongside Daniel. She was now in a pastel blue silk suit which clung to her shapely figure.
With his right hand, Daniel held up an apple slice for all to see. In his left hand, he held the bowl of honey. “During Rosh Hashanah it is traditional to eat apples dipped in honey. Why do we do this? Because it tastes good? Or is it simply tradition? May we instead think how we wish our Gracious God would bless us in this New Year with fruitfulness and with His sweetness. Taste the Lord and see He is good. Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu melekh ha’olam.”
After the “amen,” Naomi saw most people were already in their pre-assigned seats. Sylvia leaned in to Naomi. “Come, dear, sit with us.”
The “us” included Rabbi Lehrer and Daniel, as well as the Cantor, Sharon Caseman. The Senior Rabbi sat across from Naomi, peering at her through his wire-rimmed glasses, his thin lips tightly pursed. Naomi felt as if she were being scanned—from the inside out.
Sharon sat to Naomi’s right and reminded her of the girls from the “in crowd” in high school, possessing confidence which bordered on smugness.
Sylvia, on Naomi’s immediate left, dipped a slice of apple into a bowl of honey and handed it to her husband. Turning to Naomi, she asked, “Where are you from, dear?”
“Ellenville.”
Rabbi Lehrer wiped the honey from his chin. “Ahhh, Rabbi Eisner. He was my professor at Hebrew University.”
Daniel, seated across from Naomi, gave her a warm glance. “This is the first time Naomi didn’t sit separated with the women, in the balcony.” To Naomi, he asked, “How was it? I looked over at you and you seemed truly moved.”
“There were a few times I felt like this hush in the air. I don’t know if this is right to say but it was like being Jewish meant I was to be holy . . . I’m not explaining this right. I’m sorry.”
“Well, we are the chosen people, chosen to be holy,” Sylvia volunteered.
Daniel was either unaware or chose to ignore the apple slice Sharon was proffering to him. “It’s nice to hear someone use the word holy. I’m not sure if our people are afraid to speak of our being holy or they don’t really care.” He turned to the Senior Rabbi, inviting him to join the discussion. When Rabbi Lehrer did not speak, Daniel prodded with a simple, “Rabbi?”
“Ah, yes, very true,” the Senior Rabbi replied distractedly. “Sorry, everyone, but we need to begin our procession to the East River.” He pulled out his chair and strode to the center of the room. “Everyone, it is time for Tashlich. As you leave the room, on your way out by the door you will see plates filled with small pieces of bread. Take a few with you and soon we will symbolically cast our sins into the River. Once we arrive at the pier, we will gather in a large circle for some brief songs and readings, and then we will each throw our bread into the river.”
While walking to the pier, Rabbi Lehrer approached Naomi and suggested a visit with him and his wife at which time they could discuss more involvement at the Temple. This helped redirect her thoughts as she watched Daniel and Sharon walking comfortably together.
Arriving at the river, Rabbi Lehrer prayed, “Who is a God like thee? . . . Thou does not retain thy anger forever.”
While he prayed, she squeezed the small piece of challah in her hand and before casting it into the water, she whispered her own small prayer, “Oh God, will You forgive my sin?”
Maybe there would be forgiveness, but how could she know for sure? She wished she could ask Daniel, but the shapely blonde Cantor, was diverting his attention. You don’t deserve someone like him anyway.
Walking back home, she wondered what the meeting with the Rabbi would entail. More scanning? More judgment? Hopefully not. Instead she would hold on to a strand of hope—perhaps embracing her religion would stop that howling in her soul and would even repair the relationship with Dad.
For the rest of the night Naomi pondered Rabbi Lehrer’s message. After all the years spent in synagogue, she only vaguely remembered the teachings regarding the time between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Was it simply because today she was not segregated from the men, or could it be Someone was opening her ears to hear as if for the first time?
Several hours later, gazing into the mirror while brushing her teeth, Rabbi Lehrer’s words echoed in her mind. “While the gates of heaven are still open, our sages tell us to seek amends with all we may have offended in the last year.” Naomi knew upon hearing these piercing words earlier in the evening, they pertained to her father.
However, another relationship needed mending as well. The one with Anne. The last conversation with her old roommate was in March. The occasion was Anne’s first singing engagement at a club in Soho. With Gary not interested in accompanying her, Naomi went alone and sat at a table with Anne’s new roommate.
Anne startled her audience when she closed her act by belting out the lyrics to “O Happy Day.” In her rich mezzosoprano voice, they heard, “O happy day, o happy day, when Jesus washed my sins away. O happy day.” Songs extolling the name of Jesus were uncommon and unwelcome in Naomi’s world and Anne’s finale cr
eated quite a stir.
After taking her bow, the singer walked across the club floor, skirting the waitresses carrying trays laden with mixed drinks. Naomi jumped up from the table to hug her friend. Anne looked expectantly to her.
When words were not forthcoming from Naomi, Anne prodded by asking, “Well?”
“Your voice—oh I wish I had your voice.” Naomi sipped from her martini glass. “You need to lose the holy roller stuff though. You could be so great, but then you do something like that—it’s like you have a death wish.”
Since that time there had been no communication between these two friends.
Naomi dropped her toothbrush, letting it fall into the sink. She walked back into the living room, picked up the phone and dialed Anne’s number. Only a year ago this was her phone number, too. One year and so much destruction.
“Anne, it’s me, the one you love to hate.” She did not wait for a reply. “I’m calling to say I’m sorry.”
Not only was Anne forgiving, but she offered, “I’m glad to hear from you.”
Naomi surprised herself by blurting out, “Anne, I think maybe you’ll understand more than anyone else I know. I’m becoming religious.”
Naomi waited for Anne’s reply, grabbed a TV guide sitting on her coffee table and flipped through its pages. Anne, answer me already. I hope she doesn’t think I’m putting her on or something.
“And how does Gary feel about this? Is he becoming religious, too?”
Naomi mumbled, “He’s gone. It’s over.” Hopefully Anne would detect the finality in her voice and would not probe further.
“Oh . . . who’s the new guy, the one you’re becoming religious for?”
“It’s not like that. There is this guy, but no I can’t even let myself think like that. I mean, Anne, he’s a rabbi.”
“Okay, if it’s not for a guy, then what happened?”
“There’s this synagogue near me. I don’t want to say it was God, but something was making me stand in front of it. Like it was telling me, ‘What you’re looking for . . . what you need . . . you’ll find it here.’”
“Why can’t you say God? I know we have two different gods, you and me, but still why shouldn’t you believe in yours? Religion is good.”
“You want to get together soon? I’d love to see you.”
Before hanging up, they agreed—Goldberg’s Pizzeria the following week.
One week before Yom Kippur, then the gates will close . . . all my misdeeds . . . all of them—yikes, I’m cooked.
CHAPTER 5
T’shuvah
Naomi arrived at the temple in the same outfit worn three days earlier, on Rosh Hashanah. If she were truly to become more religious, she would need to find some more conservative-type outfits. Salvation Army, here I come.
She found Rabbi Lehrer’s secretary on the telephone in what sounded like a heated argument. Nodding to Naomi, she indicated a seat across from her desk.
“Look, these are the rules,” the secretary stated firmly. “You have to be a member if you want the Rabbi to marry your daughter. You let your membership lapse two years ago. I sent you reminders.”
The Rabbi’s office door opened and after a short glance at his secretary, he noticed Naomi. “Please, Ms. Goldblatt, come in.” Walking into his office, he explained, “My wife will not be able to join us. Will you be comfortable meeting only with me? Of course,” he assured her, “I will leave the door open.”
“That’ll be fine.” She had hoped Sylvia’s presence would offset this meeting feeling like an interrogation.
“Good. I’m delighted you were with us on Sunday, as well as visiting us today.”
“Rabbi, I’d like to—”
Daniel stuck his head in the doorway. “Rabbi . . .oh, Naomi, what a surprise.”
The Senior Rabbi ignored Daniel’s reaction to Naomi. “Rabbi Dan, did you need something?”
“I simply wanted to tell you I was going to lunch.”
A woman’s voice called from the hallway, “Dan, are you ready?”
Turning as Sharon came into view, he answered, “Yes, I’m coming.”
The couple walked away while Rabbi Lehrer studied Naomi. “They make a nice couple, don’t you think?”
From microscope to x-ray machine. Hah, good thing I’ve had all those years of acting classes.” Yes, they do,” she confirmed.
He continued to probe her true feelings. “Did you know Rabbi Dan’s last name is Cantor?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“My wife enjoys saying, ‘Our Cantor will one day be Mrs. Cantor.’” He paused, again studying her expression. “I suggested you visit with us today so I might ask, ‘What can we do for you?’ Am I wrong or do I perceive you are looking to more fully embrace your Judaism?”
“Yes. No, I mean you’re not wrong. You’re very perceptive.”
“I owe much to my wife. I often receive credit that actually belongs to her. Sylvia told me she perceived this about you and nudged me to speak with you.”
“Your wife is charming.”
“I thank you and couldn’t agree more.”
Naomi took a deep breath, feeling at ease now to ask what was most on her heart. “Rabbi, the other day you said it was like when we threw our bread into the river, we were casting our sin into the water. But how can I know for sure my sin is forgiven?”
He peered at her over his wire-rimmed glasses. Brows furrowed and chin studiously pulled up, he answered. “Ahh, good question, Ms. Goldblatt. The sages teach we must make amends with all to whom we might have offended. Do you recall? I spoke of this in my sermon.” With deliberation he removed his eyeglasses, and in a voice practiced at inviting confidentiality, he asked, “To whom do you need to make amends?”
She had been nervously rubbing the bottom button on her suit jacket and suddenly realized the thread was giving way as a result. Something else was needed to work out her agitation. Her leather purse was lying on the floor next to her right foot, with the long straps placed on the armrest of the chair. While answering the Rabbi’s question, she used both hands to twist the soft leather straps.
“Because of what you said on Sunday . . .” She changed her tone to one of playful defiance. “See, I was listening.” The old pretend-to-be confident Naomi had flown in to make a guest appearance. “Because of what you said, I talked with a friend and we are okay now.”
He peered directly into her eyes. “Is there anyone else? I think perhaps there is.”
“Yes. My father.”
“My dear, you must do this by—”
“Yom Kippur, I know . . . I’m sorry for interrupting. It’s just I know I need to do this and I will. But, Rabbi, there’s something else. I have this feeling . . . I don’t know how to describe it except it’s like no one’s holding me up anymore. I used to think I was a decent human being, not exactly a saint, but not a terrible person either. Now it’s as if I need someone to help protect me from myself. Sounds crazy, huh?”
He began searching intently through his pen cup as if he had lost an expensive family heirloom. Would he ever answer her?
Finally, leaning back in his chair, he responded. “Ms. Goldblatt, it is not to do with whether you are crazy or not. We refer to it as the ‘evil impulse.’ This is why the yoke of the law is so beautiful. There is a word in Hebrew: t’shuvah. Are you familiar with this?”
“No.”
“T’shuvah speaks of repentance—to repent from your sins and return to God”
“How do I do that? I can become more religious, to attend synagogue when I can, but I waitress Friday nights. I don’t know if you approve of waitressing or not. My father doesn’t.”
She deepened her voice in imitation of her father. “No one in our family ever slung hash.” The Rabbi was not laughing. “But see, I haven’t had the motivation for a while now to keep up with my career.”
“Oh, and what is your career?”
“Theatre. I’m an actress.”
A woman’s voice was
heard coming from behind Naomi. “Oh, I knew you looked familiar.”
The Rabbi greeted his wife. “Come, dear, sit down. Join us.”
Sylvia took the seat next to Naomi and patted her hand. “You are one of the wicked stepsisters in that Mop & Glo commercial, aren’t you?”
Naomi’s first reaction was of embarrassment as she looked toward the Rabbi, but was relieved when he said, “You’re right, dear. Now I recognize her, too. We always laugh when that ad comes on.”
Naomi stood up and mimicked her own performance. “Cinderella, mop that floor.” Hearing their laughter, she confided, “Wish I coulda gotten the part of Cinderella, but, hey, that’s the story of my life.”
By the time Naomi reached Junior High, she knew her mom’s routine: the second Thursday of each month was Mom’s date with self-beautification. Like clockwork, on that Thursday, Helen colored her hair with Roux Blue Mink Rinse.
On this particular second Thursday of the month, Naomi came to surprise her parents. If she used her own set of keys, it might frighten her skittish mom. She’s probably got her hair soaking right now. I can just see the towel around her neck and big blobs of color dripping on the towel. Naomi rang the doorbell.
“Who is it?”
Naomi answered only with another ring and soon saw the door open a crack, then swing wide open.
Helen grabbed Naomi by the shoulders. “Is everything okay? It’s so good to see you, but are you okay?” Helen went to kiss her daughter, but pulled back when she saw her blue hair rinse drip into Naomi’s auburn hair. “Honey, I’m so sorry.” Quickly, she took the towel from around her neck and soaked up the runaway blue blobs.
The two of them looked affectionately at each other and then burst into girlish giggles.
“I came to surprise you, Mom—and Dad, too. I’m hoping it’ll be okay between him and me again soon.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sure it will. I’ve been praying. And crossing my fingers, too.” She made a small fist, bent down slightly to reach the credenza in their foyer. “Been knocking on wood, too.”
“Speaking of knocking, I brought some knockwurst from Katz’s Deli. I know how Dad loves them.” She held up a brown bag.
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