“My sweet best daughter.”
“I’m your only daughter, your only child, and Dad told me he was hoping for a son.”
“No, he loves you, honey. Ever since he first saw you. You should have seen his face.”
“Forget it, it’s okay. Besides which your hair’s gonna turn like navy blue or something in a second. It’s getting kinda dark. Must be time to rinse it out.”
Helen glided into the kitchen, turned on the water and adjusted its temperature.
Naomi offered, “Let me help. I’ll rinse it out for you.” While testing the water and doing a bit more adjusting, she added, “Besides which you are my best mom.”
Once the color was washed out of her hair and swirling down the kitchen sink, Helen retreated to her bedroom. Time to put in the rollers and sit under the hair dryer.
“You know where I keep the vase, sugar. Would you get it out? Your father should be home soon.”
Way back when, Dad must have figured out her mom’s once-a-month ritual. As far back as Naomi could remember, the same day Mom colored her hair, Dad would arrive home with a dozen red roses. He would come through the front door of their simple cinder-block home and call out, “I’m home. What’s for dinner? Smells good.”
Dad always handed the long-stemmed beauties to Mom, who had already prepared a vase to receive them.
This Thursday upon entering home Naomi’s father was greeted with some very distinctive aromas. “What? I smell … what is that? … smells like knock—”
Naomi stood there, smiling at her father while helping her mother with last minute dinner preparations.
He looked cautiously at her while with one hand Naomi quickly reached for the vase and took the flowers from him. “Yes, it’s knockwurst. Not just any knockwurst though. I went all the way down to the lower east side, to Katz’s deli. I know they’re your favorite.”
While enjoying their dinner, Naomi informed her parents she was no longer living with “that bum” and was also attending shul.
Dad expressed his approval. “Now I can be proud of you again. Tell you what? Let’s go to Carvel for some dessert.” This was Dad’s way of saying “welcome home.”
With some luck maybe the gates of heaven would not slam in her face this year.
The bus ride back into the city the following day became like an emotional roller coaster. One moment she was jubilant. Being accepted back into her parents’ home gave her a sense of security she had been lacking. However, the fear she had expressed to Rabbi Lehrer remained. Who was holding her up? And how could she trust the gates would stay open?
As a child, after a Bible lesson with her Jewish youth group, she visualized God: He was in the clouds, wearing a big black judge’s robe and held a huge gavel in his hand. Who knows when He might whack me with that thing?
The roller coaster went up with a childlike sense of security and then swiftly plunged downward with a crippling sense of insecurity. If only I could have stayed with Mom and Dad a few days more . . . if only I didn’t have to work at the Bistro tonight.
The thought of quitting her waitressing job made her smile, but if she quit, how would she pay the rent? Maybe she needed to consider moving somewhere cheaper. But she’d be breaking the one-year lease which she had to sign three months ago. By the time she was on the subway from the Port Authority Bus Terminal to her apartment, her mind had been made up. She would call Rhonda.
Maybe she could get back into her agent’s good graces. Maybe an acting career was still available to her. But did she deserve anything truly good? Would the God of the Ten Commandments smile down from heaven on her? Could she get back into His good graces? She had done what the Rabbi had said. Amends had been made with both Anne and with her father. But what if she left someone out?
Sudden and sharp came that howling deep within her soul, so painful she tightly squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could shut out the unbidden thought: the one she most needed to ask forgiveness from, she could not. Naomi herself was the reason this one was not alive to ask.
Was “it” a he or a she?
This mental whirlwind accompanied her all the way to her front door. Upon entering, Naomi noticed the red blinking light on her answering machine.
“Wow, Zoey, no one ever calls me anymore. Maybe it’s for you.”
The message began with a jumble of background noise. About ready to hit the stop button, Naomi heard Rhonda’s distinctive husky voice.
“Darling, I hope you literally have gotten your act together by now.” The agent took a dramatic pause before continuing in a booming voice, “Because Mop & Glo wants to use you again. Call me as soon as you get this message.”
Naomi, as instructed, called Rhonda back immediately.
“Cookie, they are prepared to offer you almost twice what you made for the first one. They’ve gotten great feedback on you. People have said you’re their favorite of the wicked stepsisters.”
It was all set. Monday she would meet with the producers of the commercial. And now she could give her notice to the people at the Bistro.
God was smiling down from heaven on her. He was pleased with her. She tilted her head upward, hoping her words would travel above the ceiling. “Thank You. I’m not all alone. You are holding me up. I’ll try . . . I’ll try to be good from now on.”
Seeking to keep this sacred promise, Naomi, after working into the late hours Friday night at the Bistro, arose early the next morning to attend Saturday services at the Temple. Although the entire congregation was invited after the service to partake in a full meal in the downstairs area, Naomi left the synagogue. She was exhausted and needed a few more hours of sleep before returning for her last Saturday night waitressing stint.
Whatever it took to show the One watching over her, and even now richly rewarding her, that she was worth His kindness . . . she would do it. Hopefully then she would avoid the whack on the head from His gavel.
CHAPTER 6
Yom Kippur
Naomi awoke craving a cup of coffee. She had been fasting since sundown last evening and had been told to abstain even from coffee. A warm bagel with lox and cream cheese would be nice, too.
Yet as the congregants left for the night, they had wished one another, “May you have an easy fast.” This morning Naomi was still scratching her head over this. The Rabbi said they were to think of fasting as a sacrifice to the Lord. If it were a sacrifice, why should it be easy? An easy sacrifice—sounded like an oxymoron.
Well, no need for her to worry about it since this morning she was finding it anything but easy. I want my coffee.
During the evening service Naomi had jotted down a portion of Scripture read by the president of the shul. She thought she might look at it later. Maybe doing so this morning, while still in bed, would take her mind off of coffee, eggs, bagels, and even the bacon she smelled drifting in from the apartment below.
She jumped out of bed and closed the bedroom window. Getting back under her comfy comforter, she grabbed the Bible Daniel had given her from the nightstand. There was something about what the man had read that made her curious, even though she was now too distracted to remember what. Where was the scrap of paper from last night? Probably in her purse.
Hopping out of bed and picking up the Bible, she walked into the living room. It wasn’t in her leather bag, but now the fragrance of freshly brewed coffee from the apartment below assaulted her. Loosely holding the Bible, she ran and slammed shut the living room window. From the middle of the book out flew the scrap of paper.
Leviticus 16. Thankfully the Bible contained a Table of Contents. She found chapter sixteen. “Thus shall Aaron come into the holy place: with a young bullock for a sin offering, and a ram for a burnt offering. He shall put on the holy linen coat . . .”
Huh? Maybe Orthodox Judaism has it right—women are better kept separated from the men—let the men read from the Torah and let the women just sit by themselves and do their gossip. Though shalt not be sarcastic, Naomi!
&n
bsp; She persevered and continued reading. Certain words seemed to stand out: “. . . offer . . . make atonement . . .” The question of what exactly “offer” meant was like a candle flickering in the darkness of her consciousness. Did this speak of animal sacrifice? No, she would not even consider such a thought.
However, her eyes were unwilling to move past “. . . kill the bull as a sin offering . . . blood . . . on the mercy seat . . . mercy . . .” Mercy—maybe she could simply wrap her mind around that one word—she most certainly needed it.
All this talk of the animals being a burnt offering somehow made her think of charbroiled meat, which only made her aware of how hungry she was. Surely she needed mercy to make it until the evening when she would enjoy breaking the fast with her new temple family.
Last night upon leaving, Daniel had asked, “Will I see you tomorrow night? I can put you down for our congregational dinner. Will that be all right?”
He probably asked all the others the same question. Besides, I have to think of him as Rabbi Dan. But he introduced himself to me as Daniel. I feel something special when I think of him as Daniel. Naomi, stop it!
Time to return to the world more familiar to her and look at the new Mop & Glo script. She needed to be ready for filming in less than a week. She had left the script in the back bedroom—Gary’s office. Oops, my office now. Naomi lifted herself up from the couch and left the Bible open on the coffee table. Zoey made her cute little “chirping” sound and pawed the pages.
“Bad cat - stop it. I’ll feed you in a minute.”
Yet the pages uncovered by the mischievous cat compelled Naomi to give them her full attention. She read, “The eternal God is a dwelling-place, and underneath are the everlasting arms . . .”
The everlasting arms— the eternal God, He is holding me up. I’m not out here alone.
Tears poured forth from some inner wellspring. This sudden emotion did not surprise her, but simply expressed what had always been inexpressible. God actually cared enough to speak to her, and He was willing to do so using her cat.
She was transported back to the kitchen inside the Leibowitz mansion on the day when the elusive thought had floated past her—the thought which contained the promise that there was a meaning to life. The yearning to know if there was Someone watching over her could no longer be treated simply as material for an audition piece.
Audition piece . . . focus, Naomi, focus. you gotta work on your script. You only have an hour before you need to be back at the shul.
All through the service, Naomi’s mind wandered. She could not control her renegade imagination—whether it centered on the issue of animal sacrifice or on how nice Daniel looked sitting on the podium. The blast of the shofar, signifying the end of the Yom Kippur service, startled her.
Naomi saw everyone suddenly rise and she followed suit. They began reciting something from their prayer book. Naomi quickly opened hers to nowhere in particular and feigned reading the closing prayer with the congregation.
Rabbi Dan then came to the microphone and invited all those with dinner tickets to join him and Rabbi Lehrer downstairs. “Let us enjoy breaking our fast together.”
Sylvia had finagled the seating arrangements so Naomi once again was seated next to her at the Rabbi’s table and across from Daniel. After twenty-four hours of abstaining from food, out from the kitchen came platters of brisket with roasted potatoes. It was a beautiful sight and its savory aroma made Naomi’s mouth water. And lo and behold what group was served first? The Rabbi’s table, of course. The food arrived and all talking ceased. The only sound heard was the hollow rumblings from Naomi’s stomach.
The older Jewish woman setting the platter on their table turned to Naomi and smiled. “Good to see a young woman with a healthy appetite. Enjoy it, honey.”
Daniel also smiled. “Last time I heard that sound, it was an excuse to enjoy apple butter and zucchini bread.”
“You mean banana bread.”
“I stand corrected.” Daniel replied. With his whimsical display of humility, Naomi again saw the smile she found so endearing.
Rabbi Lehrer looked over at Sharon and then turned to Naomi. “Tell me, Miss Goldblatt, any thoughts on our Yom Kippur?”
“Joseph, don’t put her on the spot like that,” Sylvia gently scolded her husband.
Sharon interjected, “I’m sure your husband wasn’t trying to do that.” Turning to the Rabbi, she continued, “Were you, Rabbi? I’d enjoy hearing her observations, too.” She looked across the table at Naomi. “After all, this was probably your first time to really observe Yom Kippur, or even Rosh Hashanah, too. Isn’t that right?”
Naomi swallowed her brisket and quickly washed it down with water. “I’ll be honest with you. All during service today my mind was wandering. I mean, I was honestly in awe of last night’s service. I’d have loved it if it went on for another couple of hours.”
Sylvia reached across the table with her fork and clinked her husband’s drinking glass. “And how long have you waited for someone to tell you that, dear?” Still looking at her husband, she directed the next words to Naomi. “Dear, you have made the Rabbi’s day. Hasn’t she, Joseph?”
While attempting to go along with the lighter tone of the conversation, he prodded, “Yet today your mind wandered. Were you just too hungry to concentrate?”
Naomi took the plunge. “No, that’s not it at all. At last night’s service Leviticus Sixteen was mentioned.”
Sharon was passing the brisket to Daniel, but was left holding the platter because his attention was riveted on Naomi.
Daniel nodded. “Yes, a passage from Leviticus was read.” His eyes still on Naomi, he received the platter. “Thank you, Sharon.”
“This morning I read it for myself, and that’s why my mind wandered. I’m trying to learn more about our religion. I need to understand what . . . please don’t think I’m being presumptuous or anything, but I need to know what God would want from me.”
Daniel leaned in toward her, holding his fork in midair. “That’s not at all presumptuous. Most people, I’d say, are more interested in thinking what they want from Him.” Turning to his senior rabbi, the young associate added, “Would you agree, Rabbi?”
Rabbi Lehrer gave a slight nod, and immediately turned to Naomi. “Tell me, were you able to follow through with what we spoke of at our meeting? Making amends, particularly with your father?”
“Yes. Thank you for guiding me in that direction.” Her voice grew in excitement as she told about the sweet reconciliation with her father. “That would have been enough, on its own, but—”
Sylvia chimed in, “Dayenu.”
“Oh, yes, exactly.” Naomi expressed her enormous gratitude. Not only was the relationship restored with her parents, but also, “I got a job doing a sequel to my Mop & Glo commercial.”
“Mazel Tov,” offered Rabbi Lehrer and Sylvia.
Simultaneously Daniel exclaimed, “You’re an actress? Why didn’t you tell me you were an actress?”
Before she knew it, the words tumbled out. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a rabbi?”
Sylvia seemed to have an uncanny ability to know when to jump in. “Don’t you recognize our pretty young friend from the Mop & Glo commercial, the one with Cinderella? It’s on TV all the time.”
“I don’t watch television, Sylvia,” Daniel admitted. “But if Mop & Glo has a Jewish girl playing Cinderella, I’ll go out and buy the stuff tonight.”
“Don’t waste your money, I’m not Cinderella, just a wicked stepsister.”
“Good,” Daniel announced to the whole table. “All my floors are carpeted anyway.”
All laughed and finally dug in to eat the hearty meal put before them. And then came the large platter of assorted rugelach.
“Thank you, Beatrice. They look delicious,” Rabbi Lehrer complimented the heavyset middle-aged woman who had served their table all evening. “Ah, you made my wife’s favorite, apricot. Thank you for all your hard work and please t
ell all the other women in the Sisterhood how much we appreciate them.”
“I hope you enjoy them. We gave you a few extra of the chocolate ones. We know they are your favorite, Rabbi.” Putting her hands inside the pockets of her apron, the woman walked back to the kitchen.
Sylvia handed her husband two of the chocolate pieces and turned to Naomi. “And what are your favorite ones, dear? I bet you like chocolate, too?”
“No, actually, I really like the raisin ones. Do the women who are serving us do all the cooking, too?”
“No, of course not,” Sharon said sharply. “The dinner was catered. It was on your program, thanking Kaufman’s Deli for providing this meal to the Temple.”
Naomi hesitated for a brief moment. “Rabbi, I’d like to help, too. Anything I could do, you just tell me. I mean my Mom taught me to make rugelach—and challah, too. I mean what could I do to help here?”
The Rabbi removed his glasses and began cleaning them with an unused cloth napkin. He signaled his wife not to answer Naomi. “My dear, this is very admirable of you. Sylvia and I can see you are a responsible young adult. However, I’m sure you will be in agreement with this: you must first become a member of Temple Beth Orr. Rabbi Dan, when do you begin your next cycle of new member classes?”
“The current one will finish at Chanukah. I planned to start a new class right at the first of the year.” Smiling towards Naomi, he invited, “Can I sign you up?
“Yes. Definitely.”
Daniel bit into his apricot rugelach and smiled toward Naomi. “You’ll be the first on the list.” Turning toward Rabbi Lehrer, he inquired, “Would you agree, even though not a member yet, Naomi could still work on building our Sukkah?”
Daniel received a nod from the Rabbi and turned back to Naomi. “Would you like to help build the booth we will use to observe Sukkot? Tomorrow I need to go buy some palm fronds, citrons . . . well, you get the idea. Sounds like a trip to the farmers’ market. Are you free to help me? We can get some whatever bread it was.”
Naomi, The Rabbi's Wife Page 9
