“Bubbeleh, you make my boychik happy.”
With this first interchange between them, Naomi could not hold back the tears. “I’ll try to, Mrs. Cantor.”
Aunt Luba sprung up from her chair and inserted herself between Naomi and Zofia. Being shorter than Naomi, Luba stretched her neck to look into Naomi’s eyes. “You not worry. I see—I see Danielek happy.”
Being a weeknight, the festivities ended early. The Cantors would drive back to New Jersey and the Goldblatts would stay overnight at a nice hotel in Manhattan—a special treat for Helen.
As was now his custom, Daniel walked Naomi back to her apartment. “You’ll have to tell Anne. She might not be as happy as everyone else. I know we still need to set a date and all, but we’ll make sure to give her enough time to find a roommate.”
Yes, there was much planning to do, yet tonight she would simply soak in the splendor of the entire evening. With all the excitement, from the diamond on her finger to her new extended family, the most prevalent memory for her was her future husband’s chanting. “Daniel, I can still hear you chanting the Megillah. I had no idea . . .”
“It’s different doing it in public.”
She tilted her head to one side. “I don’t understand. When else would you do it?” They were now in front of the steps leading up to her brownstone. The streetlight shone on Daniel’s face where Naomi believed she detected a blush.
“Hmm, I better explain. I try to start almost every morning this way, whatever text I’m reading in the Scriptures.”
“Really? That’s . . . beautiful,” her voice had suddenly faltered. She would be embarking more and more into a world alien to her. How could she not ultimately disappoint Daniel?
After studying her worried expression, he took her hand up to his lips. “Why do I get the impression you’re thinking I’m like some kind of spiritual giant? My-omi, I’m not Moses, okay? Let me tell you about something that happened to me last week. First of all, the reason I chant is because I found it easier to remember the text that way. The melody is like a language all by itself and that way the text becomes a part of me. I can walk down the street and a passage I’ve sung can end up relating to a situation I’m in and it’ll pop into my mind.”
“That sorta reminds me of how I’ve memorized scripts for myself.” Wow, she could actually relate.
“So, last week I’m really upset about a member of our Temple. He had been particularly disrespectful to me the day before. I mean this guy, I think, loves to humiliate me.” Daniel stopped and teasingly shook his finger at her. “Now I know you and your curiosity, but forget it, I’m not telling you who.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m in the shower and I can’t stop thinking what this guy said to me the day before. Obviously it was eating away at me. Then part of the Megillah—about Haman—came to my mind, and, bam, I realized I was becoming just like Haman.”
“You gotta be kidding me. You? No way.”
“The truth is when any of us get caught up with our ego or our position, it can happen. Even me, your knight in shining armor. Think about it—pretty much everyone else at the Temple shows me respect except this one guy, and I’m getting all bent out of shape because he doesn’t bow down to me.”
“Oh, what a relief,” Naomi exclaimed, “you’re human. I feel much more comfortable now.”
“I love you, My-omi.”
“I have no special name for you. Can I call you Danielek, too?”
“Only if you can do it with a Polish accent.”
“I’ll work on it.”
Naomi charged into her apartment—she would burst apart if she didn’t share the excitement with Anne right away. However, Anne’s bedroom door was closed and Naomi heard her rehearsing for an audition piece. The temptation to interrupt was tantalizing, but she resisted.
It’s not all about me. Besides, the thought of going straight to her own room actually seemed much more appropriate. Time alone to imagine her glorious future and to also convince herself her past had been redeemed.
Her costume tucked away in a plastic garment bag, the former Queen Esther sat cross-legged on her bed in her flannel PJs staring at her radiant diamond ring. The most beautiful facet of this diamond? The man who placed it on her finger.
Ready for what she believed would be the most amazing rapturous sleep, she snuggled up inside her fluffy comforter and sank her head into a brand-new marshmallow pillow. The glimmering beams from the winter-white moon fell perfectly onto her pillow. Naomi was prepared for the sleep of the innocent. She was mistaken.
Suddenly an onslaught of doubts flooded her mind. He doesn’t really know who I am. . . what I did. What he likes is the person I’m pretending to be. . . .
Eventually sleep did come, but with it came the nightmare. Naomi walked alongside a peaceful lake listening to the sound of a young girl’s childish laughter. She followed after this sweet sound, the laughter becoming louder the closer she approached its source. Abruptly, however, the lake turned into a turbulent waterfall and the young girl’s laughter turned into a scream.
At the top of the waterfall was a child being pushed by a detached hand. In an instant the face of the child was clear: it was Mindy Kaplan. Naomi flew to where Mindy and her attacker stood. Her attempt to rescue the girl failed as the same detached hand pushed Naomi backwards.
Now lying on the ground, Naomi saw her father standing over her as if through a fisheye lens. He told her. “You should be ashamed of yourself. You disgust me.”
A flash and the image changed. Naomi sat huddled in the corner of her childhood bedroom. In the background she heard Mom’s plaintive voice. “Saul, please, we need to take her to the hospital. Maybe her baby can still be saved.”
Naomi awoke, her heart pounding. Lying at the foot of the bed, the cat looked up, stretched her back, and meowed.
The next morning Naomi walked into the kitchen for her routine cup of coffee. Seeing Anne at the table with her routine cup of tea, Naomi placed her left hand in front of Anne and said, “Daniel gave this to me last night.”
Anne’s glee was contagious and helped Naomi chase away the images from last night’s horrific dream which still sought to disturb her.
The hugging and jumping up and down finished, Naomi poured a cup of coffee. “He actually got down on his knee. But, Anne, don’t worry, please, I won’t leave you high and dry—like I did before. We haven’t picked a date yet or anything.”
“I’ll ask around. I could even put an ad in the Village Voice for a roommate.” Anne rose from her chair, opened the refrigerator and turned to Naomi. “I’m going to have some yogurt. Want one, too?”
Naomi nodded and went to the silverware drawer. “I got the spoons. As for the furniture, I know, here I go again, but this is all Gary’s stuff. He just left it here. You can keep it all or sell it.” Naomi took hold of Anne’s elbow and looked directly into her eyes. “This stuff can’t go with me into my new world.”
Anne smiled and with both hands holding a yogurt container asked, “You want the strawberry one?”
“Sure.” Sitting back at the table, both women stirred their yogurt. “Daniel has no idea about Gary or anything, and I don’t want him to know.”
“Things really must have been awful with Gary—more than you’re telling me. Is there something I don’t know about?” She waited, but when Naomi appeared all the more distant, Anne assured her, “You don’t have to tell me, but you also don’t have to pretend with me.”
“It’s not like I don’t completely love Daniel . . .”
“And he completely loves you, too. I’ve seen it.”
“But not the real me,” Naomi cried out.
“Do you remember we had this conversation once before? And I asked you if he was so stupid you could have hoodwinked him? Now that I’ve met Daniel, I can see he’s not stupid.”
While cleaning up from their miniscule breakfast, Anne said, “You’ve talked about the Rabbi’s wife—what was her name?”
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br /> “Sylvia.” Naomi, about to put her coffee mug into the cupboard, stopped in mid-motion. “You realize that’s what they’re going to call me one day? The rabbi’s wife. No casting director in their right mind would ever cast me in that part.”
Anne turned off the water, took the cup from Naomi’s hand and gently placed it into the cupboard. “Let’s go sit back down.”
Once seated, Anne explained, “What I was going to say is maybe you could talk with Sylvia.”
Panicked, Naomi exclaimed, “I can’t tell her everything.”
“What’s everything?”
“I’m sorry, forget I said that.”
Everything? It’s only one thing—it’s not everything.
CHAPTER 11
B’sheirt – Soul Mates
For the next week, Naomi went from. I should call Sylvia to No, I’d feel weird. After all, Sylvia probably was always a “good girl.” She would never understand Naomi’s fears of being unworthy to be the wife of a rabbi. And not just any rabbi—Daniel deserved the best of the best. Yet he loved her—and she was beginning to believe the woman he loved was actually the real Naomi. The soul buried inside, longing to be set free and to flourish.
Nevertheless each night dreams persisted with the disembodied voices, the accusing finger pointing toward her, and always Mindy Kaplan’s innocent face.
Daniel, sweet amazing Daniel . . . as Anne had said, he was not stupid. One evening they were jogging together along the promenade when he turned toward her. “It must be intimidating, huh? One day you join a synagogue, the next day you’re engaged to the Rabbi.”
His insight caused her to gasp for air, more than the fast pace of their run. He placed a hand around her shoulders and led them to stand near the railing where they gazed upon a beautiful sunset with the backdrop of the Manhattan skyline.
“I was so scared you’d start thinking the way I‘ve been acting was because I had changed my mind or something.”
“I’m not stupid, Naomi.”
She turned away from the view across the river and looked full front into Daniel’s eyes. “Wow, that’s what Anne said.” When she saw his furrowed brow, she knew an explanation was in order. “I told her basically that maybe I’d hoodwinked you—don’t you love that expression? I mean, what if I’m not all you think I am?” She now averted his gaze, her head down peering into the murky East River. “If you ever discovered you didn’t actually love me, I’d . . .”
Daniel gently put his fingers to her quivering lips. “Hush. You’re My-omi. I know who you are.” He drew her into his chest and cradled her in his arms. “Somehow you have this idea that to be religious, you have to become perfect.”
Naomi pulled away from Daniel. “Don’t you?”
Daniel drew her back into his chest. “You know what the prophet Jeremiah wrote? He said it’s only because of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed. We try to do our best, My-omi, my bride-to-be, but, please, never forget God’s mercy.”
The next morning Sylvia telephoned Naomi. “Dear, would you like to come over for lunch today? It will be just the two of us. It would be nice to have some time alone.”
Walking to Sylvia’s home, Naomi contemplated how this invitation came about. She wasn’t stupid either—she felt assured it came from Daniel’s instigation. And she was grateful—it felt right.
It was a brisk end-of-March day, the sun shining through the row of oak trees. Within a few blocks from home, she entered into the neighborhood of Carroll Gardens. When given the address, she had assumed it would still be in the Heights, but as she moved into this more residential area, its homey character seemed much more fitting for Sylvia - and her husband, too, I guess. Remember, Naomi, mercy—even with Rabbi Lehrer.
Naomi found the address she had jotted down on a scrap of paper. Climbing up the stoop to the stately two-story duplex brownstone, she heard Sylvia call to her from the second floor window. “There you are. I’ll be right down.”
Sylvia ushered Naomi into the first floor living room. The interior showed obvious contributions from both the Rabbi and his wife. The furniture, appearing austere and uncomfortable, was offset by the family pictures framed in dark wood on the soft rose-colored walls.
“Something smells wonderful,” Naomi told Sylvia.
“It’s my day to cook Italian. Hope you like chicken parmesan.” She ushered Naomi into the dining room area. “I also have spaghetti and garlic bread. Ooh, you better not be seeing Daniel after all the garlic.”
“I am. I’m meeting him for dinner at his Aunt Luba’s tonight. Right now he’s at the hospital visiting some of the members of the shul.”
Sylvia pulled out a chair for Naomi at the dining table and then walked toward her kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”
The dining room walls were painted a muted green. The fireplace had a large mirror trimmed in mahogany wood over its mantle, with the dining room table and chairs all made from a rich mahogany as well—the same mahogany in appearance as was found in the Goldblatts’ home.
The conversation during lunch consisted of small talk . . . how delicious Sylvia’s cooking was . . . how nice her home was . . . By the time Sylvia brought out a platter of cookies, Naomi was beyond full but imagined she’d hurt the woman’s feelings if she declined.
“Come, dear, let’s enjoy these in the living room.”
Once they were settled together on the stiff-backed Victorian-style couch, Sylvia said, “I remember when Joseph proposed to me—no, it was even before that—when I knew he would be proposing to me. I was so grateful to have Joseph’s mother to talk to. You see, Joseph’s father was a rabbi, too, and so his mother understood my nervousness—my fears actually.”
When Sylvia paused at this point, Naomi assumed it was to coax her to now speak of her own fears. Not ready to do so, Naomi bit into one of the flaky cookies. Crumbs fell all over the couch and onto the parquet floor. Sylvia deftly swept the crumbs into a small napkin and the mess was gone.
“Sylvia, I am nervous. You’re right. It’s like this: I call Daniel ‘Daniel’ because it’s hard for me to call him Rabbi Dan. He’s Daniel to me, and when I think of him as Rabbi Dan I get all queasy inside.”
“He is Daniel to you. And the boy—I mean man—needs someone who will see him as Daniel. Of course, you must see him as a rabbi, too. After all, that’s the calling on his life.”
“But how does he see me? I mean can he see me as a rabbi’s wife?”
“Naomi, I will ask you what Joseph’s mother asked me. Can you be a rabbi’s wife or would you simply be the wife of a rabbi?”
“I hope I can be a rabbi’s wife. I believe I understand the difference.” Naomi sat back on the sofa while at the same time leaning in toward Sylvia. “Daniel is so wonderful. It doesn’t seem like religion to him, it’s more like he has this relationship with God and I want that, too.”
Sylvia placed her half-eaten cookie on her plate. In a soft yet firm voice, she advised, “Darling, don’t be too idealistic. You will need to be prepared instead by being realistic. Maybe your future husband has a relationship with the Almighty, but relationships with people will also be a large part of his work—and yours, too.”
“Sylvia, I’ve thought about that. I mean he’s right now at the hospital visiting people. And I know you do things like that, too, but I’m not sure that’s something I’ll be—”
With a broad smile, Sylvia chided her. “Nonsense, my dear. I’ve watched you. You can. And Daniel wouldn’t have asked you to be his wife unless he was confident you would be an asset to him.”
“An asset?”
“And you thought you were a deficit. Shame on you. But as I said you must be realistic. Some people are more challenging than others.” Sylvia suddenly sat up straight, craned her neck, and appeared to have a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “I have an idea. Have you met Daniel’s sister since our Chanukah party?”
Naomi shook her head. “No, why?”
Her eyes still twinkling, Sylv
ia told her, “She could be good practice for you.” Sylvia giggled girlishly. “Didn’t expect that, did you?
Sylvia lifted up the platter of cookies and brought it to Naomi. “I’ll tell you a secret. Joseph’s mother gave me all the practice I needed. Whew, she was a handful. Now, this is to be kept between us girls.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
Sylvia returned the platter back to the coffee table after Naomi indicated she was too full for more. “You will need practice in dealing with difficult people. They are most certainly out there. Let me ask you, for starters, how many brothers or sisters do you have?”
“I’m an only child.”
Sylvia clucked her tongue. “Oh my, you definitely need practice. I could introduce you to a few people from the Temple.” After contemplating this idea for a moment, she jokingly reassured, “No, I don’t have the heart to do that to you, not yet anyway.”
Naomi now reached over for one of the cookies as she peered into Sylvia’s face. “You’re scaring me.”
The older woman’s face crinkled up with a wide grin. “Start with Daniel’s sister. Intuition tells me you’ll do fine with her. And it’ll be a mitzvah, a good deed, for Daniel and for . . . what’s her name?”
“Dana.”
“Yes, for Dana. She must be very unhappy. Only hurt people hurt people. That’s your first lesson: hurt people hurt people. Repeat that after me, dear?”
Naomi was thrilled—she was not alone but had a mentor. She gladly repeated, “Hurt people hurt people,” and then asked, “Can I meet with you regularly?”
It was agreed they would meet once a week for these luncheons and Naomi had her first homework assignment: Dana.
In parting, Sylvia hugged her new student. “Who knows, maybe Daniel’s Aunt will sharpen your skills, too.”
“The hardest part, I think, will be to convince her I’m hungry. I’m going to be eating dinner in about one hour. And I’m stuffed. Your chicken parmesan was delicious and I ate too much.”
Naomi, The Rabbi's Wife Page 15
