Naomi, The Rabbi's Wife

by Miriam Finesilver

  Naomi realized she had never heard him quite so intense about anything in the past. She was not sure what this was stirring up in her, but could see the others were quite impressed with his conviction and ability to articulate it.

  Jerry suddenly turned his attention onto the candidate’s wife. “Mrs. Cantor,” he asked, “what are your feelings about what your husband just stated?”

  With this first opportunity to address the committee, she chose to fall back on her acting skills. “My father always told me,” with her father’s gruff voice she continued, “if you make friends with a Gentile, don’t ever forget all they want to do is convert you.”

  Seemed it worked—they found her entertaining. Even Daniel was laughing. Again, the odd man out was Jerry, who broke up the levity of the moment. “You know Jay here married a shiksa.”

  Jay pulled his chair out, making a sharp scraping sound on the floor. His fists clenched and his arms cocked into a combative stance, he moved toward Jerry. The others held their breath and sat straight up in their chairs.

  Jay, as if policing himself, relaxed his body, sat down and pulled his chair back in. “I’m not giving him the satisfaction.” He looked directly at Daniel. “Rabbi, I am proud . . . never mind what he just said . . . but I’m proud to tell you my wife Sandy is now a Jew. She went through the classes, took the mikveh, and today she’s a better Jew than I am.”

  Daniel reached across the table and shook Jay’s hand. “She must make you very proud. I hope one day I’ll meet her.”

  After learning the couple would be catching a flight back to New York tomorrow morning, Jay suggested the committee consider giving a stipend to the couple. This would allow them to change their airplane reservations and stay an extra day, or perhaps two. After all, they were taking time away from their honeymoon to meet with them. If they stayed tomorrow and into Sunday, they would be able to attend Shabbat at their temple tomorrow.

  In an unexpected show of generosity, Jerry said, “Let’s put them up here in Boca, at that fancy resort.”

  Once the committee agreed to Jay’s suggestion, he turned to Daniel and Naomi. “Rabbi Moskowitz and Barbara are flying in today. This way you’ll get to see each other.”

  Before accepting their offer, Daniel turned toward Naomi. With a smile and a nod, she gave her go-ahead. He told the committee, “Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  On their way out, Marvin promised to contact them at their hotel in Miami and give them the address of the one in Boca where they would be staying. “And maybe before you leave we would have an answer for you.”

  About to walk into the parking lot, Doris ran after them. “You’re both darling. I hope you’ll be our rabbi soon. We need someone like you.”

  Daniel bit his upper lip as he scanned the parking lot. “It does start at 9:15, doesn’t it? Isn’t that what they told us?”

  Naomi looked all around, confirming they were in the main parking area. “The sign in the front, when you pulled in, it said service at 9:15.”

  Daniel parked the car, yet left the engine running. “There are only four cars . . .”

  “And one is in the Rabbi’s parking space.” She pulled the rearview mirror toward her and asked, “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Your lipstick looks fine, but I don’t know who besides me is going to see it anyway. The place is empty.”

  “C’mon, it’s my wifely duty to encourage you.” She held up an imaginary magic wand and told him, “Poof, be encouraged.”

  “Funny, Naomi, very funny.”

  “No, seriously, c’mon, let’s go in. You know how at the shul in Brooklyn people wander in when they’re good and ready. No one hardly ever comes when the service is supposed to start.”

  He turned off the motor and pulled the key out of the ignition. With one last tug on his tie, he came around to her side and opened the door. While doing so, they noticed two cars pull into the parking lot.

  Daniel stopped a few feet from the front door of the sanctuary and opened a dark blue velvet pouch. He pulled out his prayer shawl as well as a blue satin yarmulke. Once both were in place, he took out a tallit clip which held in place his shawl.

  Naomi held back the urge to hug him and smother him with kisses. Totally not kosher.

  Inside the sanctuary they noticed Rabbi Moskowitz seated in the front row. They were about to walk over to him when a woman walked up to the bimah and began the service. She must be the cantor.

  People slowly sauntered in, greeting each other in normal conversational voices. They made no effort to lower their volume and the Cantor seemed unfazed, continuing to perform in a nasal monotone. Many times her chanting faded away, as if she were simply bored and had no motivation to press on. Then the momentum would pick back up as she persevered with her droning.

  Naomi pressed her lips to Daniel’s ears. “You’re going to have to be the Cantor along with being the Rabbi.”

  He reached into his pocket for a pen, scribbled something on the bulletin handed to them when they entered, and passed the note on to her. She read, “What do you mean me? I’m going to teach you to be the Cantor.”

  She grabbed his shoulders and forced him to face her full front. She mocked a look of shock. Thankfully they were able to restrain themselves from roaring with laughter—only a few quiet giggles escaped.

  About forty minutes into the three-hour service less than a third of the seats in the sanctuary were filled. And all that were seated were silver-haired, many of them having entered with the aid of their walkers.

  Rabbi Moskowitz seemed somewhat enlivened by their presence as he would often look towards them and smile. Both Daniel and Naomi had the impression if they were not there, he would have appeared as bored as the Cantor and the congregants.

  When the service finished, all were invited to walk across the hall to where lunch was being served. Rabbi Moskowitz walked over to the couple and asked, “Please be my guest, sit at my table. Unfortunately, Barbara was too exhausted after our trip to be here.”

  Once seated, the Rabbi told them, “I hear they’re giving you two nights at the Boca Raton Resort & Club. I hope you know they’re not usually this generous. They never did anything like that for Barb and I.” Making sure no one was in earshot, he then asked Daniel, “Would you take the position? Because sure sounds like they want you to.”

  Daniel turned to Naomi and arched one eyebrow. Her turn to write a note. She reached into his pocket, took out his pen and wrote on a napkin, “Do you want this?”

  He wrote back, “Mrs. Cantor, I’m asking you. Can you handle this?”

  She crumpled the napkin and threw it into her purse, smiled, and nodded.

  A short time later, alone in their car, she said, “I grew up with parents older than everyone else’s. People would make fun of me and say ‘What are they? Your grandparents?’ I think it’s given me a special fondness for older people, but most of all, Rabbi Dan, you can do something exciting here.”

  “It’s going to be a challenge.”

  She nodded vigorously.

  “But you’re saying we should go for it?”

  Nodding even more vigorously, she added, “But get rid of that Cantor. Please.”

  It was now his time to nod vigorously.

  PART II

  CHAPTER 15

  Great Expectations

  “Are you listening, Rabbi?”

  Daniel was aware Jerry’s mouth had been moving, but he had tuned him out for probably the last half hour. With the man’s face now looming over him, Daniel could no longer ignore his abrasive voice. He sat up straighter in his chair, dropped the pen he had been clicking on and off and looked directly into Jerry’s eyes.

  “It’s been a year, Rabbi, and still no new members.”

  Doris’s shrill voice interrupted Jerry’s tirade. “And we’ve lost more members, too.”

  “We took you on knowing you were young and inexperienced,” Jerry continued. “We had hoped maybe you’d have some new ideas.”
He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Yet everything is still the same and our congregation is dwindling away.”

  Doris again chimed in. “And to top it off, you’re getting the highest salary this Temple ever paid a rabbi.”

  Daniel stood up. “My salary was raised when it was agreed that I would be your Cantor as well as your Rabbi.”

  Jay, seated across from Daniel at this long conference table, got up from his chair. He walked halfway around the room and stood beside Daniel. “You know what this sounds like, don’t you?” He waited momentarily for a reply, but received none. “It reminds me of how the Israelites treated Moses. Complain, complain, complain. We want results and we want them now. No more of this manna garbage.”

  Mildred, a dark-haired woman in her early fifties, the newest member of the Temple’s Board, took a sip of her coffee. She then spoke for the first time since the meeting began two hours ago. “Maybe it’s somewhat up to us to get new members. I admit I haven’t made any effort to invite anyone to our shul. Have any of you?”

  Daniel waited for a response—there was none. He looked over at Mildred, smiled and said, “Thank you.”

  She beamed. “And with our new Rabbi and his beautiful voice as our Cantor, we have good reason to be proud of Temple Beth Shalom—proud enough to invite others.”

  Doris, sitting to Marvin’s right, poked him with her pen. “You’re the chairman—what do you have to say? What—cat got your tongue?”

  When he stared at her with a dazed expression, Doris examined his left ear. She shook her head at him in exasperation and told everyone, “Hold your horses.” She reached straight up into Marvin’s ear and turned his hearing device on.

  Marvin jumped up and cried out, “What? What’s going on?”

  “I make a motion to elect a new chairman,” Doris shouted.

  Jerry’s hand shot up. “I second it.”

  Daniel turned to Jay, still standing alongside him. “Help me here. I don’t want to lose my temper the way Moses did, but I’m tempted, very tempted.”

  Reminding himself Moses never made it into the promised land, Daniel took a deep breath and walked over to Marvin. With a firm hand, he patted him on the shoulder and spoke in a loud voice. “From what I can see, Marvin has done an admirable job. He’s served as your Chairman for a very long time.”

  Daniel bent down and spoke directly into the elderly man’s ear. “We want to thank you for your service to the Temple.”

  His courtesy seemed to shame all gathered, even Jerry. Their faces were now bent down, staring at their reflection on the highly polished wooden table.

  Grateful for the apparent change in tenor among the group, Daniel walked back to his seat. “I understand your disappointment, but may I suggest, hiring a new rabbi and having all these wonderful expectations, it’s somewhat like a marriage.”

  Jerry lifted his left hand to his face, making a big show of checking his wrist watch and rolling his eyes. “Oy vey, the Rabbi’s giving us a sermon now.”

  Mildred, sitting to Jerry’s right, reached over and pushed his hand down. “Jerry, please, I want to hear what Rabbi Cantor has to say.”

  Daniel continued. “It’s all about expectations. And commitment as well. So when the bumps in the road happen, whether with a marriage or with breaking in a new rabbi, I believe we need to work through the problems.” He reached for the pitcher sitting in the middle of the table and poured himself a glass of water.

  Mildred smiled toward Daniel and fluttered her eyelids. “I would have gotten that for you, Rabbi.”

  “Thank you, Mildred. You remind me of my wife. She’s always looking to see how she can help others. Now as for membership, I know you are all concerned, as am I.”

  “Ticket sales for the High Holidays are way down from last year,” Jerry informed him.

  At this point, all were anxious to finish up with this meeting. A final resolution was agreed upon quickly. All would make an effort to spread the word about Temple Beth Shalom’s vibrant young rabbi and a committee would be formed to brainstorm ways to promote the High Holidays, possibly offering a discount for all who purchase their tickets up until a week before Rosh Hashanah.

  Jay added a final suggestion. “And how about if they can buy for a group, maybe twelve or more, then they get a special group price?”

  “Fine, fine,” they all mumbled as they gathered together their belongings and rushed out.

  This is what I went to seminary for? Help me, O Mighty One, to please You.

  Daniel drove his 1975 Volkswagen into the parking space alongside Naomi’s bronze Chevrolet Malibu. He shook his head. Why can’t she park straight? Two white lines, all she has to do is line her car up between them.

  He turned the ignition off and threw the keys into his pocket. He was about to tug on the door handle when he hesitated and slammed his hands over his forehead. He must get control of his feelings before walking in the door. I can’t take this out on her.

  Halfway up the stairs to their second floor apartment, he remembered the Chinese food he had picked up along the way. He trudged back down the stairs and retrieved the bag filled with take-out containers.

  “Hello Rabbi.”

  “Oh, hi, Charlie. How you doing?”

  “Rabbi, would you tell your wife to stay inside her own space when she parks? It’s hard when I park next to her, to park my van so it’s straight. You know what I mean?”

  “Yes, of course. Good night, Charlie.”

  “Hey, Rabbi, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t. Have a good night.” Back up the stairs, trying to keep the paper containers upright, he recalled Naomi’s sheer delight when he surprised her with the shiny new Malibu, exactly the same model and color she had cooed over during their honeymoon.

  Immediately after receiving the bump up in his salary for performing cantorial duty, he had driven to the car dealership. When he presented her with it, she jumped up and down, hugging him over and over again—just like he knew she would.

  He turned and looked back down at her crookedly parked car. He shook his head once again, but this time he did so with laughter. Only his free-spirited wife could park like this.

  At least she hasn’t crashed it.

  Standing in front of their apartment, he fiddled with the keys while still trying to keep the food containers balanced. Daniel was the perfect height to look through the front door window. There was Naomi standing in front of the open refrigerator door.

  He knew what that picture represented. Poor baby, she hadn’t a clue what to make for dinner. “Nothing jumped out at me,” she would tell him. The Chinese food was meant to be a sweet surprise, but now it would quickly turn into a rescue mission—all the sweeter. His keys tapped on the window.

  Naomi immediately turned around, quickly ran to the door and flung it open. She reached out for his paper sack. “I’ll take that.” She ran to the kitchen countertop and placed the bag down. “Chinese?”

  “Thought it would be a treat for us.” He loosened his tie and threw off his jacket. “Be back after I change.”

  To Naomi it was like poof and he was gone. She blinked away the tears starting to form. He knew where I went today—did he just forget? Maybe he was simply getting tired of her running to the doctor almost every month. Nausea in the morning—wasn’t that what they meant by morning sickness? Okay, maybe she wasn’t nauseous every morning, but once or twice she had felt queasy.

  And each time, she returned with the same answer: negative. But maybe next time . . .

  Daniel reappeared. Barefoot, in his faded jeans and Bohemian Nights T-shirt, he stifled a yawn. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’ve had a rough day and forgot—how’d it go today?”

  “Negative again.”

  He opened the silverware drawer and took out forks and spoons. “Well, maybe next time.” Reaching into the pantry, he took out two glasses. “What do you want to drink?”

  Could he be any less caring? She bit h
er lip and turned away from him. While removing the containers from the paper bag, she said, “Why don’t you admit it? You want it to be negative each time.” When sauce from one of the food containers leaked onto her hands, she cried, “Oh, great.”

  “It’s only been a year, Naomi. Most couples don’t have a baby right away, especially when the husband has a new job—especially a stressful one.”

  She walked over to the sink and ran water over her hands, then stormed out of the kitchen and into the dining and living room combo.

  He remained in the kitchen, the drinking glasses in his hands, and stared at her from the pass-through. Maybe another day he could deal with her irrational behavior, but not tonight. This was the last thing he needed. “Can you knock off with the dramatics? I’m tired, Naomi. Can we just sit out on the terrace and enjoy the food I went out of my way to bring home?”

  She walked up to the pass-through from her side and stared back at him. “You said we were going to keep kosher. I thought you were—”

  “What?”

  “Daniel, we need God’s blessings if I’m going to get pregnant. Maybe you don’t care, but I do.”

  He wrinkled his forehead and shook his head in confusion. “So, you figure if we keep kosher, then we—”

  “Yes, yes I do, Daniel.” Tell him the truth, Naomi. It’s because you’re being punished—it has nothing to do with him. God will never . . .

  He could no longer suppress the frustration that had built throughout his day. He held out his hands, the fingers and palms vertically indicating a barrier. “Stop—stop with all the pressure. Why are you pushing so hard about this baby thing? Stop already.”