Naomi, The Rabbi's Wife

by Miriam Finesilver

  Her hands went up over her ears. “No, you stop—stop yelling at me.” Walking toward their bedroom, her eyes landed on Aunt Luba’s wedding present hanging up on their wall. Naomi grabbed the framed picture, yanked it off the wall and smashed it on the dining room table. She fled into the bedroom and locked the door.

  After a few stunned moments, Daniel walked over to the picture. It had been their favorite of all the wedding gifts. His Aunt had lovingly framed a beautiful Marc Chagall print of a bride and groom in a loving embrace set in a rich blue background, with the words “I am my beloved and my beloved is mine” written in calligraphy and superimposed over the print.

  Daniel went into their laundry room, brought out a broom and swept away the pieces of glass. Once certain the print itself had no shards of glass, he rolled it up as if it were a scroll, wrapped a plastic bag around it, and hid it in the closet.

  While he cleaned the remnants from what she shamefully considered her temper tantrum, Naomi sat on the floor in a corner of the bedroom. He would never know the pain she experienced going to the gynecologist. Having to fill out the form which asked how many pregnancies, how many deliveries, how many miscarriages, and how many abortions. Since it was none of their business, she felt no compunction in lying.

  Lying. That’s the real sin—not whether we keep kosher or not. Who am I trying to kid? I’ll never be good enough. And now she was driving away the man she loved so much, and who was so good to her. The isolation was suffocating; the hideous secret from her past was effectively killing any hope for her future.

  Like a lifeline came the tapping on the door, along with Daniel’s soft voice. “Naomi?”

  She scooted up off the floor and unlocked the door. He opened wide his arms and she gratefully accepted their shelter. “Daniel, I’m sorry.”

  Soon they were sitting out on their terrace eating the Chinese food, a little cold by now, but still tasty.

  “I never asked about your day, Daniel. How’d it go with the Board?”

  Whether it was to protect her or simply because he was not ready to relive the day for himself, he told her, “Fine.”

  That night both lay in the same bed, but in their separate spheres of isolation.

  Naomi awakened to the annoying sound of the alarm clock. She waited, and waited some more. A pillow folded over her ears might drown out the noise, but why wasn’t Daniel turning it off already? Squinting over to his side, she discovered he wasn’t there. She let go of the pillow and sat up in the bed—in time to hear Daniel calling from the living room.

  “Naomi, please turn it off.”

  She climbed across the bed, reached over to his nightstand, and turned the clock this way and that. How do you shut this thing off? Early in their marriage they had agreed, since he was definitely the more responsible party in the morning, the clock would always be placed on his nightstand.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t find—oh never mind, I found it.”

  Daniel finally heard the screeching stop and yelled, “Thank you—.” No need to yell, for there she stood in her oversized T-shirt and bare feet, staring at him.

  “Why are you up so early?” Her hand flew up to her mouth as she caught sight of her husband. Sitting on the couch, he appeared swallowed up by a mound of crumpled yellow paper.

  He explained, “Sermon for Shabbat.”

  “But, Daniel, it’s Friday already.”

  “Thanks, Naomi, like I really needed you to tell me.” He smirked, but when he saw her turn to walk away, he quickly said, “Honey, I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s just usually you have it all written out by Thursday at the latest.”

  “Haven’t you noticed, for the last month it’s never before Thursday? And it’s been getting later and later on Thursday.”

  Not only was the paper crumpled up, but her dear husband also appeared crumpled. She sat beside him and pushed the balls of discarded notes out of the way.

  Kissing him, she suggested, “Maybe you could get away with telling the congregation the dog ate your homework.” He was not laughing. “I’m only saying that because you look like such a sad little boy right now.”

  “Naomi, it’s becoming harder and harder to find the inspiration.”

  “We haven’t done any prayers together in a while either.”

  “I know. But look, I have to get back to this.”

  She could take a hint. She stood up and stepped toward the kitchen. “Can I make you breakfast?”

  “Sure.”

  Soon she proudly brought out a breakfast tray with one of his favorites, a combination of matzoh and eggs.

  He had no appetite, but how could he hurt her feelings? “Matzoh brei, my favorite.” He forced himself to eat while he scribbled, crumpled and tossed. “What about you? Where’s yours?”

  She stepped back into the kitchen. “Oh, I’m just going to have some cereal.”

  “Would you mind getting my appointment book? There’s something I think I’m supposed to do today, but I’m not sure what.”

  She quickly found it on his nightstand and opened it on her way back to Daniel. “It’s a hospital visit with Mrs. Rabinowitz.”

  “Oh, no, that’s all the way out in Palm Beach somewhere.”

  “Daniel, I’ll go. I’d be glad to.”

  An hour later, she was dressed and ready to go. Daniel walked to the door and hugged her goodbye. “Thank you, honey.”

  “What’s tonight’s sermon going to be on?”

  She would have to ask, wouldn’t she? “Okay, here it is—the Torah portions for this week speak about not worshipping the sun, the moon and the hosts of heaven. I’m tempted to do a sermon on why people should not be reading their horoscope.”

  Naomi took a few steps back from him. “Why do I feel a finger pointing at me?”

  He held her hands and gently told her, “Reading your horoscope is wrong, Naomi.”

  “Then why haven’t you told me this before?” She pulled her hands away. “Every morning you see me reading mine and you’ve never said anything.”

  “You’re right, I should have told you. And this convinces me, this will be part of my sermon tonight.” Daniel walked back toward the couch with determination.

  Naomi followed after him. “You gotta be kidding? The women especially will kill you.”

  “If I hold back saying everything that could offend these people, then there won’t be anything left I can say. Is this why I chose to be a rabbi? To put people to sleep?”

  He turned back around to face her and again took her hands in his. “Go. I need to work on this. Drive carefully.”

  She was about to close the door behind her when she heard, “My-omi, you’ll be a delight to Mrs. Rabinowitz. Thank you for going.”

  She hung the strap from her pocketbook on the doorknob, ran back into the house and flung herself into Daniel’s arms. “Oooh, matzoh brei mouth. Yum.”

  The walks to and from Temple Beth Shalom had become a special time for both Daniel and Naomi. For Daniel, the walk to the Temple gave him time to discuss with his wife the sermon he had prepared. He relished her input. And the walk back home, that was a time to let down.

  The walk to the shul this particular evening gave Naomi the first opportunity to report on her hospital visit. “You know what she told me? When she saw me walk into her room, she said, ‘Mrs. Cantor, how nice, you came with your husband. I’m so glad.’ Then she looks behind me, cranes her neck to see out the door and down the hallway. ‘Where’s the Rabbi?’ When she heard I came by myself, you should have seen the look on her face. I’m telling you, Daniel, I know what she was thinking.”

  Always enjoying Naomi’s comedic performance, he willingly played the straight man. “And what, Mrs. Cantor, was she thinking?”

  “She was thinking ‘what am I, chopped liver? He sends only his wife.’”

  “My-omi, you’re the best.” He picked her up in his arms and swung her around.”

  “Daniel, put me down,” she yelled while bein
g flung about. “What if someone sees us?”

  He put her down and affectionately ruffled her hair. “So, what happened after that? Mrs. Rabinowitz kick you out?”

  “No, it actually went okay after that. I saw she had a deck of cards on . . . what do you call that adjustable hospital thing on wheels . . . they bring over to your bed so you can eat on it?”

  “The adjustable hospital thing on wheels they br—”

  “Very funny. I’ve told you, I’m the one tells the jokes. Anyway, she was thrilled when I offered to play cards with her.”

  “What game?”

  “Gin rummy. It’s a good thing we didn’t play for money. The woman may be on heavy sedation, but she’s one mean card player.” Without a beat, she changed the subject. “You still haven’t told me about how it went working on your message?”

  “I went to the swimming pool after you left. It always seems to clear my head, and then I was able to finish it.”

  “But are you happy with it?”

  With a mischievous grin, he said, “Yes. Can’t say anyone else will be, but I am.”

  Approaching the shul’s front entrance, she stretched her hand up to his head, grabbed a tuft of his hair and yanked it out from under his yarmulke.

  “Naomi, what are you doing?”

  “I like your cowlick—it suits your personality.”

  Taking his tallit out from its velvet pouch, he informed her, “You’re a brat, you know that? One I’m wildly in love with.”

  The first to arrive was Mildred. “Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi.”

  She was immediately followed by Marvin and his wife. “Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi.”

  Daniel and Naomi now separated to individually greet each of the faithful few. “Shabbat Shalom.”

  Throughout the Friday evening service, Naomi perceived something different in Daniel. Tonight, when performing his cantorial segments of the liturgy, he almost sounded like the Daniel of a year ago. His deep melodic voice was carried aloft by a reverence for the words he chanted and passion for those listening to also be sincerely worshipful.

  He should go swimming more often.

  Then it was time for the message. As Daniel had mentioned earlier in the day to Naomi, the evening’s Torah portion included scripture from Deuteronomy—the Israelites were not to worship the sun, moon or the hosts of heaven.

  “I find myself wondering,” Daniel began, “why, when Moses made it so clear to us not to do this, do we simply say ‘no’ to God. I will not embarrass you by asking how many of you read your horoscope—dare I say religiously every day.”

  Naomi looked around aware of the people who now squirmed in their seats, while she heard others clearing their throats. And Daniel, standing in front of his congregation, was keenly aware of how many chose to avert their eyes from his.

  He was hitting home; he was doing his job. The biggest reward at this time was seeing his wife’s smile. She understood what his job truly was; after all, she was a rabbi’s wife. The look which transpired between them at that moment confirmed it.

  “I know some of you are upset at my . . . well, upsetting your apple cart. But, please, think about this: When you recite the Shema, when you say we are to love the Lord with all our heart, shouldn’t you show it by obeying what He tells you? I mean, wives, you don’t want your husbands to tell you they love you, and then not obey you.” A well-timed smirk made it clear this was to be taken as a joke.

  Naomi surveyed the crowd. Good job, Daniel. Not only did he get a few chuckles from them, but it seemed they lost their irritation with their brash young rabbi.

  In closing, Daniel invited the congregation to join him for oneg. “We have some wonderful brisket tonight. Our very own Goldie Rosen brought it for us. Thank you, Goldie.” He stepped off the bimah, casually mentioning, “I’m starving.”

  Once seated at a table, Daniel was about to bite into Goldie’s wonderful brisket when Jerry approached his table. “Rabbi, several of us were talking, and we don’t think it’s your business. A small thing like people reading what the stars say for them, some people need that kind of thing. In case you haven’t noticed Rabbi, we’re old. You can’t expect us to change now.”

  Naomi asked, “Daniel, would you mind if I answered Mr. Cooper?”

  “No, honey, of course not.” He was intrigued—what was his wife up to?

  “Mr. Cooper, I’m glad my husband said what he did tonight. I’ve been guilty of reading my horoscope with my coffee every morning. But having the Rabbi point out that this is wrong, that God doesn’t want us to do this, I’m going to stop. We should all want to be good people, the best Jews we can be. Shouldn’t we?”

  Jerry Cooper had no comeback. With everyone listening, Daniel told him, “She’d make a pretty good rabbi herself, wouldn’t she?”

  On their walk home that night, he asked, “Did I surprise you? I know you said not to tackle the horoscope business, but, Naomi, I had to. I’m telling others to obey the Lord, so if I feel He’s telling me to do something, like deliver a certain message, then I’d be disobedient if I basically chickened out. I can’t and I won’t do that.”

  “Stop getting all worked up. I was on your side. Couldn’t you see that?”

  He pulled her close to his side and gave her a deep kiss. One of the members of the shul drove by and shouted out, “Now stop it, you lovebirds.”

  Walking up the stairs to their apartment, Daniel asked, “Were you serious? Will you really give up reading the horoscope?”

  “I . . .” She paused as they entered their apartment. “You want some iced tea? I have some of that raspberry kind you like.”

  “I’d love it. Give me a minute to change.”

  “Me, too.”

  Soon they were in their denim shorts and T-shirts, sitting out on the terrace and sipping tea. Time for her to answer Daniel’s question.

  “Here’s the thing. People do things for a reason. I want to know what to expect before the day starts, so I turn to this silly horoscope in the newspaper.”

  Daniel’s feet had been resting on an ottoman. He now brought them back down to the floor and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Go ahead?”

  Naomi put her drink down on the round glass table and assumed the same posture as her husband’s. “If I’m not to do something, then it helps if I understand why—you know, why I’m not supposed to do it.”

  “Go on.”

  “I remember when you had the interview for here—you said, even if you didn’t have a havurah in the home, you could still have a kind of informal back and forth discussion at the shul itself.”

  “I remember.”

  She placed her hands on his knees. “Discussion, Daniel. Asking maybe why they think God would tell them not to . . . what was it? . . . worship the stars. Stuff like that. People need to know why—I need to know why.”

  The following day, morning Shabbat service followed its traditional order, but to Naomi it was clear. Did anyone else feel it? Temple Beth Shalom’s Rabbi was exceptionally energized.

  When the time came for the sermon, rather than standing behind the podium, Daniel walked down the steps of the bimah. He made eye contact with each of the people gathered in the sanctuary, smiled, and greeted them by name.

  “So,” he laughed, “how many of you read your horoscope before coming this morning? I’ll tell you, this was the first morning, I think, since we’ve been married that my wife hasn’t looked at her horoscope before looking at me.”

  Daniel paused while laughter filled the sanctuary. “I’m not making fun of my wife—it’s actually because of her we’re going to do something different. She’s a very smart lady, just in case any of you haven’t noticed. She basically suggested we have a discussion—so I’m going to ask why you think God would, through Moses, tell us not to look to the stars for our future. Why do you think?”

  When Naomi heard only some nervous titters, she stepped up to the plate. “I’m not sure. I figure if He tells me not to do it, it’s
for my good. But I’d like to know why. Can you tell us?”

  He explained, “I believe the Lord wants us to trust in Him alone. We are to have no other God before Him, correct?”

  Having apparently warmed up to this new open environment in their sanctuary, a handful of people voiced their agreement.

  Daniel felt a rush of electricity—a havurah was taking place right here in the Temple. “God forbid, literally, we worship an idol, such as our astrological sign and from there get into our horoscope, or whatever other mishegas.”

  He then went back to the traditional close for service, again finishing by wishing everyone Shabbat Shalom.

  It was unmistakable—Daniel and Naomi sensed a new enthusiasm among the congregants as they said their goodbyes. Daniel interrupted their walk home by suggesting, “Let’s celebrate. I’d love a banana split. How about you?”

  “Hot fudge peanut butter sundae for me.”

  They changed directions and headed toward Boca Raton’s favorite ice cream parlor as Daniel wrapped his arm around Naomi’s waist. “So, Mrs. Cantor, any other suggestions?”

  “Yes.”

  Surprised by her empathetic tone, he stopped in his tracks and arched his eyebrow.

  “Israel. We organize a trip to Israel with the synagogue.”

  Two hours and two thousand calories later, they returned to their apartment, still strategizing about a possible Israel trip.

  He changed into his non-rabbi clothes, continuing to voice his excitement. “This can really bring a vitality to our membership. And, My-omi, imagine all of us, as a congregation observing Shabbat together in Jerusalem.”

  He had assumed she followed him into the bedroom, but when he did not hear a response to his remark, he turned to discover she was not there. He found her staring at the empty place on the wall where his Aunt’s wedding present had been ever since they moved into this one-bedroom apartment a year ago.

  He came from behind and enveloped his wife in his arms, kissing her neck. “We’ve got an exciting future ahead of us. Let’s thank the Lord and pray the Kedusha together.”

  With wide-eyed delight, she turned around to him. “I’ve missed our doing this so much.”