Naomi, The Rabbi's Wife

by Miriam Finesilver

  They walked out to their terrace and he placed his tallit over both their heads. Together they recited, “We sanctify Your Name in the world, just as Your Name is sanctified in the heavens. Your prophets wrote, ‘And they called one to the other and said, Holy, holy, holy, Lord of hosts, the whole world is filled with your glory. Blessed is the glory of our God from His place. God shall reign forever, from generation to generation.’ May God be praised.”

  Great expectations flooded their souls.

  Naomi rejoiced knowing that soon would be Rosh Hashanah followed by Yom Kippur—the time to atone for her sin. If she could receive assurance of His forgiveness, then the past would be put to rest and a horoscope would not be needed to tell her future. It would be glorious. She didn’t need a horoscope to tell her soon she would be pregnant.

  Daniel rejoiced as he received confirmation in his heart. He was where God wanted him and the Almighty was pleased with Him. Daniel would be used to bring the Jewish people back to faithfulness in their God. There was a reason his parents had survived the Holocaust: God had a purpose for Stefan and Zofia’s son.

  CHAPTER 16

  A Cord (Chord?) of Three Strands

  Naomi found Daniel sitting on their sofa, once again lost in a sea of crumpled yellow paper. “Before breakfast, can we recite our blessing? It’s been over a month.”

  He did not glance up but continued chewing his thumbnail. “You don’t have to remind me. I know how long it’s been.”

  “Ever since Yom Kippur—”

  He still did not look up at her. “I said you don’t have to remind me, Naomi.”

  Whining, I’m always whining these days. She went to the hall closet and grabbed her denim jacket. “I’m going out for a walk. Get your own breakfast.” She reached for the keys dangling from a hook by the front door.

  “Glad you’re so understanding,” he yelled as she slammed the door. Yelling, I’m always yelling at her these days.

  There was a secluded area to the back of their apartment complex—a discovery she made when in a similar situation several months ago. A small lake provided a refuge, not only for her but also for white egrets, flocks of white ibis, a host of Muscovy ducks, and on a rare occasion a great blue heron.

  Relieved to find she had her favorite spot all to herself, she leaned against a large banyan tree. As if having no will to remain standing, she slid downward until sitting on a small patch of grass.

  What happened to her great expectations? Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur came and went, and still she had no assurance God had forgiven her sin.

  And poor Daniel—it was like he had been thrown into the lion’s den. The Board had been so cruel with Jerry coming up to him and announcing, “Congratulations, Rabbi, we set a new record for our High Holy Day services—this was the lowest attendance in our history.”

  And Naomi had to admit, no matter how hard she tried to be an encouragement, instead she whined and complained, filling him with discouragement. Daniel had continued his informal open discussion format, and she did her best to cheer him on, even when it seemed to generate very little dialog among the congregation.

  The only real interest shown in the Temple’s new Rabbi came from some of the women as they ogled him, especially Mildred. When Naomi warned her husband, he shrugged off her concern. “Naomi, she’s old enough to be my mother.”

  She did get his attention, however, when she told him, “She came up to me, Daniel, and said, ‘I hear your marriage is in trouble’.” Daniel had been baffled until Naomi explained, “She said something about my not living up to your expectations. She said you told the Board this at one of their meetings.”

  He then put the pieces together. “Good grief, Naomi. She deliberately misconstrued what I said. I was comparing their expectations with having a new rabbi with the expectations one has with a new marriage.”

  Mildred’s name topped off a new list the couple decided to compile: the “beware of” list.

  Do I have to add my own name to that list? Did Daniel need to beware of his own wife? With a heavy sigh, she raised her head up to the heavens.

  A stately heron flew above her and then chose to land right there at the edge of the lake. She watched as the bird stood motionless scanning for prey. With its majestic yet subtle blue-gray plumage, the bird made her heaviness vanish.

  The sound of a twig crackling broke the stillness. Naomi turned around and found Daniel standing behind her.

  Smiling, one finger to his lips, he pointed to the heron now beginning to wade belly-deep with long and deliberate steps. It may have been moving slowly, but in a split second it struck like lightning to grab a fish.

  Naomi averted her eyes as the fish flailed about in the mouth of the bird. This reminded Daniel of how troubled Naomi became whenever the Torah readings described the animal sacrifices commanded of the Israelites.

  He stooped down in front of her and opened wide his arms. Once she was resting in his protective embrace, he softly suggested, “Wanna go out for breakfast?”

  They walked back to the apartment, arms wrapped around each other’s waist. Naomi asked, “How’s the message coming for tonight?”

  He couldn’t resist. “What do you think about something on Jonah and the whale?” Fending off her fists pummeling his chest, he laughed, “Will you stop?”

  The pummeling stopped only because she was now pointing toward their front door. “Isn’t it too early for the postman?”

  “Definitely.”

  They quickened their steps and were able to make it in time to sign for an express mail delivery.

  Daniel patiently placed the small box on the dining table; in contrast Naomi rushed to cut it open with a large steak knife.

  “You’re dangerous, girl.” He picked up the box and clutched it to his chest, guarding it from his overly curious wife. “Let’s wait—we’ll bring it with us—how about brunch at Marti’s Deli?”

  He knew how to fight fire with fire, or in this case curiosity with curiosity. “Ooh, everybody’s always talking about that place. They say their brunches are awesome. I’ve been dying to try it.”

  I could tell her they make a whale of an omelet.

  From the outside the restaurant appeared to simply be a common storefront deli. Naomi insisted they try it anyway. Daniel parked the car with the caveat, “If it looks on the inside like it does on the outside, we’re outta there.”

  His fears were dispelled. They had clearly found their Teresa’s of Brooklyn Heights, right here in Boca Raton. The moment they entered, the owner and his staff welcomed them and placed them at a table by the window as they had requested. Drinks were brought to them almost immediately, coffee for her and raspberry iced tea for him.

  “Cinnamon Almond French Toast for the lady and Challah French Toast for me,” he soon told the waitress.

  Before he was done handing the menus back to the waitress, Naomi grabbed a butter knife and reached for the box Daniel had placed on the table.

  “Go ahead, honey. Have at it.”

  “Do you have any idea what it is?”

  “How about you start with looking at the return address on the box?”

  “Wow, I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I’ll save you the trouble. It’s from Irwin.” Chuckling at her look of astonishment, he said, “I was a little curious, too.”

  “But why would Irwin send us something?”

  “Now curiosity is getting the best of me, too. Will you open it already?”

  In a matter of moments, she was peering inside, with the box facing her and its open flap blocking his view. “It looks like photos,” she told him.

  By the time their food arrived, they were no longer sitting across from each other, but were sharing the same padded bench, sifting through the contents of the box: photos from the time Daniel enjoyed attending Irwin’s havurah.

  Pouring syrup on his French toast, he mused, “Wonder why Irwin would be mailing it to us now.”

  Naomi
reached back into the box. “There was a note . . . here it is.”

  Reading it together they learned his friend had been cleaning out his basement in Long Island in preparation for a move to New Jersey.

  One photo in particular caught Naomi’s eye. “You never told me you play the guitar.”

  “Played . . . once upon a time.”

  “Was this your own guitar?” When he nodded, she asked, “Where’d it go?”

  “I gave it to Ed. One day he was over at my apartment with Dana. He saw it over in a corner, gathering dust I might add. I couldn’t help but notice, he couldn’t stop staring at it, so I asked him if he wanted to play it. Naomi, he was good. He made better music with it than I ever did.” Daniel shrugged his shoulder. “So I gave it to him.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “It was from a different time in my life. I can’t allow myself to miss it.”

  For the rest of their breakfast, Naomi chewed on something more than her French Toast.

  Naomi wanted to weep. All during Saturday’s Shabbat service, she thought of the first service she and Daniel had sat through at Temple Beth Shalom. She recalled the lackluster performance of the Cantor, done as if by rote. She never would have believed her husband could sound so much the same.

  Now the time came for him to step down from the bimah and invite an open dialog with those in attendance. Oh, please, God, this time let the members start talking. Have mercy on my husband.

  “I am sure you read in the papers about the incident of anti-Semitism in Wisconsin this week,” Daniel began. “This man hoped to kill as many of our people as he could. He went into a Jewish retirement home and somehow ended up shooting and killing five Gentiles and no Jews. How are we to process this? What are we to learn from it?”

  Daniel paused briefly. “Are we too comfortable here in America? I think about what my parents went through . . . most of you know, I believe, they are Holocaust survivors. Do we ever consider that it could happen here? When my sister and I each turned ten, our birthday present from our parents was a passport. That’s right. Their feeling was we should always be prepared. This would be a good lesson for Passover, wouldn’t it? Yet at any time, we might be asked to make a quick exodus, just like the Jews had to do in Egypt. Think about it—are we too comfortable?”

  When Jerry’s hand shot up, Daniel and Naomi shared a quick surprised look with one another. “You know what I think?” Jerry stood up and told everyone, “Those Gentiles that were killed this week, that was God’s intervention.”

  Daniel furrowed his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

  Naomi could not miss, even sitting several rows back, the clenching in Daniel’s jaw.

  “We’re God’s chosen people. He’s not going to let anything happen to us,” Jerry explained. “He protected the Jews at that nursing home and let the Gentiles get it instead.”

  The clenching became more pronounced and Naomi feared Daniel might say something he would later regret. She now stood to address the group. “I think it’s dangerous to use that line of reasoning. Because if we did, then how would we explain about the Holocaust? My in-laws may have made it out, but what about the other six million?”

  All eyes were on Naomi, the Rabbi’s wife.

  Now it was Daniel’s turn. After all, he was the one stirred it all up—and he had to admit, it was somewhat exhilarating. “She’s right, Jerry. Now, I’d love to continue this discussion and maybe we will another time, but the clock is staring me in the face.”

  Daniel stepped back on the platform. “As most of you know, Marvin is need of your prayers for his failing health. He has served this Temple faithfully for many years, and deserves not only your prayers, but your time. I’m saddened to learn none of you have visited him in the hospital, nor called to comfort Mrs. Berman. Are we not admonished to care for one another?” After looking over at Naomi, he added, “Forgive me. I promised never to guilt-trip any of you. Shabbat Shalom.”

  Naomi shouted above the clamor of the congregation scurrying to leave, “Don’t forget, everyone, we have the meeting for the trip to Israel this Monday evening.”

  It took another hour before Daniel and Naomi were able to start their walk home. However, they made it no further than the parking lot before Jerry accosted them. “You know this new-fangled thing you’re doing, this discussion format . . . first of all, if you want us to ‘share our thoughts’ like you told us once, then why,” he now turned angrily toward Naomi, “shoot us down when we say something you don’t like?”

  Daniel put his arm around Naomi and pulled her close to himself. “My wife is a congregant as well, so why shouldn’t she share her thoughts, too? Jerry, was there more you wanted to say? When someone says ‘first of all’ it usually means there’s a second and a third and a—”

  “Yeah, I don’t like this whole new thing. I mean what do you think . . . you’re teaching a class at the University or something?”

  Daniel smiled. “Thank you for sharing your thoughts.” In parting he added, “Have a good weekend.”

  The couple walked in silence until, approaching their apartment, Naomi asked, “Why did you forget mentioning the Israel meeting?” When he did not answer, she pressed, “Why do I have the feeling it’s not that you forgot, but you simply didn’t want to bring it up?” Still with no reply from Daniel, she asked, “Am I right or not?”

  “No one’s going to show up anyway. That’s why.”

  Later than afternoon, Daniel was doing his laps in the swimming pool. Naomi sat poolside, baking in the sun and thinking about the photos Irwin had sent. The pictures seemed to capture an exuberant spirit among all those participating in Irwin’s home fellowship. And Daniel appeared in animated conversation in almost all the photos she had seen of him.

  “You’re going to get burnt,” Daniel warned as he came out of the water and dried himself off. “C’mon, let’s go under the canopy.”

  Her hand over her forehead to shield herself from the blinding sunlight, she asked, “How many laps did you do today?”

  “Twenty,” he answered a bit breathlessly. “All I had to do was think about Jerry making that University remark, it made me mad enough to kick my feet as hard as I could and knife my way through the water.”

  She grabbed up her towel and sandals, and together they sat under the canopy. “Daniel, I was thinking about what he said, and also I can’t get those pictures Irwin sent out of my mind. What’s the name of the University Jerry was referring to? The one here in Boca?”

  “FAU, Florida Atlantic University. Why?”

  “Didn’t you tell me Irwin used the college campuses to kinda recruit for his havurah?”

  “If you’re suggesting what I think you are, forget it. I have enough to do, Naomi. I just couldn’t . . . no, I don’t see how. . .”

  “What if I try going over to FAU by myself then?”

  “I’m going back in the house. You can stay out here if you like.” He picked up his towel and left.

  Thankfully, her thoughts quickly moved from nursing her hurt to thinking about why he might have behaved as he did. She put herself into Daniel’s place and it became clear: her husband was afraid to get his hopes up again. Too many high expectations had plummeted into disappointments. It was safer to simply not try anymore.

  While climbing the steps to their apartment, an idea was born, she believed inspired by God Himself. It brought with it a spark of hope.

  It was her first solo expedition into the Fort Lauderdale area. Having made a firm decision to buy Daniel a guitar, the name Sam Ash popped into her mind. When living in Manhattan, she had passed this music store chain many times.

  Immediately after Daniel left for the synagogue to prepare for the evening’s meeting, she frantically made a few phone calls. The closest store was in Margate, Florida, a bit south of Boca. The voice on the phone was very nice and gave her good directions.

  The store was empty when she walked in and Naomi received the undivided attention of the store manager,
Steve.

  “It’s for my husband. The first real gift I’ve ever given him.” She reached into her purse and brought out a handful of photos from the batch Irwin had sent. Each showed Daniel holding or playing the guitar he once owned. “I’d like the same one as that,” she explained.

  “I think it’s a Yamaha. Wait just a sec.” Steve reached into a drawer behind the sales counter. “It’s here somewhere. . .” He now brought out a magnifying glass and used it to study her photos. He concluded, “Yup, it’s a Yamaha. Nylon string. We have some nice Yamahas here. Let’s go look.”

  “Do you have the same exact Yamaha as in these pictures?”

  He walked over to a nearby shelf and took down a handsome-looking guitar. “Not sure if this is the one, but this is a good one. And like your husband’s old one, it has the same spruce wood. Want to hold it?”

  “No, I’m afraid to, but how much?”

  “This one’s $199.”

  “That’s all?” Oh great bargaining, Naomi—Dad would kill me.

  “Well this is a good one for a beginner. How long since your husband played?”

  “Not sure. Couple of years I guess. But I don’t want a beginner’s. I want something nicer, as long as I can afford it.”

  “Sure, C’mon over here. I have one I think you’ll like.”

  She followed him to an area displaying more expensive-looking guitars and this time accepted the proffered instrument. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Also a Yamaha. It’s still good for beginners, in case your husband needs to relearn, but it’s also excellent for seasoned players.”

  “What kind of wood is this?”

  “The top is spruce, then look here.” He pointed to the neck of the guitar and explained, “The bridge over here and the fretboard, they’re rosewood. Elegant looking, huh?”

  Naomi wondered if this Steve guy could tell how excited she was. A thrill ran through her body as she imagined Daniel holding the instrument. And one day he would lovingly play it. This felt so incredibly right.