by Bernard Beck
“Mr. Rubin,” Harry began after the usual greetings, “I have something very important that I have to ask you and Mrs. Rubin.”
“Sit down, Harry, I’ll get Mrs. Rubin,” my father said kindly, and he went into the kitchen where he stayed for an unexpectedly long time. Harry and I just sat, not talking, not even touching.
__________
Rose was pacing nervously when I came into the kitchen. “Close the door,” she said, “we need to talk in private.”
“You do understand why they’re here!” she said matter-of-factly after I had closed the door.
“I think he wants to marry Ruthie,” I replied excitedly.
“So do I. What do you think we should say?” Rose asked.
“I’m not sure. On one hand, he’s a nice boy from a well-to-do home, and I’m sure he can support her, but on the other hand, he’s not one of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“His family is Reform. I know all about Reform Jews. They don’t keep kosher. They don’t even wear yarmulkas in shul, and they pray in English. I bet he doesn’t even know the words to the Shema. He’s almost a goy. Ruthie’s so beautiful and so smart and so young. Why should she throw herself to this half-Jew? She should wait for a better match.”
Rose sat down at the kitchen table. “I never thought of that,” she said quietly. “Of course you’re right. He would lead her astray. She is our only child, and we have a responsibility to make sure that she marries a religious man and that she continues all of our traditions. But he’s a nice man and he’s rich and he can take care of her and he will make her happy.”
“Yes, yes, yes. Yes, to all of that,” I said, pacing. “But still, we have raised her in a certain way, and we have an obligation to see that she continues along that path. We are part of a tradition that goes back thousands of years, and we have an obligation to make sure that that tradition continues. Even though this is America and a new world, we are still Jews, and we must remain Jews.”
“So what will you tell them?”
“I’ll tell him no, and I’ll give him the reasons.”
“Jack, don’t lose your temper,” Rose said grasping my hand. “Be nice to them, but make it clear that it is impossible.”
__________
My parents came into the room looking solemn. My father sat in the big chair facing Harry and me. My mother sat stiffly on the edge of one of the upholstered dining room chairs.
“So, Harry, we’re here, what is it?” my father asked.
“Mr. Rubin, I would like your permission to marry your daughter,” Harry said in a clear voice.
My father looked briefly at my mother. Something was wrong, and I felt my stomach muscles twinge. “Yes, Harry, go on,” he said gently.
This was not the initial reaction that I had hoped for. I had expected a smile and a big hug, and now I sensed trouble on the horizon.
“Mr. Rubin,” Harry persisted, “I will be a very good husband to her. I will take good care of her. I have a good job and a steady income.” He paused uncertainly and glanced at me. “And I love her.”
My father remained silent, focusing all his attention on Harry, who was now becoming nervous. We had hoped for some sort of response so that Harry could press his argument, but my parents just sat and didn’t say a word.
“I have some savings,” Harry continued, with increasing dread, “so we will have some money to start off our marriage.” I could hear a tone of desperation creeping into Harry’s voice. This was not what we had anticipated. “Mr. Rubin,” he declared, a little too forcefully, “I will take good care of her. I promise you that. We love each other. We will be happy together.” Then he fell silent. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, and my parents still had not responded. Silence dominated the room.
Dramatically, my father rose from his chair, walked into his office and shuffled some papers.
__________
Everyone was waiting to hear what I would say, and I wanted to appear to be thoughtful, although I had already prepared my response. I had waited years for this moment. This was my time to do my parental duty, and I wanted to be sure to get it right.
Slowly I walked back into the room from my office and stood facing them.
“And you will take good care of my daughter?” I asked as gently as I could.
“Yes, sir,” Harry replied, looking up at me.
“And will you keep a kosher home?”
“If that’s what she wants.”
“And will you send your children to yeshiva?”
“Yes, sir. If that’s what she wants.”
“And will you daven with them and study Talmud and Torah and Rashi with them? And can you guarantee that your home will be filled with yiddishkeit?” My voice was now rising uncontrollably.
“And will you take them to shul on Shabbos,” I nearly shouted, “and teach them to make a motzi and Kiddush?
“Can you say yes to this?” I shouted, standing over him. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about! How can you have a proper Jewish home when you know nothing—nothing!”
I was feeling good. Being aggressive brought back all of the instincts of my youth. This was what I had grown up with. This was what I really knew. This was what being a parent was all about! I looked over at Rose proudly, but she was not happy—I had been too aggressive, and she was signaling me to take it easier.
I walked over to where she was sitting and took her hand. She shook her head inconspicuously. I took a deep breath and slowly walked back to my chair.
And then in a quieter, more reasonable, almost pleading tone, I said, “Listen to me, Harry, we are Americans just like you, but we are something more. We in this family carry with us our souls, hundreds of years of history, the teachings of the great Rabbis and scholars like Hillel, and Shammai, and Rabbi Akiba, and Yehuda Ha-Nasi, and Rashi, and Maimonides, and the Baal Shem Tov. We have a heritage of pogroms, and life in the shtetle. This is in our blood.
“Although we both are Jewish, Harry, our family is Orthodox, yours is Reform. We are at different ends of the religious spectrum. Frankly, we Orthodox Jews do not consider you Reform Jews to be authentic, and I suspect that you Reform Jews consider us Orthodox Jews to be fanatics. You and your Reform family have turned Jewish practice on its head, and you, Harry, know so very little about Jewish history and family and traditions, that this marriage would be doomed from the start. Believe me, Harry, I would like to say yes because you are a nice fellow, and Ruthie is so happy when she is with you, but I am so sure that this will not work out that I must say no.”
__________
Harry and I had certainly not expected this reaction. After all, we had felt, we’re both Jewish, certainly that should be enough. But now it wasn’t, and I realized that I should have anticipated this response from my father.
Without raising my voice, without showing emotion, I said, “Mom, Dad, Harry and I intend to get married, with or without your blessing. It would be very unpleasant for us if we got married without your blessing, but we will. We will just have to wait a little longer until I am legally of age. So now, it is up to you. Will you give us your blessing? Or will we just get married eventually without your blessing?”
This surprised my father, and he reacted slowly. He took off his glasses and began polishing them with his handkerchief, obviously buying time to think.
“Yes,” he said finally. “I see. What you have said is certainly logical, and it makes our situation much more difficult. You see, religion has always been an important part of our lives. Speaking for myself, I was born into a religious home in Minsk, and I went to a religious school—what we called a cheder—as soon as I was old enough to read. My mother raised me in this country by herself. It was very hard for her, but she did it. The main thing that helped her get through it was our shul, our synagogue, and our yiddishkeit. W
e went to shul every Shabbos and every holiday. It was the only thing that we had that was the same as all those families with two parents; the same as what we had in Poland. And the shul took care of us, and the Rabbi and the Rebbitzen visited us, and the sisterhood brought us food and clothing. And we survived. And now, we are an integral part of the Orthodox community, and, as you very well know, that is a very important part of our lives.”
My father stopped speaking and looked at my mother, waiting for her to speak.
“Harry, Ruthie,” my mother said gently, “love is very important, and I can see how much you love each other. And that is very beautiful and very romantic. But in a marriage, you need more than love. You need to have shared values. Those values are transmitted to you by your parents in subtle ways and in steady doses. That is the difference between romance and marriage. Yes, you have romantic love, but you have very disparate values.
“Harry,” she said, focusing on him, “we love Ruthie very much, and, though she is now an adult, we still have a responsibility to protect her from danger. Her father and I feel that marriage to someone who is so far from our Jewish traditions and values would put her in harm’s way. We only want the best for her, and I’m sure that you do too. I know that you both feel very strongly about this, so now, all we can ask is that you please take some time and think about it.”
My mother paused and looked around the room, focusing on each of us. She seemed to be weighing, very carefully, what she was about to say.
“So now, Harry,” my mother finally said, with great sadness, “I think you should leave. And Ruthie, you should go to your room. Maybe, after we all have had some time to think, we can talk again.”
I ran to my room, but I couldn’t throw myself on the bed because my grandfather was sitting there. He had been waiting for me, and he jumped to his feet as I came into the room.
“Ruthie, I have to ask you an important question,” he said in his most scholarly tone.
“Oh no, please, not now!” I cried.
“Ruthie, listen carefully,” he insisted, “this is very important. I can help you, but first you must think very hard about the question I’m about to ask you.”
With gathering tears in my eyes, I turned to face him.
“Ruthie,” my grandfather said, putting both hands on my shoulders, “I know you love this man very much. So now, here is my question, and I want you to think very carefully about your answer before you respond. Ruthie, do you love him enough?”
“I don’t understand,” I mumbled.
“I know—this is a very hard thing for a young girl to understand. Let me try. When you marry a man, you split yourself in half, and so does he. You give up part of yourself to join with him, and he gives up part of himself to join with you.
“This is very hard. Half of you and half of him join together to make one whole person. In most marriages the couple learns to match his half to her half and make a whole. That is because they are willing to give up the remaining half of themselves in order to make a new unit. But sometimes, like your parents think it might be with you, the other half of each personality tries to pull the couple apart. So if your marriage is only made up of the two halves that joined in the beginning, then it is doomed because the other two halves—your leftover half and his leftover half—will try to pull you apart.
“When these leftover halves are similar they eventually blend together and pretty soon instead of being four halves, you are one whole.
“But when the leftover halves are very different, it is much harder to make a whole. They will pull on each of you and try to get their other half back. Do you understand?”
“I think so . . . but I love him, and he loves me. Isn’t that enough?”
“You ask if that is enough. That is what I am asking you to determine. It is going to be very hard. You come from two different backgrounds, different values, almost a different religion. You will have to teach each other. In order for your father to give his blessing, Harry will have to learn how to be Orthodox, and you will have to learn how to accept him. And then you will have to learn how to be Orthodox all over again. Do you think your Harry would be willing to do this?”
I nodded dumbly, tears rolling down my cheeks.
“This kind of marriage,” my grandfather went on, “is not easy to do. Only people who are very sure of their love can do it. Only people who are willing to give up half of themselves can do it. Think about it. This is not your father’s decision—it is yours.”
“But he is so mean—he won’t let me marry Harry.”
“You don’t really mean that,” my grandfather said, releasing me and sitting down on my bed. He patted the space next to him.
“You know I always tell you stories, this time I want you to remember the story of Ruth and Naomi. Naomi was Ruth’s mother-in-law. They were very different, even more different than you and Harry. Naomi was Jewish from Bethlehem, and Ruth was a Moabite. Both Naomi’s and Ruth’s husbands suddenly died. Naomi told Ruth that now that her husband had died, she planned to go back to her family in Bethlehem. She recommended that Ruth return to her family as well. But Ruth refused to leave her. She told Naomi how much she loved her. She said, ‘I love you so much that “where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried.”’
“This is the kind of commitment that I am talking about. One hundred percent; nothing held back. It is very difficult to make, but it is the sort of commitment that Harry must make to you before your father will give his approval. And also, Ruthie, it is a great responsibility for you to accept such an intense commitment.
“Ruthie, think very hard about the question I asked you. Do you love Harry enough? And does he love you enough as well? I have to tell you that very few people in your circumstances have enough love to say yes to this question. Perhaps you do. Only you and Harry can decide. And then, if you are sure that you have enough love, go speak to your father, tell him what you have resolved. He will understand. But Ruthie, you must be sure.”
Chapter 14
To say I was upset would be a great understatement. I realized, while I was sitting there, that Jack and I had made a bad decision. We were now, I was afraid, in danger of losing our daughter.
I couldn’t sleep, and, late that night, I tapped on Ruthie’s door. “Ruthie,” I whispered, “are you up?”
“Yes.”
“Put on your bathrobe and come into the kitchen,” I said. “I want to talk to you.”
Obediently, and a little dazed, Ruthie shuffled into the kitchen. Only the light over the stove was lit. I was at the table in my bathrobe and curlers. Ruthie looked shocked when she saw me—I can only imagine what I looked like.
“I made you some warm milk, and here’s a plate of cookies,” I said softly. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened tonight, and I want you to listen to me very carefully. Sometimes your father gets a little too emotional. It’s the way he was brought up. He’s used to fighting for everything, especially if it is something or someone that he really cares about, like you. He only wants the best for you, but sometimes he doesn’t express himself as well as he should.
“But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. Or rather, that’s not all I wanted to talk to you about. This is hard for me, and I hope you hear it with all the love that I can give you. You are a mature, grown woman,” I said, “and it’s time for you to take charge of your life. I know that you are planning to go to Brooklyn College in the fall. That would have been a good idea because you could live here, at home. But right now I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to live here.
“I would like you to go to City College, which is all the way uptown in New York City, instead. I want you to get an apartment and live near the college instead of going to Brooklyn College and living at home. You know I love
you very much, but you need to get out of this house and live on your own now. I know it’s not the same, but when I was your age, I had already opened the shop, and I was also supporting your grandfather.
“I’m not telling you to do this because of what happened tonight or anything else. I just want you to be on your own, and I am very confident that you will be able to manage very well. Of course we will pay for everything, but it will be better for you to live uptown. We’re only a subway ride away so you can visit here whenever you like, and your room will be exactly as you left it, but right now you need to be independent—and the sooner the better. We can go next week to look at apartments. I’m sure that we can find something that you really like.”
It was painful, and I wasn’t sure what to expect, but Ruthie hugged me and rested her head on my shoulder. She had not sat like that since she was a child. I should have been better prepared for that moment.
__________
I phoned Harry the next morning and told him all that my grandfather and my mother had told me, and we agreed to meet on the library steps that afternoon.
“I’ve been thinking about this non-stop since I left your parents’ house,” Harry said as soon as we met. He had been pacing in front of the library waiting for me, and he seemed extremely anxious and agitated.
“Your father and your grandfather are right,” he said. “We’re really nearly two different religions. It’s a giant step, and it’s possible that we are making a big mistake. What happens if we are wrong? What happens if your father was right and that our values are too far apart? And what happens if your grandfather is right, and we can’t fit together? Then what? If we marry and it doesn’t work out, then we will suffer for the rest of our lives!
