Joshua: A Brooklyn Tale

by Andrew Kane

  “I suppose,” he confessed, “it’s possible I got carried away with things…”

  “Carried away! That’s an understatement.”

  “Look Rachel, I’m sorry if I hurt you; that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do, believe it or not. And maybe you’re right, maybe I am tired of all your restrictions, but one thing I’m not, is ashamed. I am not now, nor will I ever be, ashamed of having gone to your home. If you can’t understand and accept that, then there really is no us.”

  She was taken aback. Her expression changed. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  “It’s okay.” He was visibly shaken.

  “It isn’t. I haven’t been fair with you; I haven’t been fair with us.”

  “It’s not about being fair, it’s about surviving.”

  “Thank you for trying to get me off the hook, Joshua, but I can take responsibility for this. I’m a grown up.”

  “And what about the Larry Pilgrim thing?”

  “You’re a grown up too. You don’t need my permission.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I don’t need your permission, but I do need to know your feelings.”

  “I think you should take the case.”

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me. You should take it.”

  “But why?”

  “Why?” She thought for a moment. “Well, for starters, I believe it’s what you really want, and that I’m the only thing standing in the way. I don’t want you to sacrifice for me, or to deprive yourself any more than you already have.” She reached over, placed her hand on his cheek. “You see, I know what it is to sacrifice, to give up the things you truly want in life. We’ve both had enough of that, and it has to stop sometime.” She moved closer, touched up against him, stood on her toes, and kissed him gently on the cheek. “I want you to take the case.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said.

  “You don’t think what’s a good idea?”

  “Taking the case.”

  She was puzzled. “Joshua, I don’t underst…”

  “Listen, this may sound crazy, and it probably is, but I can’t take the Pilgrim case. Maybe I knew it all along, or maybe I just figured it out. Either way, it’s a bad idea.”

  “But why?”

  “Because it would destroy us.”

  She shook her head in defiance.

  “It would, regardless of what you think now. I know you want to believe that we’re invincible, and it’s true, we have survived some pretty nasty things together. This would break us.”

  “It wouldn’t! Nothing can!”

  “It can and it would! Listen, this Pilgrim thing is bad, a lot worse than you can imagine. It’s not going to be about that rabbi and this black guy. It’s going to be about race, about tensions and hatreds that have been festering for years, just waiting for a moment like this. It’s going to blow up in our faces, and whether I take the case or not, it’s going to drive a wedge between us.”

  “But this isn’t about race, Joshua, it’s about murder. No one condones murder, black or white.”

  “Rachel, everything is about race.”

  He was surprised he’d actually said that, but once he had, he realized it was what he truly believed.

  He searched her face, wondering if she could see the yearning in his eyes. He reached over and stroked her cheek. She moved closer and embraced him. It felt more intimate than anything they’d shared before, yet still not quite what he had dreamed of.

  CHAPTER 48

  Hannah Weissman, still half asleep, stumbled into her kitchen for her morning coffee and found Rachel sitting at the table, engrossed in the newspaper. “Good morning,” Rachel said, her eyes on the paper.

  “Good morning,” Hannah answered. “You’re up early today.”

  Rachel glanced at the clock on the wall and saw it was seven-fifteen. She had thought it was much later. “You’re right, I didn’t realize.”

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  “No, I slept fine.”

  “That’s funny, I thought I heard you sneaking around in the middle of the night, thought I even heard you go out.”

  Rachel looked aghast at her mother, and found herself tongue-tied.

  “You went to see him, didn’t you?”

  “See who?” Rachel asked defensively.

  Hannah sat down at the table, looked Rachel in the eye, and said, “Joshua,” as she took her first sip of coffee.

  Rachel, stupefied, stared at her mother for a beat, then said, “How did you know?”

  “I’ve known for a long time that there had to be someone; rather, I’ve suspected. You don’t go out on shiddoch dates, you often come home late at night, it doesn’t take a genius. So when Joshua showed up here last night; well, I put two and two together and came up with, whatever.”

  Rachel wondered how she could possibly have this conversation with her mother. “It’s not what you think,” she said.

  “Oh,” Hannah reacted. “And what exactly is it that I’m thinking?”

  “We’re friends, good friends. That’s it.”

  “Friends, that’s interesting. So why such a big secret?”

  “Because…” Rachel stopped herself and thought about what she was going to say. “No one would understand, that’s why.”

  “Understand? I think I understand plenty.”

  “You’re not making this easy.”

  “You didn’t make it easy. All these years, this friendship, keeping it from me, your father. Did you also keep it from your husband, this friendship?”

  “Binny knew that Joshua was my friend, Joshua was at my wedding, remember?” Snide.

  “I remember many things, Rucheleh, many things. My mind works perfectly well; too well, I’m afraid. It’s my heart that I’m worried about.”

  “Mama.”

  “Don’t worry, Rucheleh. You’re a big girl now, divorced and all. You can make your own decisions. I always knew you were somehow different from the other girls, you and Esther. I always knew we wouldn’t be able to keep you. I tried to tell your father, but he wouldn’t listen. Not you, not his little precious Rucheleh. ‘She will bear rabbis and scholars,’ he used to say. Not quite, I’m afraid.”

  Rachel watched as her mother drifted off to another place, distant and unreachable. “Mama,” she said again.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Mama, nothing has happened between Joshua and me. It’s really not what you’re thinking. Yes, we’re something more than friends, and yes, we love each other. But we have an understanding; we’ve always had an understanding. We’re from different worlds, and we respect that in one another. There have always been lines that neither of us would ever cross.”

  “Until last night.”

  “Last night was a mistake.”

  “Last night was a sign!”

  Rachel didn’t respond.

  “Don’t you see how naive you are? How can you possibly expect a man to love you without insisting on being with you?”

  “I know.” Reluctant. “It’s hard for him; it’s also hard for me. But we both see everything that’s going on these days, and we really have no choice.”

  “And how long will this understanding last?”

  Rachel considered her mother’s point. “Tell me, Mama, what is it that upsets you most, that he’s black, or that he’s not Jewish?”

  “Oh please, Rucheleh, what kind of question is that?”

  “One to which I’d like an answer.”

  “I don’t know the answer. Neither is wonderful.”

  “Well, let me ask you this: what if he was to convert?”

  “Then God would accept him. But I can assure you, the community wouldn’t, especially today.”

  “Who cares about the community?”

  “I do, your father did, and you should.”

  “People convert all the time; blacks have converted.”

  “And everybody laughs at them, thinking they’re crazy, saying things like
, he doesn’t have a hard enough time being black, he needs to be Jewish too! They’re scoffed at and ostracized, and you know it. And what do you think happens to their children?”

  Rachel realized she couldn’t argue with that. “I know, Mama, that’s why it could never happen. Joshua is too proud of what he is to become anything else, and I suppose I’m…” She hesitated, then concluded: “I’m just too weak.”

  Hannah watched as tears fell from Rachel’s eyes. She wanted to reach out to comfort her daughter and tell her that everything would be okay. But she couldn’t; it wouldn’t.

  “So I guess you have nothing to worry about, Mama, nothing at all.”

  Paul Sims sat still, waiting for Rav Schachter to start the meeting. Being summoned was a distinct privilege, a sign he was gaining prominence with the elder. He tried to hide his curiosity.

  “Well, Reb Pinchas, how have you been these days?”

  “Baruch Hashem, thank God. And how has the Rav been?”

  “Good, good, except for the recent crisis, of course.” Schachter was referring to the killing of Israel Turner.

  “Yes, a tragedy.”

  “There are terrible things happening in the world around us, and we must protect ourselves.”

  “Yes, we must. I think it is great that we have set up our own patrols. The streets will be safer.” Paul knew that Schachter was one of the driving forces behind the establishment of the community patrols.

  “Have you joined the patrols?”

  “No,” Paul answered, embarrassed. “Not yet.”

  “Your participation would be most welcomed, and invaluable.”

  “I have been planning to join.” What does he really want?

  “Good.” Schachter stared into space.

  “Is there some specific reason for which the Rav has requested my presence?” In the past, Paul would have waited for Schachter to get around to it. He was feeling a bit more brazen these days.

  “Yes, now that you mention it,” Schachter responded. He hesitated, seeming to gather his thoughts. With him, it was always a chess game. “In addition to the patrols,” he continued, “there are other ways in which we must fight to save our sacred corner of the world, ways in which a man in your position could be quite helpful.”

  Paul feigned curiosity, but had a sense of where this was going.

  “It is my understanding that your father owns some considerable property in our neighborhood, and that you personally manage this property.”

  “Yes, he has three buildings, all of which I manage for him. He tried to sell them years ago, but the offers were meager.”

  “So he has decided not to sell?”

  “For now. With my father, one never knows, but I don’t think he’s looking to put me out of work, or to have me go and work with him on the Island. By keeping the buildings, he gives me something to do, and keeps me away from his main business. I’m sort of an embarrassment to him, I suppose.”

  “It is terrible, the way these assimilated parents treat their children who come into our midst.”

  “Yes, it hurts to think about it,” Paul said, realizing that Schachter was coaxing him. He was beginning to find their dialogue amusing.

  “Anyway, I have a proposition for you.”

  Paul realized it was now payback time for the elder’s assistance with his father when he married Chava.

  “I understand that most of the tenants of your buildings are shvartzes,” Schachter said.

  Paul nodded, hiding his distaste for that particular term.

  “Would you like to change that?”

  “Yes, I suppose,” Paul responded hesitantly. “But it isn’t realistic, considering the neighborhood.”

  “That is something we must change too, but first things first.”

  Normally, Paul would have dismissed such talk, but not when it came from Rav Schachter. Schachter was a man of power and influence, and everything he said was to be taken seriously. “Does the Rav have an idea in mind?” Paul asked.

  “Yes, I do. I do indeed.” Schachter hesitated before continuing, hoping to heighten Paul’s curiosity, though unbeknownst to him, Paul already had an idea of what he was about to say. It was unusual for a man of Schachter’s intellect to underestimate someone, and Paul enjoyed being that someone. The elder continued, “It is simple, and perfectly legal, I might add.”

  Paul nodded respectfully, but wasn’t convinced.

  “When an apartment becomes available,” Schachter continued, “you tell us, and you rent it only to one of our own. It might take years, but we do have to think in terms of the future. In the end, the values of the buildings go up. Everyone’s happy.”

  Everyone, except the blacks, Paul thought. “And what if someone finds out? I think it is against the law.” Paul was uncomfortable challenging Schachter, but he didn’t like the plan. He hadn’t forgotten Loretta, the woman who had raised him and loved him more than his own mother.

  “No one will find out, I assure you. The schvartzes are stupid, you know that. They’ll never catch on to this.”

  “I’ll have to discuss it with my father.” Paul knew his father would never go for it, not because Alfred loved blacks, but because Alfred wouldn’t do anything to endanger his business or his reputation. At least nothing so blatant as this.

  “If you must,” Schachter responded, wearing his disappointment. He had hoped to make a secret deal with Paul, not involving Alfred.

  Paul felt a tinge of relief, he had found an out, if only temporarily. He knew, however, that Schachter wouldn’t fold so easily.

  “There is one other thing,” the rabbi said.

  “Yes?”

  “Another possible way for you to help our sacred cause.”

  “I would be honored to do what I can.”

  “I am starting a group whose job is to compel local real estate brokers to arrange things so that we get first opportunity at any homes that come up for sale. The group will also visit with black homeowners in the immediate area to persuade them into selling their homes to us. Would you be interested in joining, perhaps even leading, this group?”

  Paul didn’t like this idea any better, but felt he couldn’t refuse Schachter again. To his mind, it would be the lesser of two evils. “If the Rav believes I could be of service, I would be glad to.”

  “Good. Excellent.”

  “May I ask one question?”

  Schachter nodded.

  “How will this group be effective?”

  “With money, of course.”

  “Whose money?” Paul asked.

  “Not yours, so don’t worry. I will raise the money, it will not be a problem.”

  Paul appeared uncomfortable.

  “Please, Reb Pinchas, don’t worry so much. There will be no violence, only financial negotiations. We will offer generous incentives if need be, whatever is required. We have no choice but to do this, no choice but to succeed. In addition to the crime problem, our families are growing in leaps and bounds. We have an influx of brethren from all over the world who need to live close to the Rebbe, within walking distance of the synagogue, and we have a shortage of housing. The situation will soon get out of hand if we don’t act. The shvartzes can live anywhere, and with God’s help, as far away from us as possible!”

  Paul understood that there was no “we.” The elder would work behind the scenes, command the troops from his study, but never actually get his hands dirty. And dirty was the word, for blockbusting was a dirty business and Paul was to be smack in the middle of it. Payback time, indeed.

  It occurred to Paul that Schachter had probably never even intended to succeed with his initial request, but had used it only for bait, knowing that Paul wouldn’t dare deny the elder twice. Paul had been outsmarted, and with his humiliation came a tinge of respect for the elder’s savvy. “When does the Rav want to start this project?” he asked.

  “Immediately. There is no time to waste.”

  CHAPTER 49

  It was six-thirty a
.m. Joshua lay in bed, awake, listening to his mother preparing for work. He got up, walked into the living room, and saw her in the kitchen, standing at the table, folding her uniform. He walked in.

  She looked at him. “You’re up early.”

  “I know, didn’t sleep much last night.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  He wasn’t surprised by the comment; he’d figured she’d heard most of what had occurred. “You were awake?”

  “Who wouldn’t be, all that screaming!”

  “We weren’t screaming, we were talking.”

  “Sounded like screaming to me.”

  He didn’t argue.

  “Tell me something, Joshua, why are you always picking women who are going to hurt you?”

  “Good question.”

  She finished with her uniform, placed it in a shopping bag, picked up her pocketbook, and moved toward the door. “I best be going, don’t want to be late.”

  “You don’t have to go, Mama?”

  “What?”

  “You don’t have to go to that job any more. I make more than enough money for us. You can stay home now and take it easy.”

  She gave him a strange look. “Now listen here, Joshua, it isn’t your place to be telling me what to do with my life! I’ve been doing this job for more than twenty-five years. I don’t plan on stopping now just because you’re a big lawyer or something. Mrs. Sims still needs me.”

  “Needs you, for what? All these years you’ve been telling me how she doesn’t need anyone to clean her home. Hell, you’ve been joking about how she probably cleans up after you leave.”

  “That’s none of your business, Joshua!”

  “But it is my business, Mama. You’re tired; you’ve been tired for a while now, traipsing out there every day just so we could live, so you could take care of me. Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

  She approached him and ran her hand through his hair. “I’m proud of you, Joshua, prouder than I ever believed I’d be. But you should be thinking of yourself. You should be finding a woman, a proper woman, and having a family of your own. You don’t need to be worrying about me; I’ll take care of myself just fine.”