by Jeffra Hays
Then he raised his face and exclaimed “Haman!” The congregation blotted out the name of their Biblical enemy with bangs, stamps, claps, hoots.
Hannah sat first, in the rear, in the women’s section with seven others, four obviously tourists; but three dark-haired, mature women in embroidered pastel saris turned to greet her. One shuffled chairs until Hannah was settled beside her, and other visitors in the front row, behind the railing that separated the women from the men in the main synagogue.
Benny chose a seat close to Cohen’s platform, to Hannah’s left, beside a scrawny, elderly man who motioned to him and jiggled the back of an empty chair. As the tumult subsided, Cohen raised a hand and resumed his chanting while Benny’s neighbor wished him welcome and a happy Purim, and offered a Megilla scroll.
“We are so pleased to see you. Look at the full minyan tonight. I count seventeen men, now that you have come.”
“My wife didn’t want to miss this. So here we are,” Benny shrugged, hands crossed over the Megilla on his chest. He scratched his itchy neck, then his wrist, and scrutinized David Cohen, who acknowledged Benny’s stare with a momentary pause in his reading.
“Which is your wife?” asked the man.
Benny turned and waved to Hannah. She smiled, sat forward, and waved back.
“That one,” said Benny, “with the binoculars.” Benny saw amusement on the man’s face, and hesitated. To avoid insulting him in his sanctuary, he asked, “Would you help me with the reading? I might recognize enough to follow along.”
Benny tried to read, but his attention drifted back to the pulpit. Tonight the elaborate wooden balustrade was draped with dark wine velvet: more Cohen deception.
Cohen’s chanting stopped, he cried “Haman!” and the ruckus began again. Benny watched Hannah swivel around and knock her purse against the back of her chair. Cohen, meanwhile, waited with patient dignity, and Benny wondered what he thought of this, another successful bit of petty theater.
There was a narrow gap in the velvet curtain, on either side of the steps that led up to the stage. Exploiting the tumult as camouflage, Benny bent over, elbows on his knees, and leaned from side to side to discover Cohen’s device. As the shouting continued he stared at Hannah until he had her eye; he winked, pointed both index fingers at the curtain and for emphasis wrinkled his nose at Cohen. She signaled with a return wrinkle and gingerly raised her binoculars as Cohen raised his hands. Reading resumed.
Benny’s friendly neighbor caught his attention by imitating his pose. He dropped down to Benny’s level and spoke directly into his ear. “Have you met our reader, David Cohen?”
Still snooping, Benny glanced at him for only a moment. “Yesterday when we arrived.”
“Our leader. A devoted individual. And his singing can be powerful.” The man paused, chuckling, but Benny said nothing. “But you seem uneasy. His circumstances are admittedly somewhat peculiar,” his chin swayed, “yes, certainly when one notices the first time.”
“Haman!” Cohen shouted, and the hollering began again. Benny’s neighborly host, teary, howled at Cohen and squeezed his leaky nose between his fingers.
“Did you say peculiar?” Benny sat up and yelled.
His host sat up too, merry, and slapped his hands on his thighs. “Oh yes!” he cried, choking.
“Then you see it?”
“Of course, yes. We call him our half Jew. Ewwwww, the half Jew.” And his fists beat the sides of his chair, his knees smacked together in rhythm.
Benny grabbed the man’s shoulder and shook him. “Then it is some kind of joke. How does it work?”
“Who among us…” he coughed, but could not continue. Head bowed, palms together, he gasped and sputtered until he could breathe again, and squinted up, eyes wet, at Cohen, then at Benny. “Who among us understands the ways of God?” Head back and screeching “Ewwwww,” he stamped his bare feet and rocked his chair.
Benny glared at Hannah, who was laughing, banging and talking cheek to ear with a woman in a pink sari, but Benny thought only of escape.
He got up, stood before his wife and pointed his rolled Megilla at the door. He leaned over the railing when she shook her head.
“No, Han, here that means yes, remember?” he shouted. “We’re leaving.”
She handed her Megilla to her new friend, gathered her purse and followed Benny into the hallway for their shoes. He waited for her at the entrance.
“How could you do that to them, and embarrass me like that?” she wailed once they were outside. She was still carrying one shoe. “The binocular idea you forced on me was rude enough, but where are your manners?”
“I was sitting next to a lunatic screeching about Cohen and God and whooooo, laughing like an idiot. Whooooo the half Jew.” Stepping backwards toward their rickshaw, he unfurled his Megilla above his head. “Come get it, your souvenir of spirituality. Haven’t you had enough yet?”
“No, and I’m staying.” She slipped into the other shoe. “It was almost over when you dragged me out. There’s a buffet now, what she called a Purim snack, right here. They were all so warm, so cordial and she told me all about your friend Cohen. She said of course they all know and if you knew anything about talking to people, including me, if you had the least bit of patience, if you weren’t so damn smug.”
He walked back toward her. “What about Cohen? What’s the trick?”
“She said he’s been like that for a while.”
“What does ‘a while’ mean? And who is she?”
“Rachel, who sat next to me. He started disappearing a while ago, and now he’s about half.”
The congregants were leaving the synagogue and chatting in small groups in the courtyard opposite the synagogue’s entrance.
“But how does he do it?”
“They think it’s God’s way.”
“Way of what?”
“God’s way was what she said. Of saving the community, of continuing. He gave himself to them.” She walked backwards, coaxing him toward the courtyard and the buffet, and Benny stepped closer to her as she continued. “Rachel was funny. She said he was their own King Queen Esther.”
“Hannah, what are you talking about?”
“It all sounded logical when she told me. Why don’t you stay and ask?”
“Ask this Rachel? Another fanatic? Or their lunatic leader Cohen.”
“We’re here. I want to taste the food and you’ll have another chance to decipher the enigmas of the Orient.”
“I’ll meet you back at the hotel.” Benny looked for Pete, then turned back to Hannah. “Did she tell you what they’re serving? Hamantaschen?”
With both hands Hannah pinched his ears and swung his head side to side. “You say no to food? Never. Does that mean yes, you’ll stay?”
A long table, covered with a white cloth that reached the stone floor, held several dishes of chutneys, crepes, yogurt drinks, but there were spoons only for serving. Even the other tourists were standing and eating with their fingers. David Cohen sat at the far corner of the table, a second cloth covering his lap.
“Watch,” said Hanna. “South Indian hamantasch.” She piled coconut chutney into her crepe, folded it into a bulging triangle, and with one hand cupped under her chins forced as much as she could into her mouth. She handed Benny the rest.
“How is it?” He sniffed it in his palm. “Something for us at the restaurant?”
She nodded as she chewed. “Not bad,” she said, sniffling, eyes tearing, “but a little spicy for home. Try it. And Cohen’s right there. Go talk to him.”
“You might accidentally spill hot chutney in his lap” he said. “Or trip over his cloth and catch yourself. Maybe you’ll feel something underneath.”
“Benny!”
“Go on, Han, what are you afraid of? You’re never shy.” He whispered. “You always check my lap.”
“How can you say that here?” But she was smiling. “Talk like that at the hotel tonight. You might try staying awake with some tea.”
&n
bsp; “Yes, we do have tea, please Hannah.” Rachel had overheard them. “Please come, you and your husband, delicious sweets.” Rachel fit her slim arm inside Hannah’s and Benny followed them to the other end of the table, where Rachel offered pistachio and mango cakes and poured tea into paper cups. Cohen, his hands folded on the table, was greeting other local congregants, including Benny’s recent companion, who bowed slightly when he saw Benny again and introduced himself, belatedly Benny thought, as Itzhak.
“David hopes, we all request, that you and your wife come for the Megilla tomorrow morning as well,” Itzhak said. “Did you enjoy the reading this evening?”
Benny only stared at Cohen, whose lips twitched into a sardonic smile. Benny said nothing.
“Oh yes, we loved it,” said Hannah. “And your voice, Mr. Cohen, is mesmerizing. Where did you learn to read so well?” but she glanced down at Cohen for only a moment, then sipped her tea and offered Benny a cake. “Try this, Benny, not too sweet, very unusual. And didn’t you have a question for Mr. Cohen?”
Rachel smiled, the others smiled, and Itzhak smothered his laughter with a serious cough.
“Rachel,” said Cohen, “I would drink a bit of tea, please. Yes, Mr. Holman, we would love to see you here again tomorrow. I guarantee that my voice, after a night’s rest, will be as clear as an old voice can possibly be.” He held the tea to his nose, inhaled, drank, and set the cup down on the table.
Leaning on his fists, glaring down at Cohen, Benny returned Cohen’s wry smile. “What’s clear, Mr. Cohen, is that my
