Chapter 5

Avi said that the service would run about forty minutes, and I should get there at seven o’clock. I tried to focus my thoughts on getting ready and seeing him. Unfortunately, the whole situation just reminded me of Jack. He never missed the Kabbalat Shabbat service at our neighborhood Chabad House. No matter what plans he had for a Friday night, they never began until the synagogue service ended. How many times he begged me to join him. Thinking back, all he was asking for was an hour out of my week. One stinking hour and I was too selfish to give him that. Jack and I avoided talking about God. He knew that I was agnostic at best. Now, I regret never learning how deep his feelings ran toward religion and God.

I sat at the end of the bed, my hair twisted in a towel, my body still damp from the shower, and cried. There’s no way to apologize for all the nights I refused to go with him. It’s impossible to apologize to the dead. You’re just stuck, every single day, with the guilt and the regret.

I reached down to my feet and picked up the bag containing my new dress. Nothing can change the past, but maybe that’s not what life is about. Maybe it’s about not making the same mistakes again. I knew what I needed to do.

***

The services were conducted in a sparsely furnished room at the back of the center. I peeked inside the door. Avi stood near the bimah engrossed in his prayer book. I pulled my head out of the doorway and walked over to the decrepit wooden bookshelf that leaned against the wall. My hands quivered as I reached for the siddur, glad to see they had one with an English translation. I entered through the rear door of the room and made my way to the women’s section, grateful that the mehitza separated me from Avi. I needed to do this alone.

Avi’s voice rose strong and clear, from the other side of the screen, as he and the other men chanted the ancient words. Reading the translation in siddur didn’t resonate with me at all. I set the prayer book on the folding chair next to mine and closed my eyes. The Hebrew words and the ancient melody melted away my anxiety and carried me back in time to another place...

***

“Come with me, Jules,” Jack asked while staring down, fumbling with the knot in his tie.

“No, why would I want to waste a Friday night in a synagogue?”

My mind felt fried from a crazy week at work. Tonight, I arrived home earlier than I had in weeks, with a plan to stretch out on the sofa and watch the movie I picked up at a box near my subway stop. With a bottle of Chardonnay chilling in the refrigerator, the pizza shop number programmed into my cell phone, and my fuzzy bedroom slippers on my feet, I didn’t plan to go anywhere.

“If you come with me, maybe you’ll meet someone. There are a lot of guys our age that come every week. In fact, I consider a few of them friends,” he said, walking from his bedroom threshold toward me.

His demeanor made me feel uncomfortable. I wasn’t used to serious Jack, but I didn’t want him to muscle me into going. “That’s why. We’ll get there, and you’ll bounce around, trying to introduce me to all these ‘friends.’ The last thing on Earth I want is to date or marry a religious guy. No thanks, I prefer being alone.”

“You act like they’re all wearing long, curly payot and black hats. These guys are just regular people like us, except they happen to believe in God.” He loomed over me.

He didn’t have to say it, I knew what he was thinking--they believe in God, unlike you.

“Good for them.” I stood up and headed for the kitchen, but he blocked my exit from the room.

“Jules, we’re twenty-three years old. Don’t you think it’s time to start looking?”

“Not in a synagogue and definitely not with a religious zealot. The world just exists. There’s no meaning to it. It simply is, Jack. And, furthermore, there’s no loving grandfather in the sky, pulling strings and waiting to send us to our happily-ever-eternity or, worse, fry us for eternity. And if he does exist, would he really care that I watch TV on Shabbat and have only one set of dishes?”

“So why don’t you eat pork or shellfish? And you never mix meat with milk.”

“That’s not religion. That’s called childhood conditioning. Drop it and let me call the pizza guy for my dinner.”

Jack shook his head, his signature wide grin absent from his face. “You’ll regret this attitude someday.”

***

After the last prayer finished, I walked out from behind the mehitza and returned the siddur to the shelf. Earlier in the evening, when I entered the building, the community room was empty except for the staff setting rows of banquet tables, which appeared to be seating for more than a hundred people. Now, I understood why they needed so many tables. People from every age group filled the chairs. At least thirty more people milled about the room, waiting as the staff set up more tables. It only took a moment to spot Avi’s dreadlocks. Even with his back to me, I could tell by the way he moved his head that he was scanning the room, searching for me.

“Boo,” I whispered into his ear.

He turned. “I didn’t see you when I walked out of the sanctuary. I was afraid you changed your mind.”

“I did change my mind.”

“But you're here.”

“I came early and sat on the women’s side for the entire service.” I smiled and shrugged.

His face lit up. “How was it?”

“I’m not sure--still processing the whole experience.”

“That’s not the ‘whole experience.’ Now I get to introduce you to my best friend and his family.”

We maneuvered our way between the rows of tables. The primary language of the room was Hebrew. Each man we passed greeted Avi with a handshake. He replied to all them but didn’t stop to engage in conversation. I was unable to understand anything he said, except for the “Shabbat Shalom.”

An older woman, dripping with gold chains and hair extensions, approached us with her hands held up wide. “Avi!” she gushed before planting a red lipstick stain on his cheek. The level of thrill she exhibited struck me as a bit odd, especially when he barely reacted in return, but I kept my mouth shut. We continued weaving our way through the aisles. It was impossible to ignore the hungry looks a few of the younger women directed at him, and a few major scowls aimed at me.

The rabbi stood behind his chair, surveying the room. When he spotted Avi, a smile broke through the long beard that covered the bottom half of his face.

Avi placed his hand on the small of my back. The contact surprised me. I didn’t expect him to touch me in front of his friend, who followed the orthodox prohibition against touching women. “Sam, this is Julie. Julie, meet Sam, who around here is referred to as Rabbi Shmuel.”

I knew better than to extend my hand. Instead, I did a little wave. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too. I owe you a big thank you.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Thanks for keeping him entertained for the last few days. He’s been here for a month, and I’m sure you’ve noticed how much he likes to talk. My head appreciates the silence.”

“No problem. When my head starts hurting, I’ll send him back.”

“Shut up, Sam,” Avi said in English, appearing completely okay with saying ‘shut up’ to a rabbi. “As if you’re the silent type.” His face bloomed with joy as he spoke the words and grabbed my hand.

Before the rabbi could speak, a woman, who appeared to be my age, stepped forward. Her light brown wig, cut into a long bob, framed her pretty face. She held a baby with one arm and clamped the tiny hand of a toddler in the other.

“Hi,” she said, meeting my gaze with her warm brown eyes. “I’d shake your hand, or give you a hug, but--” She looked from baby to toddler. “--no more arms.”

“No problem.” I smiled. “I’m Julie.”

“I’m Gitte.”

Gitte spoke with an unmistakable Brooklyn accent. The rabbi’s accent was more difficult to place. “Are you both Americans?” I asked.

“I’m from Crown Heights in Brooklyn. Sam’s from Washington, DC,” she replied.

I turned to Avi. “So that’s the connection. I thought you were friends from Israel.”

“Nope, his dad was the rabbi of the closest synagogue to our house in DC. Every Saturday I was forced to pretend that I actually liked him.”

“Yeah, and every Saturday morning I cried to my mother. ‘Make him leave me alone.’”

This kind of chiding went back and forth between the two men throughout the evening. “Are they always like this?” I asked Gitte between the fish course and the main meal.

“Yeah, when they’re together, it’s worse than ten-year old boys, unless they’re arguing some obscure Talmud point. Then, they’re like Roman gladiators fighting to the death. Honestly, it’s hard being around them sometimes. Everything they say flies right over my head.”

I glanced at the side of Avi’s face. She was right. For the last few days, I had been fixated on how mind-bogglingly sexy, handsome, and sweet Avi was. But now that she’d pointed it out, I had to acknowledge that he was probably the most intelligent person I had ever met. Google without a computer.

Contrary to how I believed the evening would progress, I enjoyed every minute. Gitte let me hold her cherubic baby, Levi, until he fell asleep. Then, the toddler, Mushkie, sat quietly in my lap playing with a spoon. Later in the evening, I learned there was an older child upstairs in their third-floor apartment, who was sick and under the watch of a babysitter. Three children and she couldn’t have been more than twenty-six years old. I couldn’t imagine myself with one, let alone three.

As the staff removed the dinner plates, Rabbi Sam, as I came to call him after a glass of sweet kiddush wine, stood and gave a brief dvar Torah, in Hebrew. The congregation put down their forks and drinks. As he spoke his first sentences, all the focus in the room was directed at him. Unable to understand a word of his speech, I scanned the room, noticing the expressions on peoples’ faces. Many remained rapt in his words, while others appeared to disengage, making it easy to identify the people there to feed their soul, and the ones who were there to feed their belly.

As he ended, I watched Gitte soothe the baby to sleep. Mushkie now sat in Avi’s lap, snuggled into his chest, her dark hair stark against his white T-shirt. “Julie, I have to excuse myself and put these little ones in their beds. But I hope to see you back here in the morning.”

Awkward. As welcoming as she and Sam were, I really didn’t want to attend two synagogue services. But I didn’t want her to know that. “Maybe,” was all I could manage to say before she headed toward the stairs.

As people began leaving in groups and individually, Rabbi Sam picked up the bencher and began praying the Grace After Meals. Unable to follow along in the small book, I sat listening, impressed that Avi seemed to have the entire prayer memorized. By ten o’clock, all that remained were mounds of dirty dishes, the Thai cleanup crew, and the rabbi.

A half a bottle of kosher Moscato remained on the table. Avi picked it up. “We’re going to finish this.”

“L’chaim,” Rabbi Sam said. “I’ll see you in the morning. You’re doing the Torah reading, so don’t even think about wandering in late.”

“Thanks for the advanced warning. There goes my sleep for the night,” Avi replied.

“I warned you on Wednesday night. It’s not my fault if you’ve been too distracted to study.” The rabbi smiled at me.

“Fine, but if I make mistakes, it’s actually your fault for not reminding me.”

“Ha, since when am I your mother?” The lanky rabbi leaned back into the chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Enough, both of you. You sound like middle school kids.” I shook my finger, doing my best imitation of a stern school teacher, but stifling my smile was impossible. They were a funny team.

“And since you’ve developed dementia, let me remind you that we’re still scheduled to fly to Bangkok early on Tuesday morning,” Rabbi Sam said.

“I haven’t forgotten.” Avi’s gazed shifted from Sam’s face to mine, and for a moment, his expression flipped from bright and smiling to tight lipped and sullen.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Julie.” Rabbi Sam rose from the chair, nodded to me, and walked to the stairs leading to his apartment.

Avi grabbed the bottle. “Where shall we go?”

“I don’t know.”

“There’s a lounge upstairs, we could sit there. Or go to the beach.”

“Aren’t they going to lock-up for the night?” I asked.

“I have a key. Let’s go upstairs and save the beach for tomorrow night.”

We settled on a couch near a bookshelf packed with religious books in what appeared to be every language spoken by Jews throughout history.

“Tonight,” I said. “It’s my turn to ask questions. You talk a lot, but it’s never about yourself. So, drop the obscure facts about Asia, no more discussion around tropical reefs and marine life. I need facts and information about you.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“I’m boring,” he replied, suddenly appearing interested in a hole in the arm of the sofa.

“Questions number one and two, where in Israel do you live, and do you live with anyone special?” I had to ask. It had been nagging the hell out of me. How could a man this amazing not be in a relationship?

“Jerusalem is home, and I do live with someone special.”

I dropped my head, closed my eyes, and exhaled.

He laughed. “Brutus, my dog, a boxer with identity issues. He thinks he’s a tiny lap dog and will sprawl across anyone who sits on my sofa. And he suffers from extreme halitosis.” He leaned over and bumped me with his shoulder. “And you thought I had some woman at home, waiting for me.”

“Sort of.”

“Do I seem like a scummy character that would be here with you if I had a wife or girlfriend back home? I’m hurt that you would even think such things.” He feigned this wounded look that made me laugh.

“No girlfriend, just a dog. Siblings? Parents?”

“Two sisters, one brother-in-law, one niece, one nephew, one mother, in New York, and one father, also in New York. My dad’s job is there.”

“Are you close to your sisters?”

He reached over and clasped my hand. “Very. It was so painful watching you cry about your brother because I couldn’t imagine losing either of them. As kids, we arrived in DC friendless and unable to speak English. All we had was each other. We became a club of three. The thought of living without one of them paralyzes me.”

Damn. I felt the tears forming and did my best to push them away. “Next subject. What subject do you teach, and do you work with little kids or older kids?”

He started laughing. “I teach science to older kids, who usually act younger than Mushkie.”

“What did you study at Carnegie Mellon?”

“Computer Engineering and Robotics.”

My eyebrows furrowed. Not the majors I expected from a school teacher. “Really?”

“Yep, really. This talking stuff is getting old. I have a much better idea.” He pulled me close and before I could ask any more questions, his lips pressed against mine. Then he moved from my lips to my neck, kissing that spot behind my ear that transformed me into liquid human, erasing all questions from my thoughts.

At eleven-thirty, the wine bottle stood empty. “I do have to study the Torah portion, so I don’t screw it up in the morning. I’ll walk you back to the hostel.”

The Friday night Patong Beach chaos spilled out of the bars and into the streets. The music, car horns, motorbikes, people talking and laughing created a wall of sound that our voices couldn’t breach. We walked quietly, hand in hand.

As we got closer to the hostel, I felt the bliss born out of this lovely evening draining from me. I wanted more time with him.

Young people crowded the front of the hostel, laughing and partying. He pulled my hand, led me to the side of the building, and wrapped me in his arms.

“Will I see you in the morning?” he whispered in my ear between kisses.

I pulled back. “Rabbi Sam and Gitte are lovely people, but I’m not ready for full Shabbat morning service.”

His expression dripped with disappointment. “Come for Kiddush.”

“That feels so wrong. If I don’t attend the service, I’d feel uncomfortable walking in just for lunch.”

“It’s no big deal, lots of people do it,” he replied.

I shook my head. “Not me. How about we meet up later in the afternoon?”

“After lunch, I study Talmud for a couple hours with Sam. It’s our thing. I can’t skip out on him.”

“Dinner?” I asked.

“Sure.” He looked downcast.

“I’m sorry, really. I don’t want to disappoint you, but I’d feel like a fake, attending.”

“Well.” He ran his hand down the side of my face. “I’ll miss you.”