| |
After Mindy told Jake she never wanted to see him again, he was devastated. They’d grown close, shared their love, and watched her children start families of their own.
All he wanted was to grow even closer when he asked for her hand in marriage.
The one big purchase he splurged his lottery winnings on nearly thirty years ago was a diamond ring big enough to make any woman's eyes pop.
But Mindy refused his proposal.
She explained that she did love him, but the psychological damage she suffered under Sender’s regime made her want to keep her independence.
She wanted to maintain their relationship, but not as a married couple.
Hoping her trauma would eventually wane he asked her again a few years later only to receive the same rejection.
But Jake never gave up.
Every few years he popped the question.
Pinky warned him that his persistence could backfire.
He was right.
Just before Mort passed, Jake proposed again—this time pulling out all the stops.
He wore a tight shirt to subtly remind Mindy he worked hard to stay in shape despite his age.
He cut his hair just the way she liked it—squared off in the back, and just long enough to part. He thought about coloring it, but decided it was better to highlight the fact that despite his age his dark blond wavy hair bore only a tiny trace of gray.
He got down on one knee, and lowered his tall torso to look up into Mindy’s eyes.
He finally got a different reaction from her—but not the one he hoped for.
Instead of politely refusing him she got angry, and said she never wanted to see him again.
Despite Pinky’s prophecy, Jake was shocked.
When he recounted the breakup to his long-time best friend, Pinky was kind enough not to say I warned you.
Jake endured many restless nights, and repeatedly pleaded with Mindy to reconsider. But eventually she said firmly, “I just don’t want to be with you anymore.”
His mind heard her words, but his heart never forgot the love they shared.
He couldn’t let her go.
He missed her.
He needed her.
“I’m going to give it one more shot,” he confided to Pinky.
“Man! You’re a glutton for punishment,” Pinky said, “but I do wish you luck. You’re gonna need it.”
Jake strategically waited for just the right moment—Yom Kippur eve right before the Day of Atonement.
Traditionally, this was the time to ask those you’ve wronged for forgiveness.
Jake ambushed Mindy as she entered the Young Israel synagogue on Touhy shortly before the Yom Kippur services began at nightfall. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” he pleaded. “I love you, and only want to make you happy.”
It worked.
The iron wall between them lifted.
She looked up into his eyes. “I’m the one who needs your forgiveness,” she said. “I know you were only trying to express your love. But you want to be in a marriage. I’ll never be able to give you that. I pushed you away to set you free. That’s why I insisted I never wanted to see you again. But it’s not true. I do love you and I do want to see you. I can’t let you think you did anything bad to me.”
Mindy let out a deep breath then slowly pleaded, “I really am sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”
Jake was elated and pissed off. He hesitated a moment too long before saying, “Of course I forgive you, but I don’t understand how you could make that decision for me. If giving up on being married is what it takes to be with you, I’m fine with that. More than fine, I’m just relieved to know we can be together. There’s no one I’d rather be with than you—married or not.”
After clearing the air, Jake felt like their relationship hadn’t skipped a beat.
He looked forward to spending the upcoming nine days of the Succos Holiday with Mindy, especially the last day referred to as Simchas Torah.
Like every Shabbos, and most Jewish holidays, Ultra-Orthodox Jews don’t drive on the Simchas Torah Holiday. Although he strayed from many of the Ultra-Orthodox traditions he observed in his youth, Jake still refrained from driving on the days it was forbidden. So he booked a room at a West Rogers Park hotel near Mindy’s apartment for the entire holiday rather than walk all the way from his Evanston home.
On Monday, he joined Mindy at her apartment for an early breakfast.
Jake held Mindy’s hand as they strode to Young Israel for the Simchas Torah Holiday morning services,
He turned up his collar, and squashed his sunglasses.
Mindy let his hand go, gripped his arm tightly, and snuggled against his warm body.
Jake leaned over, brushed aside her curly red hair, and kissed her softly.
When they arrived, Mindy entered a side door leading to the women’s section while Jake swung open one of two large oak doors leading to the men’s section.
As the door creaked open Jake was greeted by the cantor’s chant, and a few head-turns scoffing the latecomer.
Simchas Torah celebrates a year-long cycle of sequentially reading passages from the Torah– the Five Books of Moses every week until reaching the end, and starting over.
The morning began with the usual obligatory prayers, but morphed into a half-drunken sweaty celebration after the final Torah passage was read.
A generous donor sponsored a lavish Kiddush buffet of spirits, sugar-crusted kichel—bow tie cookies, herring, and trays of kosher polish delicacies from Shalmoski’s restaurant.
After Kiddush all the Torah scrolls were removed from the ark, and handed to men clad in suits and ties. They danced around the sanctuary with the Torah scrolls, and sang traditional Hebrew celebratory songs.
Occasionally, an overheated, sweaty man handed off their Torah to a man standing on the sidelines awaiting their turn.
Jake was about to accept a Torah from one elderly man when he felt a tug on his sleeve.
He turned to see the junior Rabbi Miklin motioning him to step aside for a chat.
Jake was astounded how much the younger rabbi’s stately posture, fiery eyes, and long beard resembled his father. He even wore the same Homburg, long black coat, and starched white shirt. The only differences were the lack of gray hair, and the quiet shoes. His father’s clacking metal shoe taps would have prevented him from sneaking up on Jake like this.
“Have you made any progress on the case?” the rabbi inquired.
At Mort’s funeral the rabbi asked Jake to discreetly investigate a bizarre case that had Jake baffled. Someone snapped a nude photo of one of the community’s young women and was blackmailing her father. Jake was tasked with finding out who took the photo and putting a stop to the perpetrator.
It was obvious from the photo that the woman was unaware she was being photographed. What was not apparent was where the photo was taken, or who took it.
The woman’s father, a Sopoynik Chassid was being threatened.
The photo was accompanied by a note. If he didn’t pay a hefty sum the photo would be published on a particular website.
Rabbi Miklin explained that the father wanted to go to the police, but the Sopoynik Rebbe asked him to wait for Jake’s help in the hopes of avoiding the inevitable gossip if the authorities were involved.
Jake felt the pressure of being the only community member with the knowledge and skill to take the lead now that Mort was gone.
Over thirty years ago, when Jake helped clear Mindy’s name after she’d been accused of killing her estranged husband, the now retired Detective Roberts had referred him to Mort.
Mort took Jake under his wing, and taught him to be a first-rate investigator.
But that was a long time ago. The confidence he once had in his investigative skills had waned.
He wanted to call Roberts for help, but the rabbi said the Rebbe was adamant about keeping the police out of this.
“I found out who was behind the website mentioned in the note,” Jake explained to Rabbi Miklin, “but I only got the name of the company that registered the domain—not the actual owner.
“The registrar said they’d only release the owner’s name with a subpoena. But that requires enlisting retired Detective Roberts to help.”
The rabbi stroked his beard slowly, and cocked his eyes upward to one side.
After a long pause the rabbi said, “If you feel Detective Roberts can be trusted and can help while keeping a lid on this, I’ll trust your judgment.”
A moment later another overheated man shoved a Torah into Jake's arms and pushed him into the dancing circle.
Jake gripped the lower handles protruding from the heavy Torah’s two wooden rollers, and leaned it against his chest. The top of the dark blue velvet cover tickled his chin. A silver pointer and breast plate hanging from chains roped over the top two wooden handles jangled as he danced.
Torah scrolls are wound up and tied shut with a velvet belt. Jake noticed that the belt on this Torah was tied around the outside of it’s velvet cover instead of underneath it, indicating it had a flaw rendering it unfit to read from during services. It had only been removed from the ark today to allow the men to dance with it.
Jake approached the gabbai—the synagogue’s sexton, and inquired what was wrong with it.
The gabbai replied, “One of the letters in the section recounting The Ten Commandments faded, so we can’t use it to read from during the services and we don’t have the budget to fix it.”
Jake knew the prohibitive cost to commission a scribe to write a new Torah, and assumed the person who originally donated the Torah must have the money to fix it. Pointing to the donor’s name written in gold thread lettering embroidered on the velvet cover he asked, “Why not ask the donor to pay for the repair?”
“He wouldn’t be able to afford it, " the gabbai replied. “He got it from his grandfather who brought it from Europe. One of his grandchildren kept it in his basement for many years. Eventually he donated it so we could put it to use, and give it a proper home. We actively used it for several years until the letter faded.”
Jake thought for a while, then offered, “I’d be honored if I could sponsor the repair.”