“What did I want?” Herschel says.
“They threw me out of school,” I say. “Only in slow motion.”
He stands next to me as I sort through my cabinet. Books that belong to me in one box, books that belong to the school in another.
“I finish the year at home, take my exams early, then I’m out. B-Jew and Sanskrit are parting ways.”
“I’m sorry,” Herschel says.
“Why would you be sorry? It’s what you wanted, right? That’s why you brought Mom to the fund-raiser.”
“I wanted to make things right.”
“How do you know what’s right?”
“I pray to know.”
“I love that. I love how people do messed-up things in the world, and then they say it’s God’s will. Like you have a direct line into what’s right and wrong.”
It’s between classes, and the halls are full of students. Most of them ignore me or speed up when they see me. But a few slow down to throw me dirty looks.
Herschel says, “I don’t need a direct line. The Talmud tells us what’s right and wrong.”
“It’s all open to interpretation,” I say. “What is the Talmud but thousands of years of opinions?”
“So you think you were justified in lying to everyone?”
“It was my own business. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Not when the community is involved.”
I slam my cabinet closed.
“Let’s say HaShem exists—and I don’t believe he does—but let’s pretend for a second. Why would he want anything from you personally? What makes you so special?”
“I’m not special,” Herschel says.
“You don’t act like it. You act like you’re better than everyone. Nobody else wears payis at this school.”
“I’m trying to live a pious life,” Herschel says.
I punch my cabinet door. It makes a loud cracking sound.
“You used to be my friend!” I say. “But then you went to Israel and you flipped. What the hell happened?”
“You know what happened. I told you.”
“You didn’t tell me. You said we were wrong about things, that you found God, and I should find him, too. That’s not telling me.”
“I was at the kibbutz. You know this.”
“And God appeared to you while you were picking grapefruit?”
“Grapefruit is old school. We made fans.”
“Fans, then. They blew a God wind on you?”
“It’s not a joke,” Herschel says.
The class tone sounds, and the hall starts to empty.
“Why do you bring this up now?” Herschel says.
“Because I’m never going to talk to you again,” I say. “So we might as well get it out of the way. What happened to you in Israel? How did you find God?”
“I didn’t find God. I found a girl.”
I stop packing books.
“You met a girl in Israel, and you never told me?”
“Not just met. Fell hard.”
“How hard?”
“Initials hard.”
I’m shocked, but part of me feels happy to see a flash of the old Herschel. The human one. Not the religious robot that’s been passing for my old friend for the last two years.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I say.
“I couldn’t.”
“We were best friends.”
“I had my reasons,” he says.
“So this girl. She wouldn’t give you the time of day, and you became religious to compensate?”
That’s what happens to a lot of guys. They’ve got no game, so they get God instead.
“No,” Herschel says. “She fell, too.”
“For someone else.”
“For me, Sanskrit. We fell for each other. It happens, you know. Not everyone lives in your universe of unrequited love. Love requites. At least it did with Chana.”
“Chana.” I repeat the name, enjoying the guttural chet sound, the Hebrew letter that you pronounce like you’re clearing your throat. It makes her sound rough and sexual and Israeli all at the same time.
“We fell for each other, Sanskrit.” He lowers his voice and leans towards me. “We even slept together.”
“Newsflash: you’re a virgin.”
“No.”
“How could you keep something like that a secret? That’s the most important thing in the world.”
“Not so important.”
“What?! We’ve talked about sex for years. You never told me you knew how to do it.”
“I don’t know how to do it.”
“You did it.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing. It just happened.”
“Once?”
“A few times.”
“Jesus Christ,” I say. Herschel winces. “The cursing—”
“What do you want from me? This is unbelievable news.”
“It’s not—You’re not understanding me,” Herschel says.
“I understand that you had sex,” I say. “Though I admit I’m lacking certain critical details which you’re more than welcome to describe to me.”
“It’s not what you think,” he says.
“Well, what was it? What happened to the mysterious Chana?”
“She was from England. She went back home.”
“Oh. That sucks.”
“She had to.”
“What am I missing?”
“She was with child.”
“What?”
Herschel is speaking in biblical terms. But I know what he means. Pregnant.
“You have a kid?” I say.
“I don’t.”
“Wait. I’m confused. You said she was pregnant.”
“We terminated the pregnancy.”
“Oh my God.”
“I took the life of a child,” Herschel says.
His whole body changes. He leans against the wall, holding himself up with both arms.
“This is unbelievable,” I say. “You didn’t tell me any of this.”
“It was a secret,” he says.
He lets out a moan and slumps down to the floor, sitting with his back against the wall.
I think of Herschel when he came back from Israel. He was different, but I thought it was because of the religious conversion. Formal words, formal dress, services every day …
I sit on the floor next to Herschel, up close so our shoulders are touching.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been,” I say. “But it’s not like abortion is illegal in Israel. And it was your freshman summer. Nobody would blame you for not wanting to be a father.”
“Why not a father?” Herschel says. “Who says I’m supposed to be free and doing whatever I want in the world? Nobody. Judaism does not say we are free. We are bound to God.”
“You were a child. You didn’t know.”
“I was bar mitzvahed!” he says.
He means he was a man. He was responsible for his actions.
“You ask how I found God?” he says. “This is how. After it was done, my child came to me in a dream. Only he wasn’t mine anymore. He was HaShem’s child.”
Herschel bites at his lip.
“I can never undo what I did, but I can spend my life making amends. I can cleave myself to his will. That’s why I bought your mother to school. I was trying to do the right thing. I’m sorry if I caused you harm.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” I say. “I got what I deserved.”
He pats my forearm.
“God will find us, one way or the other,” he says. “Some of us are stubborn, and the journey to him is hard. I pray it goes more easily for you than it did for me, my friend.”
Herschel pulls himself up. He puts out a hand to help me up.
“Now you know everything,” he says.
We hug briefly, and he pats me on the cheek.
I laugh a little. “You’re like my zadie,” I say.
“When is your mother leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Let me know if I can help in any way.” He forces a half smile, then walks away down the hall.