by Erich Segal
Deborah got her first glimpse of him in synagogue that Saturday morning, when she peeked over the white curtain which protected the women from men’s lustful gazes.
There was no room to doubt that he was six feet five inches tall. And he lived up to the “handsome” part as well, with his shock of auburn hair and chiseled features. Moreover, he was unbearded, and though his sideburns were of the required length, they did not spiral into curls on either side.
When her father honored Asher as a visitor by calling him up to read the Torah, he not only chanted the initial blessings by heart, but went on to demonstrate that he could sing the music of the text itself with complete fluency.
Moreover, he was chosen to come last and recite the portion from the Prophets. Those were practically the same prenuptial honors granted to her sister’s husband. Deborah half-joked to herself that maybe Mama would be taking her that evening to the mikva. She had to admit that, had she not been under such pressure, she might have found him appealing.
Mama, who was sitting next to her, could not keep from whispering how impressed she was with Asher Kaplan’s singing.
“What a golden voice,” she gushed.
C’mon, Mama, Deborah thought to herself. Do you have to be on his side too?
After the service, while her father with Danny in tow was introducing their Chicago visitor to various important worshipers, Deborah and her mother hurried home to remove the cholent from the tin stand covering the burner on the stove which had been warming it all night.
By the time the men arrived, it was clear to Deborah that even Danny had given the candidate his seal of approval. His admiring eyes kept gazing up at Asher as if his head were in the stratosphere. Clearly, if there was going to be a battle, she would be vastly outnumbered.
All through the meal, Rav Luria’s face was flushed with self-congratulation. He was certain that he had found the special bridegroom for his special daughter.
He even let Asher lead the after-dinner discussion, and the Chicagoan’s explication of the Torah portion was yet another demonstration of his fitness to be the Silczer Rebbe’s son-in-law.
Asher scarcely looked at Deborah. Outside of “Nice to meet you,” in Yiddish, he had not addressed a single word to her.
They spoke of Jeremiah’s warnings to the sinners, whose misdeeds were “written with a pen of iron, and with the point of a diamond.”
At which point Deborah interrupted and recited the next verse. “It is graven upon the tablet of their heart.…”
All faces suddenly fixed upon her, wide-eyed with astonishment.
She had done some preparation too.
At long last the great moment arrived. The entire family went for a stroll in nearby Prospect Park. Rabbi and Mrs. Luria kept a careful and discreet ten paces behind “so the children can get to know each other.”
Asher was desperate to make a good impression on Deborah. Not only because Chicago was counting on him, but because he genuinely liked her.
At first sight he had been taken by her large brown eyes and sultry aspect. He had genuinely admired her voice when they had sung the Grace After Meals, and the pluck with which she had entered the men’s conversation.
“They didn’t exaggerate,” he remarked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My parents told me all these wonderful things about you and your family. For once it wasn’t false advertising.”
He paused, hoping she would reciprocate.
She sensed this, and finally said, “And you—you’re just as tall as they told me.”
Is that all? thought Asher to himself.
“I hear you’re a real eshes chayil,” he said, tossing her the ultimate accolade for a Jewish girl.
“In other words, ‘good wife material,’ ” Deborah replied tartly. “Actually, it depends how you translate the Hebrew term. I mean, if gibor chayil means a hero in battle, why couldn’t eshes chayil mean a woman in battle?”
Asher wrinkled his forehead and shook his head, inwardly deliberating whether it would be wise to engage his bride-to-be in a semantic quibble. He decided it was best to placate.
“Can we change the subject?” he pleaded.
“I don’t know anything about basketball,” she replied.
“Well then, do you want to know about my prospects?”
Deborah merely shrugged.
They walked along for several minutes, each pretending to admire the foliage.
Then Asher spoke again. “Well, just in case you’re interested, I’m not going to be a rabbi.”
“Oh?” she replied. “Is your father upset?”
“Not really. I’ve got two older brothers who’re already leading congregations of their own. Anyway, I just thought you might like to know that I’m going to be a doctor. What do you think of that?”
“I think that’s wonderful,” she answered sincerely and then after a moment added, “Do you know what I want to be?”
“A wife, I hope.”
“Oh, I will eventually,” she replied. “But I’d like to be something else as well.”
“What else is there?” he asked.
“I’d like to be a scholar.”
“But you’re a woman.”
“So I’ll be a woman scholar,” she replied.
Exasperated, and feeling the clock running down, Asher put on a full-court press.
“Deborah, do you mind if I ask you a simple question?”
“Not at all.”
“Do you like me?”
“Yes,” she replied uneasily.
“Well, do you want to marry me or not?”
“A simple yes or no answer?” she said.
“Yes,” he replied.
Deborah looked up into his hazel eyes, and uttered, “No.”
11
Deborah
It was a few minutes before eleven on Friday evening.
Deborah Luria sat alone in the living room reading her Bible. As always, she had left the Song of Songs for last.
She was so engrossed that she barely heard the key turn in the front door lock. Even then, her reverie was broken only when the new arrival murmured shyly, “Good Shabbes, Miss.”
She looked up. It was the gentile boy her family and the neighbors had engaged to extinguish the lights.
Aware that it was improper even to be in the same room with him, Deborah nodded her head and began to rise to her feet.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I must be holding you up.”
“That’s all right. Actually, I’m a little early. I can go take care of the Shapiros and come back.”
“No, no,” Deborah protested. “I’ll stop reading.”
She closed the book, placed it carefully on the table, and left the room.
“Good night,” the young man whispered. But she seemed not to hear.
When Timothy Hogan had first begun to work for the Lurias, he had barely noticed Deborah, who was then a shy, gawky adolescent with dark, curly hair. Yet with the passing of time he had fallen under the spell of her exotic beauty.
He knew it was wrong, yet in moments of weakness he would pray that when he arrived to perform his Friday duties he might catch a glimpse of her.
He watched her dissolve into the shadowed hallway and realized he had behaved improperly. These girls were not supposed to talk to any boys—much less Irish Catholics. Though she had spoken only a few words, the echo of her lovely voice lingered in the room.
Curiosity impelled him to overstep the boundary once again. He leaned forward to see what she had been reading and was struck by the fact that this pensive rabbi’s daughter had been sitting all alone with the Holy Bible.
Upstairs, Deborah undressed in the darkness of her room, but as she lay on her pillow and the onset of sleep relaxed her thoughts, she could still see the blue light of Timothy Hogan’s eyes.
I must tell my father, part of her said. But then of course Papa would fire him, and I would never see him again.
&nb
sp; But I was wrong to answer him. Why did I?
Suddenly it dawned on her.
Tim Hogan had been speaking Yiddish.
Although she made a solemn oath to go to bed earlier the following Friday, she was still downstairs when Timothy arrived at the unprecedented hour of ten-thirty.
“Please don’t let me disturb you,” he said, a slight tremor in his voice.
She pretended to ignore him. But she did not rise and leave as she had the previous week.
After another moment, Tim asked softly, “Would you like me to come back later?”
She sat up and said almost involuntarily, “How come you know Yiddish?”
“Well, it’s been four years since I started working for the families, so I’ve had a lot of time to pick it up. Anyway, it’s sure a lot easier to speak than to read.”
“You can read—?”
“Only very slowly,” Timothy answered. “You know Mr. Wasserstein is almost blind. After I started helping him on Friday nights, he persuaded me to come in a couple of afternoons a week so he could teach me to read the Daily Forward to him.”
Deborah was touched at the thought of their eighty-year-old neighbor reaching into the semidarkness of his memory to explain Hebrew letters to this young Catholic boy.
“But how can he teach you if he can’t see the page?”
“Oh, he’s worked out a very interesting system. He knows the Psalms by heart, so he makes me turn to the one that begins with whatever letter we’re learning. For example, ‘The Lord is my Shepherd’ begins with aleph, ‘When Israel left Egypt’ begins with bet. And so forth.”
“That’s very clever,” Deborah said with admiration. “And very generous on your part.”
“Oh, it’s the least I can do. Mr. Wasserstein is so lonely—except for me, his only contact with the outside world is shul.”
Suddenly, he suppressed a laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Deborah asked.
“He keeps joking that I’d make a good rabbi. Sometimes I actually think he’s serious.”
“Jews don’t proselytize,” Deborah stated, herself puzzled that she should be so dogmatic at this moment.
“I’m not worried.” Tim smiled, and Deborah suddenly felt uneasy. His expression was so … angelic. “Actually, if Father Hanrahan finds a place for me, I’ll be going to seminary where knowing Hebrew letters will be a real advantage for the Old Testament classes.”
“You mean you’re going away?” she asked, almost involuntarily.
“If I’m found suitable for the priesthood.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, like Our Saviour, I’d have to be impervious to the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil.”
“Oh,” she remarked, not knowing what else to say, inwardly hoping she had not betrayed her disappointment at the prospect of not seeing him.
“Actually, I’m not worried about the devil—” he joked lightly, “but I’m still working on the other two.”
Suddenly Deborah began to panic. What was he talking about? Why had she allowed herself to begin this conversation? She mustered all her inner strength and said nervously, “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go to sleep.”
She forced herself to turn and start up the dark stairs.
His glance followed her long after she had disappeared. He was now more than curious. He was desperate to see exactly what text she had been reading.
He picked up her book, the Soncino Bible with Hebrew and English translation. His eyes fell upon the words, “Behold, thou art fair, my love … thine eyes are as doves.”
He was now convinced that some greater power had intended him to read these words.
And, he thought, maybe Mr. Wasserstein is still awake and will help me learn this in Hebrew tonight.
Deborah was at once excited, confused … and frightened. She had to speak to someone, and the only person she could trust was her younger brother.
“For gosh sake,” Danny said sleepily as she knocked softly and entered his room. “It’s nearly midnight.”
“Please, Danny. I’ve got to talk to you.”
Sensing her urgency, he sat up. “Okay,” he said, suppressing a yawn. “Now what’s the big deal?”
“It’s about—you know the Shabbes goy?”
“Yeah, Tim,” Danny responded. “Good guy, isn’t he?”
“Uh, I don’t know,” Deborah stammered.
“Hey, Deb,” Danny whined, “what the heck is this conversation about?”
“Did you know he speaks Yiddish?”
“Sure. I’ve had a few talks with him. For this you woke me up on the only night I can get some sleep?”
“Well, don’t you think that’s weird?” Deborah persisted.
“Not really. Tim’s an unusual guy.”
“In what way?” she asked, eager to learn whatever she could about the young man who now held her imagination captive.
“Once when that shaygetz Ed McGee was trying to murder me, Tim came by and punched him out. He’s a terrific fighter. Actually, I’ve never even thanked him. I just ran for my life.” He paused for a moment and then looked at his sister, who was nervously biting her lip. “Now what was it you wanted to tell me?”
Deborah sensed that even confiding in her brother would be too great a risk. “Nothing,” she answered. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
As she started out, Danny whispered, “Hey, Deb—”
“Yeah?”
“Has he—you know—tried anything?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You darn well do. Has he?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“No, Deb. Don’t you be stupid.”
All through the week, Deborah looked forward to the Sabbath—albeit not for the usual religious reasons. Yet she had a special reason, which both excited and troubled her.
This time he appeared even earlier—in fact, scarcely ten minutes after the rest of her family had gone upstairs.
“It’s only ten-fifteen,” she complained in an anxious whisper.
“I was watching from the street,” Tim confessed. “When I saw you were alone, I thought it would be all right—”
“Well, it isn’t,” she retorted. “I mean, you can turn off the light and go. I shouldn’t be talking to you. Don’t you know that?”
“And I shouldn’t be talking to you. Don’t you know that?”
There was a pause. Finally, Deborah asked in a quiet voice, “Why?”
“They teach us in school not to consort with non-Catholics. Lately they’ve been telling us that Jewish girls are Jezebels.”
“Jezebel wasn’t Jewish,” Deborah objected. “But I guess your school thinks anybody who’s evil must be.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Well, tell me one decent thing they’ve ever taught you,” she demanded.
“Christ said, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ ”
“Our sage Hillel said the exact same thing.”
“Who came first?”
“Well,” Deborah said, “Hillel lived in the early part of the first century.”
“So did Jesus.”
They sat and glared at one another.
“Why are we having this argument, anyway?” Deborah asked after a moment.
“Because it’s the only way you’ll let yourself talk to me.”
“Who said I wanted to talk to you, anyway?”
“Well, I’d like to speak to you,” he said gently.
“Why?” she asked, instantly unable to understand why she had asked that question.
“Because I like you,” Tim replied. “Are you offended by that?”
However innocuous they might have seemed in the outside world, these were the most intimate words that a man had ever said to her. Yet she could not stop the momentum of her emotions.
“I’m not offended. I just wonder what I’ve ever done to make you … feel that way.”
Tim smiled. “Nothing
, really. But I guess you can’t help being pretty.”
Part of Deborah was shocked. Even the vainglorious Asher Kaplan would not have been so familiar. But this first compliment ever paid to her as a woman was intoxicating. However much she did not believe his words, she wanted to hear more of them.
“Could we change the subject,” she asserted.
“Sure. Fine.”
There was an awkward silence, finally broken by Tim’s seemingly irrelevant question. “Have you ever been to a movie?”
“No. We’re not allowed to. It’s too complicated to explain. What makes you ask?”
“Well, I just wondered if I were a Jewish boy, whether I could have invited you to one. Some of your people go, don’t they?”
“Not the Orthodox,” she replied. “I mean—”
Just then the clock began to chime, awakening both of them to the reality that what was separating them was not just a coffee table, but a bridgeless chasm between two faiths.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Tim whispered.
“What is it?” she asked uneasily.
He cleared his throat softly and said apologetically, “I hope my accent isn’t too terrible.” And then he quoted: “ ‘Then the people of the Lord went down to the gates. Awake, awake, Deborah; Awake, awake, utter a song.…’ ” Eyes gleaming with pride, he looked at her and said, “Judges 5:12.”
She was touched. “ ‘The Song of Deborah.’ Oh, my goodness.” She smiled. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or embarrassed.”
“Please be flattered,” Tim answered earnestly.
And then he was sitting next to her. It had happened so swiftly that she had no time to grow frightened.
“I want to kiss you,” he murmured.
She turned her head and looked into the ocean of his eyes.
“But you mustn’t.”
Yet her tone was not protesting.
Tim’s words began to cascade as if racing the end of time. “Deborah. I’ve got to say this now because I know I’ll never have the courage to again. I … I… With all my heart, I really … like you.”
She closed her eyes but still did not move away. She felt a strange sensation at the nape of her neck. It was his hand barely touching her, and then the warmth of his lips brushed hers.