An Observant Wife

by Naomi Ragen

  Leah studied him carefully. “What was so special about them?”

  “Well, the people are a mixed group—some are black hats like me, and some are knitted skull caps, but there was no talking at all. They all seemed really devout. People asked me all kinds of questions about my studies in kollel and accounting. And then one of them said to me, ‘We are looking for educators, men like yourself who have been in kollel so many years.’”

  Leah’s heart did a somersault. “Really? Do you know who the person was?”

  “It was the rabbi, someone told me later. Such a young, kind man. He said, ‘If you want, we could also help you set up your own accounting firm here. Everyone in the Jewish community would go to you, and all of us have jobs in businesses downtown.’”

  Inside her, a small flicker of hope ignited with a sudden flare. “Wow!”

  “And after davening, some of the men took me to see the local religious day school and kindergarten. They even have a small kollel! It was gevaldig. Imagine, in a place like this, so far away.”

  “From Brooklyn, the center of the universe,” she murmured, smiling.

  “All right, laugh at me. But I never knew.”

  Just then, her phone began a series of dings. They came fast and furious.

  “What?” he asked, but before she could answer, his own phone rang. He put it on speakerphone.

  “Hello?” It’s my boss, he mouthed to Leah silently. “Yes, I took another vacation day.”

  “When do you think you’ll be back?” the male voice asked—anxiously, she thought.

  “The day after tomorrow. I’ll fly in.”

  “Excellent, Jacob. And listen, about that talk we had … not to worry. It’s all been settled.”

  “What happened?” he asked instinctively and then thought better of it. He had, after all, promised to take care of it. But he had done nothing.

  “Well, damnedest thing. I have just heard back from all the clients who were complaining. Not only do they want me to drop the subject but they suggested switching their accounts to you! And they wanted me to be sure to let you know.”

  He was speechless.

  “Jacob, are you still there?”

  “Yes, well, that’s great. Thank you for letting me know. We’ll talk about it when I get back.”

  “Of course, of course. Have a safe trip back and regards to the wife. Leah, is it?”

  “Yes, thank you. Well, goodbye.”

  “Goodbye.”

  The dings kept coming to her phone, but she ignored them, her eyes wide. “What was that all about?”

  Yaakov slammed a flat hand on the dashboard, his laugh exultant. “I have absolutely no idea! But I have my job back, even though I haven’t done anything!”

  “That’s fantastic, Yaakov!” she said, finally looking down to check all her incoming messages. “You’re not going to believe this! All those dings? They are messages from my former clients, all asking to come back.”

  “Baruch HaShem!”

  “Yes, God be blessed, but for many other reasons,” she murmured dully.

  He turned to look at her, astonished. “What’s wrong?”

  “Yaakov, I don’t want these clients! And…” She finally had to say it, what had been secretly going through her mind for months now. There was no choice. “I can’t go back there … to Boro Park. I just can’t.”

  What she had loved about becoming an Orthodox Jew was the valiant optimism of the attempt to cast out all that was base and ugly in human nature and behavior. Only the true God who created mankind would have the audacity and optimism not only to believe it possible but to provide a pathway. And it was not just the big things—murder, kidnapping, adultery, theft—it was the exquisite exactitude of the little things: You must not go into a shop and ask the price of something if you had no intention of buying; it was considered fraud, because it wasted the time of the poor shopgirl or store owner; you must have scrupulously accurate weights if you sold things by weight; you mustn’t look at a beautiful home with envy in your heart, even if you didn’t know who it belonged to, because envy might lead to coercion, and then to theft, and finally to murder. And even if the envy never led anywhere, but simply settled in your heart, that, too, was forbidden; you mustn’t take revenge, even if it was only in the form of refusing your neighbor a cup of sugar because they had denied you a cup of milk; you mustn’t gossip, tell tales, humiliate someone even in private. And if you did it publicly, causing the blood to rush into a person’s face, it was akin to murder; you mustn’t put a stumbling block in front of the blind or curse a deaf man; you must give back lost items, and guard lost property until the owner could be found, expecting nothing in return; you must love your neighbor as yourself. You must do nothing to him that was hateful to yourself …

  The laws went on and on, laws created for Jews, by Jews, over thousands of years that in their strict observance would make a human being little less than an angel and would create a nation of the most kindly, honest, decent human beings who had ever walked the face of the good earth. She had wanted to live among such people in the hope that it would help her to become one as well.

  She thought of Boro Park. In her short time there, she had met such people. There were, perhaps, even many of them. But they were like that not because of that place but in spite of it.

  It was a shadow world, a place of shame and secrecy where saving face ruled lives and ruined them; a place of fear and forced conformity to rules that were the opposite of the godly ones she had learned to cherish. It was a place where human needs, compassion, and justice were sacrificed daily on the altar of pretense, appearances, and status; a hard-hearted place that rejected the stranger and convert with the utmost snobbery. A place that cowered before evil and discarded justice; a place where cowardly appeasement and conformity and dishonesty reigned; a place that made it impossible to follow the spirit and letter of the Torah to which all paid lip service, but in reality had replaced with the twisted interpretations of an arrogant, self-serving leadership.

  For all its rabbinical courts and synagogues and vast study houses where thousands of students sat learning the laws of God; and despite its fanatic delineation of what people were permitted to eat and wear, somehow true piety and goodness had eluded it. It was no different from any other neighborhood in any other twenty-first-century city, she thought, rife with selfishness, lust, materialism, superficiality, and greed—everything she had thought she was leaving behind her when she had joined them.

  How had this happened? How had they veered so far from their goals? How had they, possessors of God-given rules and traditions thousands of years old, ancient blueprints for purity and goodness so powerful they had inspired all three monotheistic religions and still served as their bedrock, been blown so far off course?

  How had it all gone so wrong?

  Because, she thought, human beings were flawed. Even the most devout were sometimes too weak to fight their demons. But instead of admitting defeat, they had institutionalized and rationalized all their failures, twisting God’s laws into something unrecognizable and intimidating all those who protested.

  She didn’t belong there. She wanted no part of it.

  But it wasn’t too late. It was never too late. A new community with young families, refugees from the falseness and corruption, from those continuing to go through dead motions, pantomiming with silent mockery all that had once been so holy, so revolutionary and exciting. Like the young tribes born in the desert who had heard the very voice of God Himself, seen miracles with their own eyes, listened to the prophet with their own ears, they, too, could cross the Jordan, smash the old idols, expose and uproot to the core the secret dishonesty and debauchery and child sacrifices, creating a new land to nurture those willing to accept without compromise the pure, living tradition that could never be destroyed, that was there waiting for them to rub off its tarnish until it shone with beauty once more.

  “You mean never?” Yaakov asked her breathlessly,
shocked.

  She nodded. “Never. I just can’t. And not only for myself…”

  He pulled the car over, parking, then shut off the engine.

  “Then for who else?”

  Her fingers touched her belly. “When I was in the hospital, they gave me a blood test. Yaakov, I’m pregnant! That maniac who ran me down? He could have killed our baby!”

  He undid his seat belt, looking at her in horror and wonder. “Is the baby all right? Did the doctor check?”

  She nodded, smiling. “The baby is fine. I am fine.”

  He looked into the back seat to make sure the children were fast asleep. Then he moved toward her, enfolding her gently in his arms. “Then God has answered all my prayers.”

  She, too, looked over at the children. Satisfied, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “And there is something else. Something I’ve been afraid to tell you.”

  “You never have to be afraid of me. Ever.”

  “Yaakov, I can’t stand not touching you two weeks every month! Not sitting next to you. Not handing you anything. It makes me feel shunned, dirty, ugly. I know this is the halacha, but I just can’t.”

  “The halacha is that I can’t make love to you while you are menstruating and for seven days later, until you’ve been to the mikvah. All the rest are fences around the law.” He reached out to her, holding her hand. “We will find a way to climb over the fences together without falling off the cliff.”

  They smiled at each other, tears of joy streaming down their cheeks as they felt the warmth and familiarity of the precious, permanent bond they had formed that would last until the day they died, a bond which had truly made them one.

  “It won’t be easy. We’ll be starting from scratch,” he whispered.

  “Not easy. But not impossible. Going back is impossible.”

  He nodded, a joyous, completely unexpected sense of freedom making him suddenly laugh. Yes, Yaakov thought, putting his seat belt back on and starting the car, moving his little family on to the open road. Despite all the difficulties and hardships that awaited them, he felt nothing but happiness, realizing he, too, couldn’t go back. He also didn’t want those clients, those coworkers, that boss. Instead, the two of them would begin again, in a better place, taking their children, their love, and the God of their fathers with them. For the first time in many years, he felt confident that the future held blessings.

  EPILOGUE

  THREE YEARS LATER

  “Did the plane land on time? When do you expect to be home? How are they? Tired? Well, at their age…” Leah smiled as she spoke, pressing the phone against her shoulder with her cheek as she held her newborn son.

  “Mommy, Tikva Sarah won’t get off the swing, and Mordechai Shalom wants his turn.”

  She turned to Chasya. How tall the little girl was getting, and how pretty! Her pale cheeks had bloomed in the three years they’d been in Virginia, practically living outdoors, the weather so much milder than New York’s. And the big backyard of the lovely home they’d purchased with the help of a community fund and their own burgeoning success in both their careers was more luxurious than she’d dreamed they’d ever be able to afford. The roses she’d planted last spring were rioting in all colors, she rejoiced; and the big, old apple tree was heavy with fruit, giving abundant shade over the tables set up for the celebration of her new son’s circumcision ceremony later that day.

  “I put all the drinks in the spare refrigerator,” Cheryl said, coming up behind her, her arms juggling little flower-filled vases. She placed them carefully at the center of each table. “There, done,” she said, pushing back her hair, now below her shoulders and a sophisticated shade of ash blond that suited her. She wore slim jeans and a white top with a not-too-low neckline and elbow-length sleeves, as modest an outfit as she was ever likely to wear in this lifetime, she thought. She knew the jeans—well, any pants at all, actually—were taboo, but the top was a clear effort at accommodation, a far cry from the usual low-cut, sleeveless style that was her wardrobe staple. It had taken years, but she and Leah had finally internalized that neither of them was likely to change and that their relationship would entail an ongoing series of compromises. She was doing her best, and so was Leah. Their connection had actually blossomed. She was single again, but wouldn’t be for long. She had her eye on a few eligible candidates. But she was in no rush. She liked her house, her business, her dog, herself. And most of all, she adored her grandchildren, step or otherwise. “What else? Oh, let me steal that baby, what an angel!”

  “He’s all yours, Mom,” Leah said, adjusting her head-covering, which had come loose, letting some of her wild red curls cascade over her shoulders. But she wasn’t worried. Unlike Boro Park, in their new community, no one would care if she took it off altogether. Or if she played her music and danced around her living room in joy—something she did regularly. It was live and let live. It was her choice to keep covering her hair. It was a gift to God, she thought. A way of saying thank you and demarcating boundaries.

  She walked swiftly over to the jungle gym, pausing for a moment to watch the back of her daughter’s head with its wild curls—the golden shade of her father’s—lifting in the breeze each time she propelled herself forward into the air. She was a little over two years old and already completely fearless.

  “Tikva Sarah, you have to give your brother a turn. He’s been waiting patiently. Do a chesed,” she told the child gently.

  The tiny girl looked over her shoulder at her mother, frowning, but she immediately stopped and got off. Mordechai Shalom gave her a hug and kiss, climbing on in her stead.

  Leah lifted her up, kissing the child’s soft cheek, smelling her hair. “What a lovely, kind little girl you are to be so nice to your brother! I’m very proud of you, Tikva Sarah. Are you tired now? Do you want your nap?”

  Of course she shook her head. “Want cookie,” she demanded, then stopped, marveling at the beautifully set tables, the colorful flowers, that had transformed the familiar backyard into another kingdom. She squirmed to be let down.

  Leah laughed. “Oh, I know where you’re headed, young lady! No way. Come into the kitchen, and I’ll give you a cookie.”

  “And juice,” she negotiated.

  “And juice,” Leah agreed.

  “And ice pop,” she pushed her advantage.

  Why not? Leah chuckled. “My future CEO,” she told the child.

  Someone was ringing the doorbell. It was a little too early for the caterers.

  There she stood, Shaindele, and beside her a tall, handsome yeshiva boy dressed in a black suit and wearing a large Borsalino. She was a woman now, completely, Leah thought, embracing her. The once chubby, red cheeks had given way to high cheekbones a delicate pale rose, and the long, dark braid was now an elaborate updo held back by two fashionable, glittering barrettes that were the latest style, as was the expensive pale pink suit of shantung silk that made her look like a gracious princess on a walkabout.

  “What a surprise!” Leah laughed, pulling her stepdaughter close and hugging her. “I didn’t expect you until this evening!” She turned to the young man. “Akiva! How are you?”

  “Baruch HaShem,” answered the young man affably.

  It was Yaakov who had made the shidduch. Akiva’s parents were prominent members of the Folkestone community whose son had found religion during his studies at MIT. He had been a rising star in the local kollel, where Yaakov found great joy in teaching part-time in addition to his accounting business. Yaakov had been so impressed with the serious young man. Despite his prestigious degree in computer engineering and a completely nontraditional upbringing, he had developed a burning passion for learning that reminded Yaakov of himself. He had soon outgrown the local kollel, and Yaakov had arranged for him to continue his studies in the prestigious yeshiva in Baltimore where his own sons—both of them married now and fathers—were still learning in kollel. If I’m lucky, he thought when suggesting the shidduch to Shaindele …

  He was.
They all were. Everyone loved Akiva. Especially Shaindele. The plan was for him to learn full-time for a number of years before joining the working world. Shaindele, like her mother before her, would support them by teaching, which she loved.

  “Can I also give you a hug?” Leah asked Akiva.

  “Of course!” He laughed, moving in closer for a maternal embrace.

  “They would never have allowed that in Boro Park!” She beamed at them. “Come in, come in, sit down. I’ll get you something to drink.”

  “Juice,” Tikva Sarah piped up. “Pops!” she insisted.

  “Oh, you’re adorable,” Shaindele said, lifting her out of Leah’s arms.

  “She-she.” The child grinned widely at her big sister.

  “I’m so happy to see you both! It wasn’t too hard for you to get away, with your wedding coming up and so much to do?” Leah said.

  “Are you kidding? We wouldn’t miss this! Are Bubbee and Rav Alter here already?”

  “Any minute. Your tateh is on his way from the airport with them. They were coming in, anyway, for your wedding, now they’ll also make the bris. Such a good baby! He came right on time!”

  “We can’t wait to see him! Another little baby in the family.” Shaindele smiled, looking meaningfully at Akiva, who returned her look with love. Years of therapy had taken away her fear of having her own family. Unlike her mother, she would know what to do if things went wrong. Her experience with Grub had left a surprisingly positive residue: she knew now that there was no shame in speaking out to get the help you needed, and that her family could be trusted and relied upon to put her needs above every other consideration.

  “How was the drive from Baltimore?”

  “Not bad. It took us about four hours.”

  Once again, Leah appreciated how fortune had smiled upon her. The community was not far from Baltimore and not too far from Florida. They had made the drive numerous times.

  “How are your parents, Akiva?”

  “Baruch HaShem. My father had a business meeting in Hong Kong, but Mom will be here.”