by J. J. Gesher
Relieved that the train had arrived at her stop, she gathered her bag and stood, breaking their contact. As the subway doors closed behind her, Julia stood on the platform and rummaged through her purse for her cellphone. Unexpectedly, the man from the train appeared next to her.
“Excuse me…is your mother Jewish?”
Julia was caught off guard and then instantly annoyed. She knew Orthodox Jews believed that religious identity was passed on through the mother, but how could a total stranger ask such a personal question?
Still, she answered him politely. “Yes.”
“Good. My name is Jacob Fisher. I think we are meant to know each other.”
Jacob and Julia began to meet at parks or coffee shops after work. He wanted to spend time alone with her, but it had to be in a public place. According to his Orthodox beliefs, an unmarried man and a woman could not be alone together, nor could they touch. Once, a group of rowdy kids passed them on the sidewalk. The kids, absorbed in their own antics, crowded Julia, forcing her to bump into Jacob’s shoulder. Less than a second of unintentional touch, yet they both blushed. She wouldn’t have thought twice about accidental physical contact with any other man, but she knew that for Jacob, touching was forbidden.
One Sunday, Julia put on a strapless sundress, threw a cardigan over her shoulders, and went to meet Jacob. By this time, she knew something about the laws of modesty, and she didn’t want to offend him. As they walked through Central Park, the sun beat down and, without thinking, she took off her sweater and tied it around her waist. He didn’t comment—in fact, he hardly looked at her. He was expounding on some point about the relationship between the stock market and the global economy when she could no longer hide her frustration.
“Why don’t you look at me when you talk?”
“I can’t,” he stammered. “The way you’re dressed makes me uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable?” she responded sharply.
“You’re not modest.”
“Modest? I’m dressed like every other normal twenty-five-year-old New Yorker out for an afternoon with her…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. What was Jacob to her? A teacher? A spiritual guide? A boyfriend?
Jacob stopped in his tracks. “I don’t look because I respect you, Julia. When you dress like that, you are not respecting yourself.”
Julia fumed. “This is the twenty-first century. We dress for the weather, to be comfortable in our bodies. Showing my shoulders is not a sin…”
Jacob countered somberly. “You mustn’t give in to the sexual excesses of the society that surrounds us.”
“You make sexuality sound like a disease,” she rebutted. She was flustered and exasperated. All of a sudden she had a powerful craving for a cold beer in a dark tavern, far away from this self-righteous jerk. She turned and walked toward the subway. “Forget it. This is never going to work.”
Jacob chased after her. He stood in front of her and touched her arm. “Don’t go.”
She looked down at his hand. His touch burned with electricity. She knew he was breaking one of his many rules.
“Let me explain.” He pulled back, but she could still feel the heat of his handprint, like a thermal image on her skin. “The Torah teaches that our physical acts can help us achieve spiritual greatness. Our job is to take the gifts of the everyday world and make them sacred.”
Jacob searched her face while his mind struggled for the words that would convince her to stay. “Making love to your wife is beautiful. Sex for the sake of temporary satisfaction is not.”
The subtext of the lesson was clear. He wanted her not for a casual relationship, but forever. If she wanted Jacob in her life, she would have to be the one to change.
Because Julia was born a Jew, she didn’t have to convert. But her unobservant past presented a problem. According to the Talmud, she wasn’t raised with the proper guidance of Jewish law and ritual. However, if she demonstrated her commitment to an observant way of life, she’d be considered a Ba’al T’shuva, someone who returns to the fold and is fully accepted in the community.
Six months after that chance meeting on the subway, after much conversation and no physical contact, and in accordance with all the rules of Orthodoxy, they were married.
The wedding night did not disappoint. After months of chaste courtship, Julia had controlled her expectations. She feared that Jacob would be awkward and that she’d have to teach him. When they got to the hotel room, the two of them sat separately, joyfully rehashing the evening’s events. They laughed at her father’s slightly inebriated and emotional toast. They became sentimental, wishing that their deceased grandparents and Jacob’s late father could have been there. During the spirited hora, Jacob’s mother, Hava, had leaned in to Julia and declared that they were dancing on Hitler’s grave. When Julia told Jacob what his mother had said, a moment of gravity descended. Jacob crossed the room to her.
He stood in front of her, cleared his throat, and straightened his posture. She had the absurd notion that he was going to ask her to slow dance, as if they were a couple in a 1950s movie about teenagers. Instead, he took her hand and kissed her palm, and then enclosed her hand in both of his. He studied the veins on the back of his own hand so intently that Julia looked, too. Was he trying to show her something? She waited for him to speak.
“There are things about my past that…” he began, but he couldn’t seem to find more words.
Julia could see that he was struggling to confine his emotions to his throat.
“Let it be. We both have a past,” she said simply. “Weren’t you the one who taught me that a Ba’al T’shuva is a master of personal change? Maybe we’re both Ba’al T’shuva.”
Jacob smiled. “The student has become the teacher.”
With natural dignity, he pulled her in close and kissed her. She was relieved that he kissed so well. He gently undressed her, caressing each newly revealed part of her body as if he had been gifted an extraordinary present. Julia allowed herself to be seduced. He knew what to do and how to please her. There was nothing pious or Orthodox in their lovemaking.
Julia found the transition to religious married life less difficult than she’d imagined. The adherence to the daily laws of Judaism, the ritual baths, and even the required head covering all became second nature. She found herself welcoming the sense of tradition and purpose that was at the core of her observant life. Here, within the boundaries of the rules, it was easy to lean, easy to ask for help.
Jacob’s community enveloped her in warmth, and she felt a belonging that she hadn’t even known she was missing. If a family was dealing with difficulties, there was the comfort of food and company. If there was cause for celebration, the community threw itself into preparations and festivities. When each of her children was born—a boy, Yossi, followed by two girls, Miriam and Sarah—friends appeared with advice, casseroles, housekeeping, and babysitting. Within the community, the expectations for her were as clear as her role: valued wife and mother. Although Julia embraced her new life, she still saw her old friends at art-house movies, still managed to look quirky and fashionable, and still chortled at the off-color joke or double entendre.
Julia worried about the bills, but finances rarely troubled Jacob, who always spouted some version of “God will provide.” When she was irritated by the constant commotion in their home, he’d tell her that crying babies and sick children were really blessings, signs of God’s goodness in granting them such robust children. That was easy for him to say. He could sleep through a baby’s cry, the children fighting, and her frustration. He never deviated from his observance, nor did he allow any negativity to penetrate his contentment.
Sometimes, she saw a shadow of melancholy settle on his face. Riding on the subway or in the middle of a dinner conversation, he would tune out, as if he were listening to a noise or conversation in the distance. Julia observed these moments of discontent and tried to get Jacob to share his thoughts. He’d abruptly change the subject, insis
ting there was nothing wrong. But she suspected that he had secrets and felt there was a part of him that she could not reach.
CHAPTER 3
Jacob’s mother, Hava, announced Shabbat dinner and ushered everyone to the table. There was no doubt that this moment, the transition between the workweek and the Sabbath, was the most resonant with Jacob. There was something visceral about the moment that divided the everyday from the holy. He could almost touch the calm. The children were clean and combed. The table welcomed them with fine china and fresh-cut red roses. The smell of the Sabbath meal filled the house. For twenty-four hours he could suspend the real world and refuel. It was a time to be grateful and to connect with his wife and family.
As Jacob took his place at the head of the table, an air of reverent expectancy descended on the room. Julia covered her head with a lace shawl and lit the Sabbath candles. She circled the two flames with her hands, pulling the energy toward her face as she covered her eyes and murmured the blessing. Generations of tradition engulfed them. There are Hebrew blessings for everything: wine, bread, fruit, the first time you see the ocean or mountains, for lightening and thunder, and even a rainbow after a storm. A Jew is obligated to thank God for any connection to life.
Jacob absorbed the faces around the table—wife, children, and mother. His mother covered her eyes and murmured her own prayer. She was a handsome woman, her inner strength reflected in her face and direct smile. She had been a young widow. Ten years ago, on an innocuous Thursday morning, Jacob’s fifty-three-year-old father put his hand to his chest, sat down, and died quietly on their neighbor’s front stoop. Jacob knew that his mother filled her days attending to her growing brood of grandchildren, but still, her face flickered with loneliness.
Jacob’s three children stood in front of him, and he lightly placed his hands on their heads and blessed them, first in Hebrew, then in English.
May God bless you and watch over you.
May God shine His face toward you and show you favor.
May God be favorably disposed toward you and grant you peace.
The children, infused with pride, returned to their seats and Jacob turned to Julia. He offered the prayer that Jewish husbands voice each week at the beginning of the Sabbath.
An accomplished woman, who can find? Her value is far beyond pearls.
Her husband’s heart relies on her and he shall lack no fortune….
Her children rise and praise her, her husband lauds her.
Hava was moved as she watched her son bless his family. Everyone always said Jacob resembled her, but as he’d grown older, he looked so much like his father. Jacob had a good neshama—in Hebrew that meant soul. Like his father, he had a smile so genuine that when he laughed you could see inside him.
Jacob was an improved version of his father. Her husband had a short temper, but she had never seen Jacob, with all his proclivities and weaknesses, express anger.
She knew Jacob believed Julia was his equal. Hava, though a strong woman in her own right, felt that a wife should defer to her husband. It upset her that Jacob and Julia resolved conflicts by consensus. One side of her appreciated that her son viewed his wife as a partner; the other felt that this stranger was emasculating her son by having equal sway in their lives.
Hava regretted that the universe had not granted her more than two children. Judaism’s commandment to be fruitful and multiply was taken seriously in her community. Families had at least five children. She had not been so lucky. God had given her Jacob, two miscarriages, followed by her daughter, Naomi. She never conceived again. She had fulfilled her obligation and replaced herself, but a tiny bit of ego ruled. If she and her husband had made two such fine children, what would have been the harm in several more? Hava was a woman of faith, and she believed that God had his reasons.
Blessings and special Shabbat songs concluded the festive meal. Jacob loved his children’s raucous energy at the table. Before the singing died down, Julia was back in the kitchen. She often complained that she was permanently fastened to the sink. There were certain chores that always reappeared like repetitive insanity: preparing meals, dirty dishes, sticky counters. Hava and the children paraded the dishes into the kitchen, and Julia washed.
Jacob brought in the last remnants of the dinner and came up behind her. His hands slipped around her waist as he nuzzled her neck. “I love the way you smell.”
Julia continued rinsing the dishes and quietly admonished him. “Shhh, the children…lower your voice.”
Like an old-time comic, Jacob dropped his voice an octave. “I love the way you smell.” It was the dumbest of jokes, and yet she smiled.
His hands still around her waist, he moved her out of the way, “Get out of here. You cooked. I clean.”
Julia, with soap on her hands, turned to him, held his bearded face, and gently kissed his eyes. Unaware of the bubbles on his chin, Jacob looked slightly foolish and wholly in love.
CHAPTER 4
The shades were drawn inside room 187 of the Weatherly, a decaying welfare hotel on the seedy side of Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Darnell Walker stood naked in front of a chipped wall mirror that reflected him and the surrounding room. The room was barren but for the mattress on the floor and a chrome desk lamp, which cast an unnerving shadow on the wall. Darnell Walker looked ten feet tall.
The mattress was perfectly made. On it was a copy of the Bible, a pair of jeans, a worn Batman backpack, and a blue plaid shirt. The only decoration in the room was a large poster that had been taped on the wall, a boldly colored picture of Satan and Jesus arm wrestling. Jesus was winning.
The naked man dipped a washcloth into the bowl of soapy water at his feet, wrung it out, and methodically washed his tattooed body. He cleansed every inch of himself, even using the wet cloth to flay the scars of intertwining circles on his back.
As he cleansed, he prayed, “It is for you, God, that I prepare myself. I am your holy messenger now.”
Once Walker had finished washing, he anointed himself with oil, taking care to stroke himself to a full state of arousal but not beyond.
Jacob walked with his family to the bus. It was a fine day in Brooklyn, the first such day in many months—the humidity had lifted, and a crisp breeze carried the promise of fall. They should have been contented, but he could tell that Julia was annoyed. He wasn’t joining the family outing until after the Knicks game. He pretended not to notice her irritation. If he brought it up at all, they would get swept into cyclical arguing. She would allude to his selfishness, reminding him that she had changed her life to comply with his. He would say that she was conflating two separate points to substantiate her viewpoint. She would accuse him of self-centered opportunistic reasoning. He would flare. She would sulk. Nothing would be resolved, and they would both be angry.
Julia was taking the children to see their cousins, and Jacob would meet them after lunch for a long-awaited trip to the Central Park Zoo. The street was crowded with couples and families on Sunday outings. Yossi bounced a basketball as he jogged down the street, and occasionally he’d pass it to his father.
Jacob’s passion for basketball began as an activity for yeshiva boys to burn some energy, so they could focus their minds on Talmud study. Jacob had played on his yeshiva’s team and excelled as a point guard. He still enjoyed shooting around with his students after school, and sometimes he played a spontaneous pick-up game. The physicality of basketball had been a saving point for him when he went through rehab years ago. He’d play to exhaustion. Anything to keep his mind from obsessing. He couldn’t explain to Julia why he loved the game. She had no idea that the rehab chapter of his life even existed.
Jacob held Sarah’s hand. Julia walked ahead with Miriam, the six-year-old, who pushed a toy stroller with a baby doll inside. The children vied for Jacob’s attention, but he was distracted. He was eager to have them on their way so he could watch the game.
“Dad, you said you’d teach me to do a layup later,” Yossi reminded him.
At eight years old, Yossi was uncoordinated, not a natural athlete as Jacob had been. He awkwardly switched to his left hand, and they continued walking.
Sarah pulled Jacob toward her, her four-year-old voice barely audible. “Daddy, when we get to the zoo, can we look at the penguins for a long time?”
“As long as you want, sweetie,” Jacob responded. How could he say no to that face?
In the endless days and nights of federal prison, Darnell Walker had found God. Not the storefront deity of his youth, but the all-powerful Jesus Christ of fanaticism. He had always heard voices, but he didn’t know that God was talking to him until he was born again. Then the voice made sense.
Walker was dressed and ready. He had never before been this handsome. When he accepted Christ as his savior, he forgave the long-dead crack-whore mother who had seared concentric circles across his back with her cigarettes. Burning flesh leaves a memory on body and soul. Now he owed a debt to Jesus for his peace of mind.
He took his state ID and his parole card and put them in the wastebasket. He added a few photos and personal documents and lit the trash on fire. A trace of a satisfied smile crossed his face as he watched his identity disintegrate. He closed the top button of his shirt, placed the Bible in a small brown paper bag, put on the weighty backpack, and shut the door to his room.
Jacob turned back to Yossi. “How’re you doing with your free throws?”
“Nothing but net,” Yossi boasted. Julia turned around and gave him a withering look.