Naomi, The Rabbi's Wife

by Miriam Finesilver

  Savoring her raisin rugelach, Naomi chewed on the word b’sheirt. Daniel told her it was “where you could see the fingerprints of divine providence.” Banana bread, zucchini bread, who cared?

  I’ll even eat broccoli bread.

  Unable to sleep that evening, Naomi slid off her bed onto the floor. She bent her knees and leaned over her bed, and made prayer hands as her mother had taught her. As if still praying with her mother, she began, “Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before . . .”

  Abruptly switching from her childhood prayer, she cried out, “Are You there? Can You hear me? Please, I need Your help. I am so scared. I can’t stop thinking about Daniel.”

  Not only was there fear of how heartbroken she would be at his rejection, but also condemnation for even imagining such a “holy man” would be at all interested in someone like her. “And here I am thinking about a guy when I should be thinking about You. I stink. Can you ever forgive me?”

  It was as if a gentle yet firm hand cupped her chin and lifted her head upward. Someone was watching over her. She eased her way back into the bed and found Zoey resting on the side of her pillow. Naomi stroked her furry friend as she closed her eyes to sleep the sleep of a child who knew she was loved and secure. The purring of the cat was a sweet lullaby.

  Too bad not enough time to run to Barnes & Noble—maybe they’d have a book on Sukkot for Dummies. Probably not. She would at least arrive at the Farmer’s Market ahead of Daniel, look around and hopefully get a feel for the holiday by seeing what the vendors had on display. Although most of the proprietors were not Jewish, Naomi figured they were keenly aware of their local clientele and would know the items in demand for Sukkot.

  Arriving at the Market, she was greeted with the sight of the Chasidic men, dressed in their black coats and hats. Images flashed through her mind of Gary mocking their attire when they performed with the improv company.

  That stupid schlocky skit—get out of my head—I don’t have time to think about you. Any minute now Daniel will be here and I’m going to look totally ignorant.

  Naomi made a decision. She would ask one of the vendors to tell her what most people bought for Sukkot. She took a step toward the same man who had helped her with the Red Romes when from behind she heard someone say, “Caught you!”

  It was almost as if she could detect his presence by a fragrance. He did not use any cologne yet Naomi sensed with enjoyment a warm vanilla-like aroma. She turned around and saw Daniel. His brown eyes danced with delight. “I know you. You were about to ask them what to buy, weren’t you?”

  He was wearing blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt with a tweed suit jacket, hands casually resting in the pockets of his jeans. When her eyes caught sight of his brown leather cowboy boots, she blurted out. “You know, you could at least dress like a rabbi.”

  Reaching into a jacket pocket, he produced a yarmulke. “Will this help?” His countenance then changed to one of concern. “You look cold. You want my jacket?”

  She declined his offer but he quickly noticed a booth selling hot apple cider. He returned the yarmulke to the jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. “C’mon, let me buy you something warm to drink.”

  Soon they were seated on a bench enjoying the hot cider with a generous portion of banana bread. “Naomi, I enjoy being with you. You are refreshingly honest.”

  “No. I’m not,” she mumbled, never raising her head to meet his eyes.

  “You’re so honest you’re about to tell me why you’re not honest, right?”

  “Oh, Daniel—I’m so sorry, I should call you Rabbi Dan—”

  “I introduced myself to you as Daniel. Please, feel free to continue calling me that.” With a gentle touch, he placed two fingers under her chin, encouraging her to look up and into his smiling face.

  Her eyes made contact with his and she confessed, “I don’t have a clue about Sukkot. I only said ‘yes’ because I wanted to be with you.”

  “Okay, you made your confession, now it’s my turn. I asked you because I wanted to be with you.” He saw the unabashed happy surprise light up her face and playfully jabbed her arm. “How about them apples, kid?”

  For a moment laughter relieved her nervousness. However, soon she had a sobering thought. “What about Sharon?”

  “Naomi, religion is not . . . well, it’s not a business to me and it’s not a stage either, you know, a place to perform. I know you’re an actress, but that’s separate from what I’m talking about. And I don’t mean to talk unkindly about anyone.”

  Daniel finished his bread and took another swallow of cider. “Sharon seems interested in me. I don’t want to hurt her feelings and sometimes I worry that I’m needlessly encouraging her.” Daniel scowled, and with a shake of his head suggested, “Let’s change the subject. I want to talk to you about this actress thing. The Temple will be doing a Chanukah play.”

  She had been trying to hide how chilled she was, but then a strong wind blew toward them from the East River. Daniel removed his jacket and placed it on Naomi’s shoulders. “I’ve been given the job of writing, producing, and directing—and I’m way over my head. Naomi, I could use some professional help.”

  “Sounds like fun. I’d love to.”

  “Okay. Now that Chanukah’s taken care of—”

  “It is?”

  Daniel playfully cleared his throat and shook his head, imitating a teacher chastising his student. “Do you want to learn about Sukkot or not?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Let’s start with this—you grew up in an orthodox home, so what did you do back then?”

  “We weren’t . . . we went to an orthodox synagogue because it was the only one in Ellenville. Mom was the religious one. She lit the candles every Friday night, but Dad wasn’t like Mom. In fact, I remember him once saying to Mom on a Friday night, ‘Helen, you don’t need to do this, we’re Americans now. That was in the old country we had to do that stuff.’”

  Daniel gently brushed a rebellious wisp of hair away from Naomi’s face. “Your parents were first generation Americans, right?”

  Naomi nodded. “But I don’t remember doing anything for Sukkot. And what about you? What did your family do?”

  “We didn’t either.”

  “Were yours first generation, also?”

  Daniel appeared uncomfortable. “No. I’ll tell you about them some other time. But for now, I need to teach you about my favorite festival.”

  “Sukkot?”

  “I hope if I do a good job telling you why it’s special to me, you’ll be excited to celebrate it, too. And, then, of course, we are here to do some shopping.”

  Another brisk gust of wind coaxed Daniel’s cowlick to stand up and take a bow. Following Naomi’s eyes and her chuckles, Daniel lifted his hand to his scalp and quickly found the stubborn tuft of hair. “I’ve had this thing since forever. The girls used to tease me. Said I looked like Dennis the Menace.” Reaching into his jacket pocket he again brought out his yarmulke and fastened it to his head with a small silver clip. “Now you know why I became a rabbi.”

  Naomi tucked the still-showing cowlick under his headpiece. “Hope you don’t mind – it was still sticking up. I like it though. It helps make you less intimidating.”

  “Do you find Rabbi Lehrer intimidating?”

  “Yes, but his wife Sylvia, she helps—you know what I mean?”

  “Yes, I do. When I first started working under the Rabbi . . .” Daniel stopped abruptly and fanned both hands away from his body. “Whoa. I don’t need to go there. Let’s talk about Sukkot. Think of it as a time set aside to give thanks. Moses commanded us that we were to live in booths or tabernacles for seven days, so we might remember the Lord’s goodness during the years of wandering in the wilderness.”

  Naomi put her hand on his for a brief moment, fighting back tears. “Daniel, I think that was me. I feel like I have been wandering in some wilderness, but now it’s beginning to change.”
>
  He held her hand in both of his. “Naomi, let me tell you about the menorah. It’s not only for Chanukah. See, God told Moses they were to make a beautiful gold lampstand, a menorah, for the tabernacle where He would dwell with them. Try to picture this menorah because God’s instructions about His design . . . well, they amaze me.”

  “I’ll close my eyes,” which she readily did. “Paint me a picture.”

  “One piece, the shaft, the branches and the bowls, all one piece of pure gold. And on the almond branches, again all one piece, picture the almond buds and almond blossoms. Did you ever see almond blossoms?”

  With her eyes still closed, she shook her head no.

  “Picture a small white delicate flower. But here’s what I get excited about. There’s one main shaft, or trunk, and coming out of it are six almond branches. What does that make you think of?”

  Although afraid to give the wrong answer, she ventured, “I think I see a tree.” Opening her eyes, she quickly apologized, “I’m sorry. What did you want me to see?”

  He grasped both her shoulders. “Exactly what you saw. I had a professor at the Hebrew University. When he drew the menorah on a chalkboard, I yelled out, ‘It’s the tree of life.’ That was not a cool thing to do in Dr. Bronstein’s class. He reprimanded me and half the class gave me dirty looks. That night I couldn’t sleep . . . Oh, Naomi, I’m talking your ear off.”

  Now she grasped his shoulders. “The tree of life?”

  He took both her hands and clasped them tenderly in his. “That night I kept wondering if God could have instructed Moses to make it that way so it would remind us of the tree of life, and what if it was God’s way of telling the Jewish people He would dwell with us at the present time until one day we will dwell with Him. And in the meantime, we do what Rabbi Lehrer talks about—we embrace the yoke of the law. I believe Rabbi Lehrer learned that from your rabbi, Rabbi Eisner.”

  “You’re nothing like Rabbi Eisner, thank God.” Catching herself, her hand went up to her mouth. “I’m sorry. That was like the old me. Stupid.”

  “You’re not stupid, but we should get down to business. My fault. Let’s talk about what we’ll be doing at the Temple to celebrate Sukkot.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “The festival is for seven days. The shul will celebrate the first night and the last together, eat dinner, sing some songs, read some prayers and the Rabbi will read from Leviticus.”

  “Leviticus?” In a panicked voice, she asked, “Is he going to talk about killing animals?”

  “Oh, so that’s it. I remember at the table you started to say something about reading Leviticus, but you were interrupted.”

  “I don’t understand why there’s all that stuff about killing and blood?”

  “I’m sorry, I can tell it really upset you, but we need to save this for another time. Soon we’ll start the new members’ class and we can talk about it there. Okay?”

  “Sure. Besides which,” Naomi pointed her finger toward the river, “our favorite singer is back.”

  Daniel took her hand and helped her off the bench. “Time to decorate our tabernacle. Let’s find ourselves the perfect etrog.”

  “Huh?”

  Daniel continued holding her hand. “C’mon—I’ll show you. It’s a citron.”

  Naomi watched as Daniel painstakingly sought out the most exquisite specimen and inspected its furrowed leathery rind. Holding one of these oblong lemon-like fruits, he pointed out, “The shape is good, but it doesn’t have the fragrance I’m looking for.”

  The nonchalant Daniel was gone and in his place was a man diligently searching for the sublime. Finally he chose the etrog. “Now to make our lulav.”

  First they hunted for the perfect date palm frond, which Daniel tested meticulously to ensure that it was both sturdy and straight. It had to have whole leaves that lay closely together and were not broken at the top.

  Next they scoured the market for branches from a myrtle tree. Each potential candidate received the sniff test from Daniel. “They must be aromatic.” Lastly were the branches from a willow tree, lined with long and narrow leaves. This shopping expedition finished in less than forty-five minutes.

  Naomi complained, “I was perfectly useless. I learned a lot, but I wish I could have helped.”

  “You will. Now it’s your turn. The Sukkah booth has to be decorated. I’m counting on you to not only make it pretty, but also fun.”

  A six foot long garland made up of plastic citrons had already caught Naomi’s eye. “Can we go back to the table over by where we got the bread?”

  “Sure.”

  Displayed next to this garland was a lifelike grape vine with bunches of leaves surrounding small plastic grape clusters. Naomi insisted they had to have one vine showing off green grapes and a second one with red grapes. “Of course,” Naomi insisted, “this means we need at least two of the citron garlands.”

  When several lanterns were also packaged up for them by the vendor, Daniel asked, “We’re done, right?”

  But Naomi ran toward another table. “Daniel, look.” She held up another garland of plastic apples, lemons, oranges, pears, and even a pineapple.

  “Okay, but don’t forget, I can’t go over the budget they gave me.”

  However, as they trudged out of the marketplace with all their bags, a large laminated poster shouted her name. It was a collage of photographs taken at the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem.

  Naomi implored, “I’ll buy it for the Temple with my money. Please.”

  Daniel shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Naomi took off and before Daniel caught up with her, she had already removed the poster from its picture hook.

  She told Daniel, “It’ll be like when we’re sitting in the sukkah, we can pretend we’re in Israel. Have you ever gone there?”

  “No. What about you?”

  “No, but my mother—it’s her dream to go there someday.”

  “It’s my dream, too.”

  The vendor cleared his throat, reminding them he was waiting. Daniel pushed her wallet out of the way. “I’ll get it with the Temple’s money. Don’t worry.” He took out his own wallet and tore out a check.

  “No, if I pay for it then after the holiday I can take it home. I’ll put it up in my apartment and it’ll remind me—”

  “Forgive us,” Daniel told the vendor, “give us a second.” His solution: the Temple would buy the Wailing Wall poster and after Sukkot, it would be given to her as a gift, thanking Naomi for all her work.

  Enjoying their walk back to the Temple, Naomi asked, “Do you think the shul will ever have a trip to Israel?”

  “I was told they tried once, but couldn’t get enough people to sign up.” Daniel abruptly put his bags down, stopped walking and turned to Naomi. “Let’s pray—we’ll ask the Almighty to make it happen one day.”

  “Wow, now it’s not only my mom’s dream, but mine, too.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Feasts of Rejoicing

  “Because of Mop & Glo I went to the ball. Mop & Glo . . . oops . . .” Bringing the container of floor polish to her face, it slipped right out of Cinderella’s hands.

  “Cut,” sighed the director. “From the top—everyone, places again. Stepsister number two, give Cinderella her line again.”

  Naomi moved back to full front camera position and with perfect delivery spoke her line. “What were you doing dancing with the prince? Why weren’t you home mopping the floor?”

  It was now close to five p.m., with the shoot having started promptly at eight a.m. Under the hot lights, the actresses’ makeup had streaked several times and demanded touchups. Never once did Naomi cause a “cut” to be called. Always it was Cinderella, who must have required at least thirty takes for one line. The stepsisters might have been wicked, but they were professional.

  Stepsister number one walked over to Naomi, rolling her eyes in the direction of Cinderella. “Guess that’s what happens when you rely on your looks, huh?”

  Nao
mi chortled. “Like I would know. And I have somewhere really special to be soon.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s the first night of Sukkot.”

  The woman appeared baffled. After Naomi gave a short explanation of the Jewish Festival, the actress rolled her eyes once more. “I’m going to get another cup of coffee. Want me to get you one?”

  Naomi shook her head and the actress walked toward the coffee pot sitting in the corner of the studio. She must think I’m like a religious nut or something.

  While Cinderella’s lipstick was being touched up, Naomi enjoyed stoking sweet memories of time spent with Daniel. When others complimented her for decorating the Sukkah booth, Daniel stood to the side beaming his approval. Even Rabbi Lehrer commented, “Lovely touch,” when he saw the poster of Jerusalem’s Wailing Wall.

  She had to be there tonight. If Cinderella doesn’t get her act together, I’m going to just tell them I have to go. Yikes, I can’t do that—Rhonda will kill me.

  But she was saved from career suicide when the producer announced to cast and crew, “Everyone, go home. This is going to take another day to wrap up.”

  Naomi arrived at the temple about forty-five minutes late. As she entered the synagogue’s main corridor she could hear the festive sounds of Israeli folk music which increased in volume as she made her way to the courtyard.

  In front of the prefabricated hut used as a sukkah booth eight women performed an Israeli dance. They were perfectly synchronized and exuberant, the older women as radiant and joyous as their younger counterparts.

  Off to one side was the cassette recorder playing the music and directly at the center of the booth was Sharon singing. “This is a time of rejoicing. Hallelu—hallelujah.”

  As the tempo of the music and the singing picked up, the dancers let go of each other’s hands and moved into the center. They clapped their hands, fanned back out, and repeated this movement several times, until once again they grabbed hands and moved as if they were one body. A time of rejoicing.