by Andrew Kane
She felt a sudden wave of anxiety. How could she possibly marry someone like Benjamin Frankel and fulfill her dreams? How could she tell her parents the truth without breaking their hearts? But she couldn’t think about all that right now, it was much too overwhelming.
“It’s funny, I’ve never seen you around the neighborhood,” she said.
“Rucheleh, Binny is a rabbinical student,” her father said. “He doesn’t have time to hang around the neighborhood, or stand outside the shul on Shabbos, looking at the girls. He studies, eats, and dovens in the yeshiva! Yes?” He looked to Binny for a reply.
The young man nodded. The rabbi was quite accurate. In the Lubavitcher community, the rabbinical students were known to be isolationists. They studied, day and night, amongst themselves, and they held their own private services in the yeshiva on the Sabbath so as not to waste time traveling to and from the synagogue. They rarely ventured out for any reason, and the younger students often competed for the honor of doing their chores, for they were not to be bothered with mundane worldly matters.
Binny Frankel was well suited for such an existence. He was from a wealthy family, a large home with many servants, and had been catered to his entire life. There had been no pressure on him to work, so he was able to come to New York and continue studying for as long as he wished. His plan was to complete his rabbinical studies, and eventually join his father’s business, setting up a branch in New York. But that would wait until he was ready. First, he would find a proper wife: an obedient, dutiful daughter of Israel. And it seemed to him, as he sat in the Weissman living room gazing at his first such prospect, that Rachel Weissman was perfect for the job.
Unable to sleep, Rachel found herself besieged with thoughts and feelings about the evening she had spent with Binny. The worst of it was that she had actually enjoyed herself. It would have been simpler if she hadn’t.
Pictures of him passed through her mind; detailed images, the clarity of which rendered her powerless to ignore. Haunted by sensations of unwanted delight, what was she going to do?
In truth, it had been a rather short date—about an hour of conversation in the living room after the rabbi and Hannah had excused themselves; a walk to a small dairy restaurant on Kingston for some coffee and Danish; another walk around the neighborhood. Small talk, nothing serious. Tidbits of life in South Africa, happenings in the yeshiva, and the exchange of some extremely sanitized jokes.
At the end of the evening, he asked to see her again. It bothered her that she’d said yes so readily.
“Next week, perhaps?” he added.
“Next week is fine.” A slight hesitation.
“Sunday evening?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll call in a few days, just to confirm.”
He accompanied her upstairs to her apartment, and said good-night at the door. It was already late, and a good time to end the evening. She found her parents waiting in the living room, her father engrossed in a religious text, her mother perusing a newspaper. They looked up and asked about the date. Her answers were evasive, unrevealing, telling them only that she thought he was “nice enough,” and that she would see him again. They were thrilled.
Despite the hour, she needed to call Esther. There were two phones in the Weissman home, one in the kitchen, the other in the master bedroom. She used the one in the bedroom and closed the door for privacy. This was nothing new for Isaac and Hannah; they had grown used to it, sometimes even kibbitzing about their daughter’s idle chatter with girlfriends. This time, however, they were curious.
Rachel told Esther everything. She described Binny in vivid detail, and seemed to have lost control over her mouth while doing so. That was, until Esther’s father had to make a business call. The girls hung up and promised to talk more tomorrow.
Now, lying in bed, Rachel couldn’t get this young man out of her mind. Despite her efforts to find fault with him, she came up empty. Don’t worry, she told herself, I’m sure he’ll give me a reason to be rid of him soon enough.”
She had to believe that. She desperately needed for it to be true, for she could allow nothing to stand between her and her dreams.
As consolation prizes go, Paul Sims regarded Chava Feuerstein as perfectly acceptable. The first time he saw her, he was surprised; he’d expected a real meuskheit, a homely one, as punishment for his audacity. He had even considered cancelling the shiddoch, but when Chava came to the door, he was glad he hadn’t.
She was average height, had a pleasant face, curly brown hair, and a seemingly shapely figure, though it was hard for him to tell just how shapely considering the way Hasidic women dressed. She also had an inviting smile.
Their first date had seemed a bit dull, however. She didn’t talk much, and he could have sworn she wasn’t interested. When Reb Blesofsky had left a note for him to call her again, he was puzzled. But agreeable.
She was the daughter of a poor shoe salesman, and her mother suffered from manic-depression. Both facts placed her very low on the shiddoch list. Like Paul, she was eighteen, and she had already dated several boys from Hasidic families, all with situations similar to hers, but nothing had worked out. Now, she was agreeing to date boys from non-Hasidic homes. Paul was the first.
Reb Blesofsky was actually pleased with the match, despite the reasons for which he’d originally gotten involved. He had checked Paul out, and had learned that the boy hadn’t lied about coming from a wealthy family. The only snag was that Alfred Sims would probably sooner strangle the shodchin than give him a nickel.
Paul’s decision to see Chava again was partly because he’d heard that Rachel had gone out with Benjamin Frankel several times. He wasn’t acquainted with the young scholar everybody referred to as “Binny,” but he’d had more than an earful about the young man’s wonderful qualities. The word was that Rachel and Binny would soon be engaged, and Paul was starting to realize that he needed, somehow, to get on with his life.
On their second date, Paul and Chava both seemed more self-assured, for each knew that the other was now there by choice.
“You know,” Paul said, “things are much different in Crown Heights than I’d thought they were before I came here.”
She looked curious about what he meant.
They were sitting beside one another on a couch in the T.W.A. terminal at Kennedy airport. It was the middle of winter, and there were few indoor places for Hasidic couples to go. Bars and movies were verboten, so the airport was a popular spot.
Paul had borrowed a car from one of his teachers for the occasion. The rabbis in the yeshiva would do almost anything to help their students get married. It was a great mitzvah.
“I mean,” Paul continued, “I never realized how much of an outsider I would always be, no matter how hard I tried to fit in.”
“I know the feeling.” She almost whispered, as if she were talking to herself.
“You do?”
“Yes. In many ways, I’m also treated like an outsider.”
“How’s that?”
She hesitated for a moment, then said, “Well, my mother’s illness, which I’m sure you’ve heard about, and the fact that my father doesn’t make a lot of money. They discriminate against such things.”
Paul had known all this, of course, but it felt good having her share it. “That’s okay, my mother’s crazy too,” he said.
She was silent. At first, he thought he’d offended her, wondering how he could have been so stupid to say such a thing. She looked into his eyes; he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. And then she started to laugh. Relieved, he began to laugh too.
He told her the story of how he had become a Lubavitcher, offering frank details about his parents, and even mentioning that he’d seen a psychologist. He talked about his relationship with Rabbi Weissman—which had been dwindling as of late—and he also brought up Rachel. Of course, he downplayed his interest in Rachel, describing his feelings only in the past-tense.
Chava talked about her fa
mily as well. She, too, was an only child, and her father had to work very hard to support her and her mother, especially with the psychiatric bills. “He often has to work so late at the store, he doesn’t get home till after ten. That’s why you haven’t met him yet.”
“And why haven’t I met your mother?”
“These days she doesn’t get out of bed much,” she said sadly.
Paul didn’t know how to respond. After a few seconds of silence, he noticed an airplane pulling out toward the runway. “Come,” he said gently, standing up, “let’s go watch the planes.”
She looked at him and smiled. It was one of those moments in which ordinary people might have shared a kiss or a tender touch, but such was forbidden for unmarried Hasidic couples. The smile would have to do.
By her fifth date with Binny Frankel, Rachel Weissman knew she was running out of time. In Hasidic circles it was expected that a man would propose marriage at this point. Prolonged courtship was frowned upon.
Rachel had known from the start that, by all objective standards, Binny was a catch. Fearful of hurting her parents, she’d played her role flawlessly. She would make the perfect wife.
“I want to live in a house, a big house,” he had said on their third date. “I want my children to have a lot of room to run around, as I had in South Africa.”
“Yes, I agree. Growing up in an apartment is less than ideal,” she had responded, without letting on that she’d felt slighted by his statement.
“It’s nice to have many children, a great mitzvah.” This he had said on their fourth date, adding, “I don’t believe in birth control. I know that there are some who practice it against the Rebbe’s ruling, but it is wrong to prevent what God intended.”
Rachel, too, wanted lots of children, as many as God would allow, for she had felt disadvantaged as an only child. She didn’t appreciate, however, the assumption that she would be home all day, caring for these children and the home.
It was time to set him straight about her aspirations. Even if it would end their relationship—which she didn’t want to happen—she had no choice, she could pretend no longer.
“Binny, there’s something I have to tell you.”
They were sitting in the same dairy restaurant they’d been to on their first date, at the very same table. He looked at her and realized that what she was about to say was serious. It was a blustery night, and there weren’t many people out. They had enough privacy to talk about anything, and he had had some plans of his own regarding a topic. But she had beaten him to it, and by the look on her face, his guess was that his agenda would have to wait.
“I want to go to college.” There, I’ve said it, she told herself. The act is over.
He was speechless, as if he hadn’t heard.
“Binny, I want to go to college, and I also want to go to medical school.” There was no way he didn’t hear that.
The dumbfounded expression left his face. “Oh,” he said, wearing his disappointment. “I see.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I…” She stopped herself mid-sentence.
“You?”
“I was afraid.”
“Afraid? Of what?” His tone was serene, but she could tell he was shaken.
“Of everything, I guess. I know that this changes things, that you probably won’t want to see me anymore.” She became tearful.
He didn’t know how to react. He felt deceived; he felt sad; he didn’t want to lose her. He had planned to ask for her hand that night. And now this. Suddenly, he began to swell with anger. How could you do this to me, he thought. “How could you do this to us?” he said.
She was silent.
He stared into space for a moment, then stood up and gathered his things. “Come, I’ll take you home,” he said, putting on his coat.
Without another word, she complied.
They left the restaurant, and kept silent as they walked the three blocks to her apartment. At the front door to her building, he politely said good-night. She could see that he was trying to control the hurt that she had brought upon him.
She kept back her tears, turned from him, and walked into the building. She stood, waiting for the elevator, flushed with anguish. And terrified of how her parents would react.
The following morning, the phone rang in the Weissman home at six o’clock. The rabbi was preparing to leave for the morning prayer service at the synagogue; Rachel and Hannah were still in bed. Hannah was awakened by the ringing, but Rachel had already been up, she hadn’t slept at all.
From her bed, Rachel was able to hear bits and pieces of her father’s end of the conversation. “Vhat do you mean?” “Yes, I see.” “Of course, I vill talk to her immediately and find out vhat happened.” “No, you didn’t disturb me at all.” “I vill certainly phone you as soon as I know something myself.”
After he hung up, Rachel overheard a conversation between her parents:
“Who was it?” her mother asked.
“Reb Blesofsky,” her father answered.
“Well, what did he want?”
“He said that it is ois shiddoch, the match is finished, over.”
“Ois shiddoch! How can that be? They seemed to like each other…”
“He said he didn’t know vhy, only that Binny had called him last night and told him it vas off. That’s all.”
Sometime during their conversation, Rachel had gotten out of bed, and had walked to their bedroom. She was now standing in the doorway. They looked at her, waiting for her to say something.
“I told Binny last night that I want to go to college. To medical school. To be a doctor.”
Lost in her own thoughts, she ignored their reactions. She held back her tears, and added, “I don’t think he wants to marry me anymore.” She stood there, almost dazed for a moment, and then began to cry.
Hannah jumped out of bed, went to her, and held her, trying to console her. Isaac remained seated on the bed, visibly shaken.
“Papa,” Rachel said, regaining her composure.
The rabbi didn’t answer.
“Isaac,” Hannah called out.
Still blank.
“Come,” Hannah said to Rachel, “we’ll go to the kitchen and talk there.” She began to escort her daughter to the kitchen when a faint voice said, “Vait!”
They turned and looked at the rabbi. “It vill be okay,” he said. “Vhatever you vant, Rucheleh, as long as you are happy. It vill be okay.”
He stood up, walked over, and held his arms out. Rachel stepped into his embrace, and wrapped her arms around him. They held each other tightly, wordlessly. Hannah watched, her heart feeling heavy. All that could be heard was their crying.
Standing in prayer, draped in his tallis and tefillin, Rabbi Isaac Weissman was unable to think of God. He yearned for the serenity that his prayers usually brought, but his mind was distracted, tormented by images from the past. He knew he couldn’t erase the images, he had tried to so many times and had failed. They were part of him, now and forever.
A room illuminated by candles; a familiar woman sitting across the table; a two year old boy sitting on his lap, tugging at him as he sang Sabbath melodies.
Flames from outside a window; a door burst open; soldiers storming in. A dark, crammed cattle car; a woman beside him; a boy in his arms.
Echoes of wailing; a line; hundreds standing in the cold; soldiers with guns; a man with a list in his hand.
A boy and a woman at his side; a man pointing to the left.
A woman and a boy being dragged away; a soldier’s hand against his chest; a struggle; screaming.
Darkness.
He tried to reach into the darkness, to bring back the boy and the woman, just as he had tried so many times before. But, as always, his mind was empty, blank. They were lost in the darkness.
Suddenly, he felt tightness in his chest. Difficulty breathing. He sat down in a chair, and one of the other men in the synagogue noticed he was sweating and pale. The man w
alked over to inquire if he was okay. Some other men saw what was happening and gathered around.
“It’s nothing,” he said, laboring to speak. “I’ll be fine, I…” He tried to catch his breath, but never finished the sentence.
He regained consciousness in the hospital, lying in a bed beneath a plastic oxygen tent, tubes in his arm and electrical attachments affixed to his chest. Through the tent he could see the distorted images of his daughter and wife standing beside him. He attempted to maneuver his hand outside the tent to touch them.
“Stop! Yitzchak. Just relax, don’t move,” Hannah said.
He complied, resting his hand by his side. Then he tried to speak, but couldn’t.
“Papa.”
He looked at Rachel.
“Don’t speak, Papa. You need to save your strength. You’re going to be okay.”
He managed a smile, more for her and Hannah than himself.
“Papa. I want you to know that I’ve reconsidered. I’ve thought about things, and I really don’t need to go to college or be a doctor.”
Her mother looked at her, astonished.
“I’m going to marry Binny, so don’t worry. I’m going to marry Binny, and you’re going to have plenty of grandchildren to look forward to. You just get well, okay.” She struggled to keep her smile.
He wanted to speak. To tell her that she didn’t have to do this for him, that he would live no matter what, that she shouldn’t blame herself for what happened. He wanted to say all this, and more, but was unable.
A nurse entered the room. “Oh, you’re awake, Rabbi Weissman. Good,” she said as she came around the other side of the bed. “Everything is going to be fine, you’ve had a heart attack, but you’re doing well and it’s going to be okay.” The nurse smiled reassuringly, turned to Rachel and Hannah, and added, “I think we need to let him rest now. The doctor will be in soon to check on him.”