Neshama
short story © 2019 by Matthew de Lacey Davidson
Friday Night. Sunset. For many, no cars are driven; no lights are switched on, nor off; dinners are prepared in advance; and some people actually get together to worship. While there are those who are more observant than others, all at least know the significance of the hour. So how is this Friday night different from all others?
Aaron met Andrea about five years previously while waiting in line at a second-run film theatre. In front of one of her women friends, Andrea started to get agitated about how she really didn’t like the star, nor the director of the film. Aaron just simply started talking to her and stated that, in his opinion, the director had created at least two films of some merit, and that perhaps the director might deserve another chance. He asked her whether she liked action films. She answered in the negative, and asked what he liked — to which the response came that it was small-budget or indie films, with some sort of interesting plot twist and/or unusual characters.
“Most men prefer lots of noise and violence.” Andrea expatiated.
“I’m not most men.” responded Aaron.
Points in common often point towards a connection, and so it was that Aaron asked Andrea out for the first time, and Andrea gladly gave him her telephone number.
The first time they went out together was at the local Art Museum. Works by Rembrandt, Renoir, Caillebotte, Feininger, Hopper, and O’Keefe sumptuously filled the eyes, becoming the focal-point for the afternoon. This, in turn, allowed the couple to focus away from each other, and thereby reduced the intensity of the occasion.
The second time they went out together, they found themselves at the local zoo — whereat Andrea discovered that Aaron had a penchant for small, red pandas — whose fluffy red tails look more like a cat’s, and whose whole build and demeanour is comparable to that of a dog’s.
After three or four more meetings together, Aaron finally discussed with Andrea about the possibility of going over to his mother’s house for dinner (his father having died some years before). This made Andrea quite nervous. “How do you know that she’ll even like me?”
“Well…she loves me, and you’re important to me, so there is no doubt in my mind that she will like you. The only thing to remember is that she is a little old-fashioned, so try to avoid mentioning that you stayed at my place or vice-versa, and everything will run smoothly.”
True to the prediction, Aaron’s mother (Rachel), it turned out, liked Andrea very much and went well out of her way to be kind and civil to her. However — at the end of the evening, when Andrea went to the washroom (just before leaving), Aaron turned to his mother and asked, “So, Ma — what do you think?”
She paused, knowingly; as long as there was silence, she momentarily held more power. “I think she’s a lovely girl, Aaron. She’s beautiful, she’s thoughtful, she clearly likes you very much…it’s just…”
“Yes?”
“It’s just too bad that she couldn’t be Jewish.” And when Andrea, a couple of hours later, asked him back at her apartment if his mother liked her, Aaron told her the truth.
Her response was — at first — a quizzical smile. “Really — like that matters in this day and age? If my parents were still alive, I’m sure they would actively discourage you from becoming Catholic, what with all the scandals in the priesthood.”
Aaron waited a second — then responded unblinkingly: “Actually — it sort of does matter.” Andrea looked at Aaron. It was a side of him which she had not seen before.
“So why is it so important, then?”
Aaron was quiet for a minute. “Well…maybe it’s just five thousand years of oppression that weighs so heavily upon us; and relatively recent attempts to do away with all of us and our religion still loom large. So, when a couple becomes closer, and the prospect of family life starts to appear, it begins to become important, because — traditionally, at least — you’re not Jewish unless you’re born of a Jewish mother.” Andrea raised her left eyebrow. Aaron responded, “Hey, I don’t make the rules, I just work here. And I guess after the Holocaust, there is always the fear that we will vanish, if not by deliberate actions, then by fewer and fewer of us holding onto the faith.”
Andrea looked at him thoughtfully. “Well…I can’t claim that I understand it very well from a cultural perspective — but if it is really that important to you, then I would convert to Judaism for you.”
Aaron smiled. He now knew that this was the girl whom he was going to marry. “My one stipulation,” Andrea continued, “is that we would work with a woman Rabbi.”
No words about marriage had been hitherto spoken — however, within a short period of time thereafter, Aaron proposed and Andrea accepted. They met several Rabbis until they agreed upon one with whom Andrea felt comfortable. Many, understandably, did not feel that marriage alone was a good enough reason, in and of itself, to convert to Judaism. But the last Rabbi felt that it was a good enough reason to start, and that she was sure that stronger feelings would follow.
Andrea chose her Hebrew name, and after a year, the conversion ceremony took place — to which only two other Rabbis, Aaron, Rachel, and Rachel’s only living sibling (her younger sister) were present. Andrea said some prayers in Hebrew and with the words of the Rabbi with whom she studied, she became a Jew. Aaron asked her how she felt about it afterwards, to which she responded that she felt Jewish. Shortly thereafter, she went to a mikveh.
The marriage ceremony took place in much the way that Aaron had told her — standing under the Chuppah — a large tent-like structure temporarily created in the synagogue for a wedding. They exchanged vows, circled each other seven times and placed their wedding rings upon each other’s right index finger. Once the ceremony was over, Aaron placed a light-bulb inside a thick handkerchief, and put his heel down hard upon it. A loud crack was heard — followed by shouts from those present of “Mazel Tov!”
A honeymoon took place; after which they both promptly returned to their jobs. The Rabbi with whom Andrea worked to convert became old and frail; retired, then moved away. Andrea spent quite a bit of time looking for another synagogue. She visited Reconstructionist, Conservative, and Reform Schuls in the hope of finding a good match. Unfortunately, many of the same disconcerting patterns of conduct presented themselves at each.
Until, finally, we return once more to the Friday night mentioned at the beginning of our story. The service goes as expected; the Rabbi stands by the bimah; the d’var Torah is read; the Torah is carried from and back to the Aron HaKodesh, and the Oneg Shabbat is served in the basement of the Temple afterwards.
At every point during the evening, the congregants come up and greet Aaron, and, for the most part, completely ignore Andrea. When they do speak to her, it is with rather a patronising tone. She is told that parts of the service will be “in Hebrew as well as in English!” and that it is customary for the service to last “almost ninety minutes!”
While eating some of the food after the service, Aaron hears a loud noise from the other side of the room. The commotion is coming from Andrea — who turns and storms out of the basement. Aaron follows her quickly. When he catches up with her, she collapses on the stairs outside the Temple, and starts crying.
Aaron sits down beside her and touches her arm gently; he asks her what is upsetting her. With tears streaming down her face, she responds that she is tired of the manner in which the other congregants treat her at every Schul that they have visited. At each one she had been spoken to as if she were an idiot; one woman spoke very loudly to another that she couldn’t believe that “something like that” would be allowed in their Temple. Another woman called her Shiksa.
“She called me a thing, Aaron — a thing! And I was called a Shiksa!”
Aaron responded that the fact that she was speaking the way she was to Aaron, displayed that she was Jewish. “At least not isolating yourself from the community by calling the women ‘them’ like the wicked son.”
“You know, Aaron, I’m Jewish enough for Adolph flipping Hitler, but I’m not Jewish enough for those nasty old women at the Temple. I even recited the first lines of the Amida to the lady to whom I was speaking, and she just smiled vacantly at me like a born-again Christian without the Jesus. She made me feel like a performing monkey!”
“You have something against performing monkeys?” Andrea poked her finger into Aaron’s ribs as a response.
She continued, “Most of the people in the all of the synagogues we have visited have sneered at me because I’ve got blonde hair and blue eyes and I don’t quote-unquote look Jewish. What kind of perverse reverse discrimination is that? Am I supposed to look like some stereotype out of the film, Der Ewige Jude? Seriously!”
“Look,” responded Aaron, “many women would prefer to have blonde hair and blue eyes, so I don’t think you can claim oppression, at least, not over that point. And just because we’ve been through so many centuries of oppression, doesn’t mean that somehow all of us are just magically devoid of any prejudices of our own, or don’t behave in a cruel and ignorant fashion. Finally — seriously! You decided to become Jewish. Did you really think it would make your life easy?”
Andrea stopped crying and laughed a little bit. “No — of course not — but I was hoping that I would only suffer prejudice from non-Jews.”
Aaron thought for a minute, and then offered, “Some years ago, an old Orthodox Rabbi told me the following story:
“‘Once there was a very poor Jew who moved to a new town because he had to find work. The only Schul which was accessible was in an extremely wealthy neighbourhood. He tried to become a member of the synagogue, but couldn’t afford the membership dues. He petitioned the individuals running the synagogue for a reduction of the dues so that he could afford to join. However, he was constantly asked for proof of earnings; then for one bit of information, then another, then another, and indeed another. This behaviour continued for a very long time. Finally, after eight months, he was asked for yet one more piece of information. He got so frustrated that he walked out of the synagogue, sat down on the steps outside’ — much as you are now — ‘and burst into tears. Suddenly — G-d appeared before him. The poor Jew stopped crying. G-d asked him, ‘Tell me — why are you so upset?’ The poor Jew said, ‘I’ve been trying to get into this Schul for EIGHT MONTHS, but those in charge REFUSE to let me attend Shabbat service.’ G-d thought for a minute, and replied, ‘You know I’m not surprised, and I empathise deeply. I’ve been trying to get into that synagogue for YEARS!’”
Andrea laughed out loud at Aaron’s dead-pan delivery. After calming down, she eventually padded her eyes with a tissue supplied by Aaron, took out a small mirror, and said, “Look at me — I’m a mess! I have mascara running down my face.”
“You look beautiful to me, Neshama.”
“What does that mean — Neshama?”
“Well…it’s Hebrew…”
“Du-uh — I figured that out.”
“It literally means soul — but when applied as a term of endearment, it’s a little like ‘darling’ only stronger — more like, ‘soul-mate.’” Aaron paused for a second then looked down at the street from the steps. “You know, Andrea, I love you, my mother loves you (and she’s a very critical person), her sister loves you, G-d loves you, and you’re Jewish enough for all of us, and that’s the only thing that matters. Look at the sidewalk — I’m beginning to see little drops of rain. It’s time to put up your umbrella before we get wet and catch cold.” He stands up, and stretches out his hand to her. “C’mon — let’s go get coffee somewhere.”
With that, Andrea stands up as well, and they start walking down the street towards the subway — with their umbrellas raised — as Aaron puts his strong, muscular arm around Andrea’s waist. The street begins to shine with slick moisture.
