Christmas for Joshua - A Novel (25 page)

“
Thank God.” Rebecca said. “It was a close call, but Mordechai came through. I think they’ll be alright.”

“
The real question is: Do you think they’re going to obey Torah now and become one flesh in a more physical manner?”

“
You could learn from him. About trust.”

“
Why do you say that? I’ve never betrayed your trust in any way whatsoever!”

“
What you’re doing to me now is the worst kind of betrayal.”

“
That’s unfair.” Rather than anger, I felt weak, deflated. But this was the discussion I had been waiting for, so I stuck with it. “You’re the one who wants to change our whole life. You want to leave behind our friends and community, our home, even my job. You’re the one who wants to change everything, turn us into Brooklyn black-hats.”

“
Don’t exaggerate. We’ll be modern Orthodox, wear normal clothes, live a normal life, work and study just like everyone else, but we’ll also keep the Jewish traditions.”

“
Those rules aren’t traditions. Traditions are optional, charming, heartwarming customs. Halacha rules aren’t traditions, but constraints. They’re invasive laws and regulations of every part of your life. They’re meant to put you in a straight-jacket of arbitrary prohibitions.”

“
You’re so wrong!” Rebecca came closer to me, her eyes focused on me intensely. “Why can’t you see how much beauty exists in the observant lifestyle?”

“
Beauty?” I almost laughed.

“
Yes, beauty! The Sabbath is an incredible day—no phones, no e-mails, no TV, no business, no errands, no
to do
lists. Nothing is allowed to violate the purity of the Sabbath, so we can gather with friends for uplifting services, dine with family and friends at home with no interruptions. And the holidays? Think how nice it would be to celebrate each holiday with Debra and her family, to become part of a community of Jews who participate in synagogue life not only on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, but every holiday, every Sabbath, even every day. We will…
belong!
”

“
You sound like a missionary.” I paused, feeling lightheaded, as if the blood had drained down from my head, and my legs became heavy. “This idyllic picture of Orthodox life is painted by your nostalgic feelings. If that lifestyle was so wonderful, you wouldn’t have left it to marry a shaygetz.”

“
I wouldn’t have married you if I knew you’d betray me like this.”

“
What? Who’s betraying whom?”

“
When we married, you promised that we would have a Jewish home.” She went into the living room and pointed at the tree. “This is a breach of our marriage vows!”

“
Do you hear yourself?” I sat on the sofa, not only because my legs were wobbly, but in the hope of steering her toward a calmer discussion. “This stuff is nothing but a conversation piece.”

“
That’s what you want? A conversation?” Instead of sitting down to discuss our differences, Rebecca crossed the room, grabbed a branch, and pulled as hard as she could, sending the whole tree crashing down. It hit the coffee table, breaking it in half.

I tried to speak, but a lump formed in my throat.

She tore the socks off the mantle and grabbed Debra’s teddy bear, stripping it. The Israeli hat and scarf flew toward me.

Standing up, I held on to the wall while the room, blinking in blue and white, spun around me like a carousel.

“
You’re happy now?” Rebecca sobbed, hugging Debra’s teddy bear to her chest. “Take all your…Christmas junk…and have a conversation…with the garbage dumpster!”

A Holly Jolly Christmas

Here I was again, driving with a tree in the back seat, aimed skyward like an anti-aircraft gun. The broken coffee table was strapped next to me in the passenger seat. Between the physical exertion of cleaning up and the crushing disappointment in Rebecca’s rejection, I perspired heavily. It didn’t help that the midday sun was baking me in slow traffic. The pain in my chest wasn’t only mental, but a vacuous sensation that made me realize that I hadn’t eaten yet today. Was I developing an ulcer? There was a bit of water left in a bottle between the seats, and I gulped it.

When I finally reached the 101 Freeway and could speed up, I stuck my head sideways into the wind and took in all the air my chest could hold. The indigestion discomfort passed, and I felt more optimistic. True, another round had ended in defeat. But the battle wasn’t over. I had an idea that would blow everything out in the open.

Finding my destination on University Boulevard in Tempe, I was surprised by the size of the operation.
Lights4U
wasn’t the cute little outfit its name implied. The warehouse had a row of loading docks, five of them occupied by medium-sized trucks that carried the company’s name. I parked, carried the pieces of the coffee table to a large garbage bin, and went into the office.

Several desks, ringing phones, and at least ten people filled the office. A plastic partition cordoned off a corner, where a bearded man with a ponytail and tattooed arms examined a wall-mounted board with color-coded columns and numbers. When I entered, he turned to me, showing a hairy chest through his unbuttoned, sleeveless shirt.

“Like your tattoo. Marine corps?”

“Second battalion.” He measured me up and down. “How about you?”

“VA Medical Center.”

“You’re a doc?”

“Christian Dinwall. I fix hearts.” Noticing a Harley Davidson poster on the wall, I asked, “That’s your ride?”

“Used to be.” He limped around the desk and shook my hand. “I’m Roy. What can I do for you?”

“Christmas decorations. I need lots of lights. Massive. Colorful. Striking. The best you have.”

“
You want the works?”

“
That’s right.”

“I’ll put you down for next year.”

“
My party’s tonight.”

He pointed at the board. “It’s Christmas Eve, for Santa’s sake! We’re struggling to finish the jobs we’ve already promised to folks.”

I pointed at his leg. “Who took care of you?”

“The surgeon?” He scratched his beard. “Dr. Finestein.”

“He was the best orthopedic surgeon we ever had.”

“Was?”

“Parkinson’s disease.” I extended my hand, spreading my fingers. “Our worst enemy.”

“That’s too bad. He was a good doc.”

“
He still is, only he’s limited to diagnostics and rehab work.” I looked around. “Since I’m here already, can you show me the place?”

Roy beckoned me. “Come.”

The content was predictable—boxes of wires, various lighting setups, balloons, wire mesh animals and sleighs, and fake trees in modular parts, pre-arranged with colorful stars and figurines. There was everything one would expect to see in a place specializing in Christmas decorations. But what shocked me was the enormity of it all. There were hundreds of boxes, sorted out with hand-written labels, as well as huge shipping containers on wood pallets. At least fifty employees worked in the warehouse, some driving forklifts, others loading the trucks with supplies while supervisors in company t-shirts marked off their packing lists.

“
Impressive,” I said. “Are all these guys family members?”

He shook his head. “I only hire veterans.”

“
Caucasian
veterans.”

“Not true. I got a couple of black guys.” He pointed. “But no Mexicans. Nothing against them. Actually, Latinos are hard workers, good guys for the most part. But with the anti-immigration frenzy going on, I can’t take the risk.”

“
You can hire documented Latinos, check their papers, make sure they’re legal here.” Even as I said it, I thought of Jose, our synagogue custodian. We’d never asked to see his papers, which he probably didn’t have. Like many other employers in Arizona, we preferred to pay our Mexican laborer cash wages without payroll taxes while enjoying the dedication, the long hours, and the gratitude for the opportunity we gave him, a father of five who was determined to make a life for his kids, give them a chance at the American dream.

“
I tried,” Roy said, “hired only Mexicans with work permits. But one afternoon, the sheriff’s department raided us and arrested a bunch of them. It took two or three days for my guys to prove that they’re in this country legally, that their papers weren’t fake or anything. Out of forty-three arrested, thirty-eight were eventually released. But I lost a fortune.”

“
That’s too bad.”

“
Look, my business is labor intensive. With a bunch of employees suddenly taken off the job, I had to cancel deliveries, lose deals, lose customers, lose reputation, and my competitors picked up the business because I couldn’t deliver. So, no more! Only an idiot hires Latinos these days. It’s not worth it, you know?”

“Proves the law of unintended consequences.”

“
You bet.”

I pointed at a truck that seemed almost ready to leave. “How big is this job, for example?”

“An insurance company on the west side of town. Standard stuff.” He shrugged. “Our best customers want the glitz up at least a month before Christmas. But we always have a bunch of last-minute projects.”

“
Like this one?”

“
Mostly corporate parties. They rent a place for the night and hire us to decorate. Stuff’s up in the evening, down the next day. These are the last ones. We’ve been going full speed for a month now.” He gestured around the warehouse. “That’s why I need to stock up on inventory.”

“
How much is this job?” I pointed at another half-loaded truck. “I’m just curious.”

Roy beckoned a woman from inside the back of the truck. “Pinky,” he tapped on her writing board, “what’s the total on this one?”

“
Six thousand bucks,” she said. “It’s all external lighting and ornaments. I threw in some extras, you know, Christmas spirit and all.”

They laughed, and I asked, “Is this a corporate party?”

“
A law firm.” She looked at her notes. “Berger Henkin Ginsberg and Strauss.”

“
I’ll pay you double what they’re paying.”

They looked at me.

“
Usually it’s me who takes care of other people’s emergencies.” I glanced down at his leg. “But today it’s my emergency.”

“
That’s a new one,” Pinky said. “A Christmas emergency?”

“
It’s a long story,” I said, “but the bottom line is that this Christmas could save my family. Or destroy it.”

Roy looked at me, and when he realized I wasn’t joking, he said to Pinky, “Screw the lawyers. Do the doc first.”

It was late in the afternoon when the little convoy, comprising my Volvo and the
Lights4U
truck, arrived at the synagogue. It was not an imposing building. Rather, its design aimed to complement the desert topography with soft, earthy tones, using sandy plaster, natural wood, and aged copper. On one side it bordered a rocky drainage wash that ran with flash floods only a few times a year, saving the neighboring golf course from turning into a grassy swamp. On the other side of the synagogue was a Montessori preschool and, next to it, a church that shared with us the good services of Jose, as well as a host of donated gardening and maintenance tools he used daily in both houses of worship. We also accommodated each other’s overflow parking needs, which rarely fell on the same day, again thanks to Jose, who kept
Additional Parking
signs that he propped with the arrows pointing in this or that direction, depending on whether the particular holiday was Jewish or Christian. Tonight, for example, we planned to adjourn our Sheva Brachot dinner no later than 10:30 p.m. in order to accommodate the church’s Midnight Mass.

Pinky and her crew of three stepped out of the truck and looked around, clearly confused by this surprise destination. She must have assumed the job was intended for my home, but correcting her mistaken assumption back at the warehouse would have required a great deal of explanation. It was a safe guess that Pinky and her crew had never put up Christmas decorations at a synagogue.

I honked a few times to alert Jose, got out of the car, and approached Pinky. “Pretty straightforward, isn’t it? Our maintenance guy will show you the electrical hookups and anything else you need.”

“Isn’t this a Jewish temple?” Pinky came closer to me so she could speak out of her crew’s earshot.

“
That’s right.”

“
What’s going on, Doc?”

“Don’t worry. It’s all kosher.”

“Hey, I don’t want any trouble.”

“
No trouble. I’m the president of the congregation. And on top of it, I’ve rented the Gathering Hall for a party tonight. My daughter got married on Sunday.”

“
Congratulations.” She didn’t seem convinced. “You want me to dress this place up for Christmas?”

“Over here!” I beckoned Jose over and introduced him to Pinky.

They shook hands.

“
How’s the preparations for the party?”

“Food people are in back,” he said, “making tables, plates, flowers. Very good.”

Pinky asked him something in Spanish, which I didn’t understand.