Christmas for Joshua - A Novel (4 page)

Driven by an urge to engage in physical activity, I went outside and unfurled the garden hose, pulling it toward the driveway at the front of the house.

A dark color wasn’t the best choice for a car in the desert. It absorbed more of the sun’s heat and showed even the thinnest layer of dust. But I liked the way my Volvo looked in midnight-blue. It was a handsome car whether the hardtop was up or folded away.

I set the sprayer to medium pressure and watched with satisfaction as the water washed away the dust. With quick, round motions I toweled off the drops before they had a chance to form white stains on the paintwork.

Panting and a bit sweaty, I went back inside, where Rebecca had a glass of iced tea waiting for me on the kitchen counter. She had tied her black hair in a high ponytail and was cutting fruit for a giant platter—our contribution to tonight’s holiday dinner at the Brutskys. Her hands moved efficiently, the muscles on her forearms pronounced under her smooth skin. I drank half the glass, watching her.

She smiled. “What? I look like Julia Child?”

“
Julia Roberts,” I said, “on her best day.”

“
Yeah, right!” Rebecca lifted a watermelon and set it on the cutting board. “Everyone is very excited. Miriam promised that she and Aaron will make the trip to New York, no matter what. The others weren’t sure.”

“
Late December isn’t the best time for a short-notice wedding. And anyway, who would want to travel from Arizona to the northeast in December?”

“
I still can’t believe it.” She used a large knife to break the watermelon in half. “We’re marrying off our daughter!”

“
I would like to meet the groom beforehand.”

“
You just did.”

“
I would have preferred a three-dimensional encounter.” I gulped down the rest of the glass and set it down. “And why did she keep the relationship secret?”

“
Because she’s just like you.”

“
Me?”

“
Keeps everything bottled up inside until you’re absolutely certain it’s ready to be shared.” Rebecca tossed a piece of watermelon skin at me. “But I knew something was up with her. When we spoke last week, I could tell—”

“
Is she pregnant?”

“
Don’t be ridiculous. He’s observant, for God’s sake!”

“
He’s a guy. The black yarmulke covers his head, not his—”

“
Orthodox men don’t sleep with their fiancée before the wedding.” She landed the blade too hard, spraying red juice. “It’s forbidden!”

“
Let’s send him a photo of you with this bloody knife, just in case.”

Rebecca pointed it in my direction. “Watch it, buster!”

I made like I parried her jab.

She returned to slicing the watermelon. “Don’t you think they look happy?”

“
For now, yes.” I picked a piece off the cutting board. “But what if after the wedding she discovers he’s lousy in bed?”

“
Good sex is a byproduct of a good relationship, right?”

“
Yes, dear. But still, they barely know each other. And she’s changed, all this Orthodox stuff. Did you notice how she kept looking at him for approval?”

“
She’s in love. And who can blame her? He’s so handsome. Did you see his eyes?”

“
All I saw was teeth. He’s like a big bad wolf.”

Rebecca laughed. I gave in and joined her. We had raised Debra to make her own decisions. It had paid off during high school, as she fended off peer pressure to engage in unsavory activities. But three years in New York had given Debra independence that was both reassuring and painful.

“
So,” I said, “the rush to marry isn’t about the old rabbi. It’s about abstinence. They’re dying to jump into bed.”

“
Kosher sex!” Rebecca gave me a long, wet kiss that cheered me up.

I drew the Blackberry and typed a task with my thumbs:
Clear schedule in late Dec., contact patients, arrange coverage, etc.
“Looks like I’ll have to work around the clock from now until the wedding.”

“
What else is new?”

We put on helmets and gloves and went for a bicycle ride along a path that dissected the City of Scottsdale lengthwise. We stopped at the manmade lake at Chaparral Park, drank a bottle of Gatorade each, and did some stretching before heading back. The heat usually peaked in the afternoon, and if not for the rare layer of patchy clouds, it would have been too hot for me to ride. Rebecca didn’t mind the summers, but I had not acclimated despite all the years in Arizona and waited longingly for November, when daytime temperatures finally dipped under 80 degrees.

But it wasn’t November yet, and the heat soared with the departing clouds. We rode back on the same path, Rebecca leading the way, pumping the pedals, glancing over her shoulder occasionally to see that I was still there. Her ponytail was threaded through the back strap of the helmet and shifted left and right with the movements of her head.

At the underpass by Indian Bend Road, I tried to get ahead. Her butt immediately came up from the seat as she sped up, yelling, “No, you won’t!” I laughed too hard to give it my all, so I fell back and followed the beacon of her ponytail all the way home.

It was a good workout, which helped me clear up the heaviness left by the wedding announcement. As we parked the bikes in the garage, I felt optimistic. Our Debra was smart and perceptive. She had always been more mature than her age, not one to make a hasty choice. Mordechai must be a very special guy, and I would accept him as a son—the son I had always wanted to have, or the son I had always wanted to be for that dashing Marine in the photo by my mother’s bedside.

Rebecca pulled me into the shower with her. “What’s bothering you?”

I described what had happened earlier with Mr. Gonzales.

“
You saved him.” She kissed my fingers. “With your magic wands.”

“
The medical result was good, but I shouldn’t have mentioned my father.”

“
Why not?”

“
First of all, it threw me off, emotionally speaking, which shouldn’t happen when I’m dealing with a possible emergency, when I need pure concentration.”

“
You’re human, even when you wear that Godly white coat.”

“
I rarely think about my parents anymore, so it was…jolting.”

“
He was an ass. Who’s going to fault you for being provoked?”

“
It’s not my job to win arguments with patients, especially not by exhibiting my personal life.”

Her hands cradled my face. “Your job is to diagnose and cure, and that’s exactly what you did while you also kicked him in the shin to stop his whining about Vietnam and to make him appreciate life.”

There was something about New York Jews that turned crude bluntness into refreshing candor. I put my arms around her. “Kicking is something I learned from you.”

“
Damn right!”

Our lips locked, and we hugged under the running water.

By the time we were ready to come out, feeble and satisfied, the water was lukewarm. I shut it off, and Rebecca wrapped a towel around us.

“
Not bad,” I said, “for the elderly parents of the bride.”

“
Youthful
parents.”

“
Okay. Gracefully mature.” I sighed. “But isn’t she too young?”

“
We were about the same age when you proposed.”

“
Just imagine Debra’s reaction if we started bawling like your parents.”

She slapped my butt. “They came around to love you.”

I paused, thinking, did they love me? Not at first, not during the early years, when we were a young couple living in Manhattan, studying and working and seeing very little of Rebecca’s parents. Following my graduation from Columbia Medical School, I had accepted a surgery residency in Phoenix, and we left New York with the intention of moving back a few years later. We joined the King Solomon Synagogue, and Rabbi Rachel Sher, then a fresh graduate of the Hebrew Union College, proved to be a gifted teacher who didn’t dodge my questions. As my love for Rebecca expanded to her heritage and faith, I considered a conversion to Judaism.

The main difference, as I saw it, was the question of Jesus. Was Mary a virgin? Was her baby the son of God or of the man she lived with? And had Jesus really died and come back to life? Reflecting on my teenage years, I had always doubted the tall tales of my mother’s unquestioning faith. Especially during college and medical school, when my scientific education made it harder to accept the biblical fables as factual, I had come to see Jesus as one of those well-intentioned biblical characters who got himself into trouble with the authorities. And when Rabbi Rachel explained that appreciating Jesus as a charitable, righteous Jew didn’t conflict with Judaism, my decision to convert was the next logical step. It took a few years for me to shed all remnants of my gentile underpinnings, but with time, I managed to laugh at Jacky Mason’s self-deprecating jokes, which poked fun at Jews’ own quirks. And after my mother’s sudden death, I lost contact with my relatives—much to their relief, I was sure.

But not all had been sunny for us in Arizona. Rebecca had several miscarriages before conceiving Debra, only to experience a high-risk pregnancy that kept her bedridden for months. As I was still in my training, her parents came and took turns at her side until Debra’s harrowing birth. By the time mother and baby were out of danger, Rebecca’s parents decided to stay in Arizona, and we did the same. They enjoyed their twilight years in Scottsdale, and our little girl enjoyed the spoils of doting grandparents, a privilege that neither Rebecca nor I had experienced as kids. Debra had spent many of her school vacations with them, wrote class papers based on their stories of Jewish life in pre-war Europe, and didn’t seem to mind their insistence on observing kosher dietary laws and no TV during the Sabbath.

A year or two before he died, at a dinner party celebrating my election as president of our synagogue, Rebecca’s dad was asked to give a toast. Leaning on his cane, Mel Greenbaum held up his glass of sweet wine. “To my son-in-law,” he said, “a good husband, a good father, and also…a good Jew.
Le’haim!
”

“
They did love you,” Rebecca repeated, more to herself than to me. “And we will love Debra’s husband as well.”

“
I’m not ready for her to have a husband,” I said. “What about her professional aspirations? Her independence? I don’t see how this Orthodox guy—”

“
He has a name.”

“
Do you think
Mordechai
will join her for services at King Solomon, with a female rabbi and a coed choir?”

“
For love he’ll do anything.” Rebecca rubbed lotion on her legs, which had remained as sculpted as they had been back at Columbia University. “But I think she’s more likely to embrace his traditions, and we should be understanding too.”

I lathered my face and began shaving. “Does she understand the practical implications of sharing a life with an Orthodox guy?”

“
She’s been attending an Orthodox synagogue in New York.”

“
That’s a social thing, not a religious choice. Student life is all about hanging out with friends, wherever they go. But in terms of faith, Debra’s like us, Reform through and through.”

“
Did you forget her summers with my parents?” Rebecca placed a long-sleeved blouse against her chest, looking at the mirror. “And he’s modern Orthodox, not a Hasid from Borough Park.”

“
He might as well be a Hasid.” I compared my sideburns, making sure they lined up with the middle of my ears. “The cultural gap between them is like the Grand Canyon.”

“
We managed, didn’t we?”

“
That’s different.”

“
Why?”

“
I converted to Judaism.”

“
And I gave up keeping kosher and observing the Sabbath, and I stayed home so you could pursue your career as a workaholic life saver.”

It was true. Rebecca had given up the Orthodox lifestyle and the tight community of her upbringing, as well as her aspirations for a doctorate in history and a teaching career. She had also supported my choice to continue practicing at the VA hospital, where I earned a fraction of the income I could be making in private practice.

“
Remember the Eskimo proverb we learned from the tour guide in Alaska?”

I nodded. It was one of Rebecca’s fondest quotes. My hands reached forward to grab imaginary reins as I recited dutifully, “
Compromise is the dog that pulls the marriage sleigh.
”

“
That’s right. Debra will keep kosher, and he’ll support her career. They’ll work it out.”

“
I hope.”

Rebecca gestured in dismissal. “Listen, she’s better off marrying Mordechai than some Thai guy who bows to Buddha and eats cats.”

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Rebecca and I arrived early at the synagogue and lingered in the foyer to shake hands and hug friends. Other than Yom Kippur, which was ten days away, Rosh Hashanah attracted the highest attendance. It was heartwarming to see everyone gather to celebrate the ancient holiday.