The Instructions (80 page)

I arrived at the stoop before I could decide which kind of love was truer. I arrived at the stoop and saw Esther looked pretty—

Portman-pretty, not Mathilda-pretty—and I saw that the truer love was the kind where you don’t want to be with any other girls even when they’re pretty like Natalie Portman.

Because Esther had already called me the night before and I didn’t care anymore whether she wanted to get back together, I 740

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started a conversation with her. I said, You’re shivering.

“I’m cold,” she said.

I said, Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?

She said, “Can I wear yours?”

What’s wrong with yours? I said, taking mine off.

“It’s inside,” she said.

I said, Why don’t you just get it? I said, I’ll get it for you. I said, Wear this while I get it.

I held my jacket out to her.

“Why are you so mean to me?” she said.

Mean what? I said. I just offered to get your jacket for you, I said. And I offered to let you wear my jacket while I got yours. I said, Why don’t you just wear my jacket?

I blinkered my jacket.

“I can get my own jacket,” she said, leaving me holding my jacket out for no one.

I waited a minute for Esther to return before giving up and going inside. I hung my jacket on the coat tree.

Rabbi Salt sat at his table in the study, poring over Zohar. “You too, Gurion?” he said. I thought of the loss of faith in me he’d revealed in his letter to Brodsky, but then he rose and squeezed my shoulders and by the time he’d let go, the thought had disappeared.

And that’s how I preferred it, for everything between us to be as it seemed. “I’m asking you,” he said. “Have you been conspiring with my wife? Are you being used? It only takes two, you know—

a conspiracy—and she’s already got my doctor in her pocket. She 741

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wants to make a conspiracy, she doesn’t need
you
, boychic. So what?

Is she trying to make a patsy of you? Does she think she can make of Gurion Maccabee a patsy? How dare she even.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about, but he wanted a straightman, so I played one.

I said, I’m no patsy!

“And the coffee?” he said.

Usually I brought a carafe to the study with me, but on the way to the study I’d heard Esther in the kitchen and skipped it.

I don’t know from nothing about no coffee, I said.

“Exactly,” said the Rabbi.

That was the end of the routine.

The Rabbi said, “Seriously—do you not want any coffee? I tell my wife I drink coffee with you so late in the day because it would be rude to leave you drinking it by yourself, and that used to be true—that used to be why I drank coffee so late, but now, come Wednesday at six-thirty, I find that I hanker for coffee. It’s like the story of the Shabbos Non-Smoker, but in reverse… You know that story?”

Yes, I said.

“Yes you want coffee or yes you know the story?”

Both, I said.

“Let me hear you tell it,” he said. “In the kitchen.”

We went to the kitchen for coffee, and Esther was at the counter eating grapes. Her father said, “What a nice-looking bunch of grapes.”

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“Try one,” she said. She plucked a single grape from the bunch, handed it to him, then went to the living room with the rest.

“Do you want it?” said Rabbi Salt.

No, I said. Then we fixed coffee and I told him the story he’d asked for:

The Shabbos Non-Smoker was a Hasidic tzadik who smoked two packs a day, except on Shabbos, when he smoked no packs a day, because lighting fires is a kind of work and working breaks the Sabbath. Because the man never smoked on Shabbos, he never craved nicotine on Shabbos. One day he was arrested in Eastern Europe. He was held alone in a basement cell for years, awaiting execution. Every so often, a guard would bring him his meals, but none of the guards would tell him what time it was, let alone what day. The guards wouldn’t speak to him at all. To stay sane while awaiting his execution, he needed faith, but to maintain faith he needed to observe the Sabbath. To observe the Sabbath, he needed to first know when it was, and because he didn’t crave cigarettes on Shabbos, he knew when it was, so he stayed sane til they hung him.

The story was a bobe-mayse, but it got told a lot. There were two different, conflicting, points the storyteller could use the story to make. The first point was that the Sabbath is one of the greatest gifts Adonai gives us, and we should never forget it—that even while you await execution, the Sabbath, if you honor it, will provide you with a level of peace and dignity that you couldn’t otherwise experience.

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The second point the story could be used to make is that it’s foolish, possibly even sinful, to place the Sabbath, or any religious practice, ahead of your life—the storyteller who wants to make this point stresses that the Shabbos Non-Smoker was executed
despite
keeping the Sabbath; that had the man not been so faithful to the Sabbath, peace would not have come upon him; that had peace not come upon him, he might have taken a guard out and tried to escape, which would have, even if the escape were unsuccesful, at least depleted the number of enemies of Israel.

The implications of this second point are that it is not sane to strive for the kind of sanity that will allow you to await your own execution peacefully; that if faith brings you peace and comfort, you’re a sucker—that you must struggle to make sense of faith; that Adonai would prefer killing you Himself to having you die at the hands of men, and that he wants you to fight for the privilege to be killed by Him; that to risk likely death at the hands of men in order to save yourself from assured death at the hands of men is to act the way Adonai wants you to act—that He will like you better if you risk your life to save your life, and He will therefore be more likely to help you if you do so.

And so it is always better to force the issue. It is always better to place your faith in your ability to save yourself from men than to have faith that Adonai will save you from men. To be favored by Adonai, you must first truly love Him, yet to truly love Adonai you must love your life more than Him.

In the kitchen with Rabbi Salt, I drove the story toward the 744

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second point.

He said, “You’ve made it your own.”

Not good? I said.

He said, “It’s a bobe-mayse—it’s not scripture.” = “Do what you want with the Shabbos Non-Smoker.”

Back in the study we drank coffee, read Rashi.

Eventually the Rebbetsen knocked and said we had twenty minutes til dinner, but the Rabbi closed his Chumash anyway.

“What was this business with the grape before?” he said. “My daughter’s upset with you?”

He and I never talked about Esther and I, but I knew the two of them did, so I decided it wouldn’t be ratting to talk about us.

She’s upset, I said, but she won’t be for long. I said, We weren’t speaking for a while because we broke up and I didn’t want to break up, but now I understand it’s much better that we broke up, so we agree now and should soon be able to speak again.

“I see,” he said. “And what made you change your mind?”

I said, I haven’t told Esther yet, and I don’t know if I should, but I’m in love with another girl. Eliza June Watermark.

Rabbi Salt said, “She goes to Aptakisic, this Eliza?” = “Is she as much a shiksa as her name would seem to indicate?”

I said, She’s an Israelite. Her parents aren’t, but she has an Israelite soul.

“She has a Jewish soul?”

You say that like it’s a weird thing to say. Her soul was at Mount Sinai when Torah was delivered. If that’s weird, then fine, 745

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but that’s what it means, and everyone agrees that that’s what it means. Her soul was there at Sinai when Torah was delivered, and therefore she has an Israelite soul.

“But how do you know she has a Jewish soul if she doesn’t have a Jewish mother?” said Rabbi Salt. “How do you know that her soul was at Mount Sinai?”

I said, I converted her.

The Rabbi grabbed his lapels and laughed.

It’s true, I said.

“For the sake of argument, let’s say you, Gurion Maccabee,
did
have the power to perform a conversion on someone,” he said.

“This person you say you’ve converted is still a child, meaning she still lives with her Gentile parents, and therefore no one in the community would consider the conversion legitimate.”

I said, Well,
my
parents aren’t observant—their household isn’t kosher, we don’t keep Shabbos. Still, you’d never deny that I’m an Israelite.

“You’ve been provided with a strong Jewish education,” he said.

And I am happy for my education, but if having a Jewish education is what makes a person an Israelite, the vast majority of Israelites would be Gentiles.

“You’re right,” said the Rabbi, “the family and the education are beside the point in this matter. A Jew born a Jew is always a Jew. It’s simply not the same for Gentiles.”

I agree, I said. I said, But June’s an Israelite, not a Gentile.

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“If her mother is a Gentile, then June is a Gentile. It’s very simple.”

I said, But her soul—

“She can have as much Jewish soul as Barbara Streisand, yet she’s been born into a Gentile family, so she’s not a Jew until she’s been converted and the conversion is recognized by the community. That’s how it is.”

I said, I don’t know that that’s true.

“Then why did you attempt to convert her, Gurion? If you believe she’s Jewish regardless of what your community thinks, why even bother?”

Are you angry at me? I said. I said, Your voice just got—

“I’m not angry,” he said. “Frankly, I’m a little worried.”

I said, We’re having a conversation—don’t be worried. I’ll convince you I’m right.

“You won’t convince me, Gurion. It’s you who needs convincing—that’s why I’m worried.”

I remembered his letter, the end of his letter, the part where he wrote that I needed repairing, that Brodsky could
fix
me… I was talking to a man who’d believed I’d been broken, who’d believed I’d stay broken were I kept in the Cage for over two weeks, and now, ten weeks later, I was still in the Cage. What now did he believe? What now did he imagine he was he doing here with me? Charity work? No, I thought. Not charity work. Remember who this man is, I thought. This is Rabbi Avel Salt. Your favorite teacher ever. He has always had your back, never been condescend-747

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ing; he’s not acting condescendingly now, so calm down. Were he condescending now, he wouldn’t voice his doubts to you. He’d let you live in what he thinks is a fantasy, rather than trying to end that fantasy. He’d say, “Fine, June’s an Israelite, if that’s what you think.” And that’s not what he’s doing. Instead he’s voicing doubts. But doubts aren’t certainties; they’re not assertions of wrongness, just questions of rightness. Doubts you can deal with.

Doubts you can remove. That’s something you’re good at.

I was sure I would convince him.

Zipporah, I said. I said, What about Zipporah? She was raised by Gentiles, and it doesn’t say anywhere that Moses converted her, let alone in front of any community, yet no scholar has ever said that she wasn’t an Israelite, not even
before
Torah was delivered—and he
married her
before
the Torah was delivered,
had
kids
with her before—

“Different times,” said the Rabbi.

That’s never the right answer, I said, and you know it. I said, Anyway, times weren’t so different. There was no king in Israel then, and there’s no king in Israel now.

“Then how about this: You’re not Moses.”

You’re
angry at me, I said.

“Because I say you’re not Moses, you think I’m angry?”

I said, It’s the way you said it. I said, You said it like: ‘Who do you think you are, Gurion? You’re not Moses.’ You said I’m not Moses like I don’t know I’m not Moses. You said it like I think I’m Moses. I
don’t
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Moses thought he was any kind of Moses—not when he married Zipporah. And he
wasn’t
really Moses when he married Zipporah, not the Moses we know. He hadn’t led us from bondage. He hadn’t transcribed Torah. And he didn’t even know that he would. Adonai hadn’t told him anything about that stuff.

Moses was just an outlaw and a fugitive from Egypt. He was hiding in a desert. His greatness was only potential.

“But who is to say, Gurion, that Zipporah would have been accepted as a Jew if Moses had not eventually made actual his potential greatness?”

Fine, I said.

“Fine?” he said. “You’re telling me
fine
?”

Yes, I said.

“You’re saying ‘fine’ and ‘yes,’ but at the same time you’re giving me the Bob Dylan routine.” He meant about how I’d pulled my hood on.

I said, I have to think.

“What do you have to think?” said Rabbi Salt. “What do you need her to be Jewish right now? If you marry her, it won’t be for years yet. Be friends for now—there is nothing wrong with that.

And if, years from now, when she’s no longer living with her parents, she still wants to convert? Baruch Hashem.”

I told her she was an Israelite, I said, and Adonai did not object.

He would’ve objected if her soul had not been there when Torah was delivered. And He would not fall me in love with someone who is not an Israelite.

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“This is not the kind of thing you can expect anyone to take your word for.”

I pulled on my hood-strings.

“Gurion,” said the Rabbi. “Gurion?” he said.

I said, It
is
the kind of thing I’d expect
you
to take my word for.