The Jewolic (6 page)

12

Chutzpah papa

Après dinner one fall eve, I meandered into the kitchen for some chocolate cake that I had stealthily secreted on the top shelf of the dinnerware cabinet to keep it safe from my siblings. I encountered my dad scouring through some brochures scattered over the dinette set.

“Cake?” I offered. It was the right thing to do.

He declined, so I thought it safe to approach.

“What are you doing?” I muttered
through masticated crumbs.

“Planning for down the road.” He looked up at me. “Way down the road. Way, way down the road beyond the horizon which one never reaches.”

“Not even if he walks fast?” I knew Pop was trying to sugarcoat whatever he was doing, but my job was to not make that easy.

“Not even if he walks fast.”

“How about running?”

“Nope.”

“In a car, on a rocket sled, in the Salt Flats?”

“Well,” he looked at me and smiled, “maybe in a car on a rocket sled.”

I scanned the brochures that lay in front of him; they all had peaceful photos of trees, clouds and cemeteries.

“Cemeteries?”

“Way down the road. Just planning. You know, sometimes in life you have to deal with unpleasant …”

“Are you going somewhere?”
Something was out of sorts. I didn’t know what.

“
Nope. I mean, eventually.”

“Beyond the horizon.” I picked up a brochure. It lay serenely in my hand. “Pick one with a view. No apartment buildings in the background.
And, no traffic. I would hate traffic if I had to listen to it all day, particularly underground.”

“Ok.” He swiped the brochure from
my hand. “Enough.”

“Sorry.
” I realized what had been bothering me. I scanned the brochures once again. “Dad, you realize that these are all Jewish cemeteries. Why are you looking at Jewish cemeteries? Are you going to convert? I think that it would make Gram very happy and possibly atone for your un-Bar Mitzvahed sons. She would probably invite you to one of her Friday night shindigs with the flaky cake thing and grape juice in fake wine glasses. I mean, if they have that down there. I mean, I don’t know if you’re allowed to serve fake wine. But, then again, you should be allowed to do anything you want. After all, what are they going to do to you, punish you? I think not.” I rambled uncontrollably. “Maybe you can get a plot near Gram, not right near her, maybe down the block. Play double solitaire. Not every day of course, I mean, you probably will have a million things to do when you get there. I bet canasta is very big there.” I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t know if it was the notion of Pop in a rocket sled venturing over the horizon into the unknown or his abrupt switch to Judaism.  I guess Gram’s passing left me more unnerved than I had thought.

“Sit.” He said.

I did.

“Relax. This is just planning for way down the road. He picked up two brochures and handed them to me.

“Which one do you like better? Beth Israel or Beth David?”

“Hmmm.
Both Beths. A classic Beth-Beth conflict. I once had a big conflict choosing between two Beths, except that one was named Susan and the other Eileen. Turned out that neither liked me anyway. But mox nix.” I stalled as I feigned perusing the brochures. I gently flipped through the glossy heavenly pages of pastoral serene tranquility. “Stay away from trees. I mean they are nice in the distance and give you good shade but, if you’re too close, you know, the roots… you know. Ok, what’s with the Jewish cemeteries? I thought that you were Catholic. Nonna and Grandpa are Catholic and I am a Jewolic: half Jew, half Catholic. I mean, it’s ok with me if you want to stay in the Jewish cemetery but…”

“Nonna isn’t my natural mother.”

I knew that. But she had been his mother and my grandmother since I was born. I never thought of her any other way.

“She’s my step mom. She’s my mom in every
respect but …”

“Not your natural mom.”

“Right. My real mom died when I was a boy.”

“I kinda knew that.”

“Her father was a rabbi.”

“Huh?”
I didn’t know that.

“And, she was Jewish
. And, according to the Jewish religion if your mother is Jewish, then you are Jewish.”

“
So I’ve heard.” I did a quick calculation. Pop’s natural mother was the daughter of a rabbi and by virtue of the combined
if your father is a rabbi, you are probably Jewish rule
, and
mother of the Jew rule,
Pop was actually a closeted Jew, which explained why his yarmulkes always fit so well.

“
So I am technically Jewish.” He stated proudly.

“So you were
kinda Catholic before.”

“Out of respect for Nonna and Grandpa. I mean I was raised Catholic.”

“Did it make a difference?”

“Not really. Mom and I celebrated both.  It mattered not.”

“Mox nix.”

“Mox nix.
” He played back.

So, my conundrum had been solved. My Jewolic state had existed in my mind only.
After my existence as a lone matzo ball floating in a minestrone soup, I realized that I had been a Jew all along. My dad had set the model for straddling religions that I unknowingly followed for most of my adolescent and young adult years. He had a plan, perhaps unconscious, that seemed to work for him. Clearly, he had not been conflicted as I was. Perhaps I should have asked.

Sometimes I
think that I am the bagel hole that Uncle Irving’s schmear fell through. But my oscillation was not for naught as I explored and questioned my options instead of just automatically deferring to my birthright.

S
o now as I lay on my bed staring at the real simulated wood grain wallpaper covering my ceiling, I begin to grasp that Gram was right all along. I removed the small pillow from under my head and studied the words that she most lovingly embroidered. I must a Jew because

Only Jews can be schmucks
.

# # #

About the Author

Ritch Gaiti is an author, an artist and a former Wall Street Executive. He focuses on telling compelling stories within a wide range of subjects and genres: from drama to suspense to humor, from fiction to non-fiction.

Ritch’s other published works include:


        
THE BIG EMPTY
,
(Sedona Editions, 2013), an ethereal mystery about a gritty lawyer who uncovers an ancient conspiracy.


        
DUTCHING THE BOOK (Sedona Editions, 2012), a fictional drama based on real people and events, delivers an absorbing story about horse racing and gambling in 1960’s Brooklyn.


        
TWEET, a fictional satire on marketing, advertising and consumerism. Recently, TWEET
has been optioned for a feature film.


        
POINTS: WOMEN HAVE THEM, MEN NEED THEM, a humorous relationship book which will help you through this marriages and all your future marriages (written under the pseudonym I. Glebe).

All books can be found on
www.RitchGaiti.com
.

Ritch has also written articles for magazines, including Private Wealth, Sidelines, Tango and Balance magazines and has been featured on national TV and radio, including a guest appearance on the Today Show, opposite Joan Rivers.

In addition to writing, Ritch is a recognized artist who exhibits regularly in galleries and museums across the country. His portfolio can be viewed on
:
www.Gaiti.com
.
He is also a recreational pilot and enjoys tennis and skiing.

To contact Ritch directly: [email protected]