Short Stories 

Born Yesterday

By Max Brown

“Get out of bed, dammit.” “Ralph, I can’t. Next, you’ll want me to get dressed.” I hadn’t been getting dressed lately. I sleep all the time. Ralph and the kids are getting tired of fast food for dinner. It’s been a month since Mom died ‒ and I can’t get over it. We were more like girlfriends than mother and daughter. We’d call each other three or four times a day, go shopping together; we had our own secret code words. Ralph has been supportive, but yesterday he told me that it was time to muster the courage to go back into her house and start sorting and pitching. He said that it might help me to stop grieving and start mourning ‒ moving on.
Today, I got dressed and drove through Mickey Ds for breakfast. Then I pulled up in front of Mom’s white two-story cookie-cutter suburban colonial. I had grown up there, and I thought I knew all about the house, where everything was ‒ all its noises. But I was a little afraid to go in. It took a few minutes for me to open the front door. When I did, the stale air rushed against my face. I stared into the darkness and wished Ralph had been with me.

I dug for my phone in my duffel bag of a purse. “Ralph, I can’t go in by myself. I know I shouldn’t be afraid, but I am.” After some back and forth, he agreed to come over.
We were amazed at how much stuff she had accumulated. While Ralph started sorting, I started with some basic cleaning ‒ you know, dusting and vacuuming, emptying the refrigerator. Avoiding the task of digging in. In the little closet under the stairs to the second floor, I found half-drunk bottles of sweet wine, Scotch, rum and vodka and a cocktail shaker. I wondered if they were Mom’s or Dad’s. Tucked behind the bottles was a box about the size of a cigarette carton. It was latched by a tiny pad lock. I wanted to break into the box, but Ralph had let me know that I was falling behind. I decided to get back to work and check out the contents after dinner.

That evening, I brought the box to the dinner table. Ralph easily broke the little lock. Inside were a few pieces of worthless costume jewelry and some locks of hair. And there was a sealed envelope. Nothing was written on the outside. I tore it open and found a yellowed document. The printed parts were in a non-English language that I didn’t recognize. The blanks were filled with strange hand-written words in unintelligible cursive.

Ralph said it was German. I asked why it was so funny looking. He said that the typeface was fraktur. He said, “It’s an old typeface. I believe the Germans stopped using it in the early 1940s except for official documents.” He had taken German in high school and I asked if he could translate? He couldn’t, but he suggested that I take it to the priest at St. Francis parish who was German.

St. Francis was a large active parish and Father Eric was hard to track down. After several phone calls, I finally got an appointment. “Come in. With what can I help you?”
“Father, I was cleaning out my mother’s house when I found this document. My husband thinks it is in German and maybe you could help translate.”

Unfolding the paper, he said, “Well my child, it is a birth certificate. This person was born on 20 May 1924, in Mannheim. The father’s name was Sigmund Sachs, a Hebrew, and the mother was Elisabeth Sachs, nee Myer, a Hebrew. And the child’s name is Rebecca, also a Hebrew. Are you Jewish, my child?”

“No, Father.” I was dumbfounded. Mom never said much about her sister, Rebecca. She said Rebecca had died young — maybe age 10 or 11. I wished Mom were still here to talk about this. When I told Ralph, his gaze made me shutter. “Ralph, what is it? What’s wrong? You’re looking at me in a strange way.”

“If your mom’s parents were Jewish and your mom’s sister was Jewish, then your mom was Jewish and, therefore, you are Jewish.”

It was like he threw freezing water in my face. I held my breath in shock. “But that can’t be,” I said. “Mom never said anything about being Jewish. We never did anything Jewish. Although I’ve never been much of a Christian. Growing up, we never went to church. Not even for Easter or Christmas. I thought maybe we were atheist. And we certainly never did anything Jewish.”
Always the devil’s advocate, Ralph said, “Is going to church what makes you a Christian?” “Well, that’s part of it, I suppose,” I said. “Is that all it takes to qualify you to be a Christian?” he added.
“What are you trying to say, Ralph?”
“I’m just saying ‒ if you and your family weren’t all that interested in church, maybe you all didn’t really want to know that much. Did you go to Sunday school? Did you go to Bible study classes? Did you do anything else that made you and your family Christians? Were you Baptized?”
“I suppose so.” But I didn’t know. “Ralph, what should I do? What can I do? If it’s true, I … I don’t know who I am.”

It was the middle of the night and I was wide awake ‒ staring at the ceiling. Why didn’t Mom say something? What else did she keep from me? How could Daddy keep it a secret from me, too? He always shared everything with me.
“Ralph, are you awake?” “Now I am.” “Okay. I’m really struggling with this. I need to find things out, but I don’t know where to turn. I didn’t know any relatives on Mom’s side of the family.
“How about your dad’s family?”
“My Dad’s family hadn’t talked to us for years. We rarely saw them. They were always rude to Mom … if this is true, now I know why.”
“Well, maybe you should reach out to them for some history.”

So, I did. I called Dad’s sister. “Hello, Aunt Faye? This is Nancy, Nancy Williams. How have you been? It’s been so long; I’d like for you and Uncle Bill to come over for dinner sometime soon.”
“I don’t know, Nancy. It’s difficult for Bill and me to get out now. We both have trouble with our knees, don’t cha’ know. And we’re both busy with church stuff. You still married to Ralph?”
“Yes, and he’d like to see the two of you, too. No matter how busy you are, you still need to eat. It wouldn’t be a late evening.”
“I’ll talk to Bill and let you know.”
It’s been two weeks since I called Aunt Faye and she hasn’t called back. Ralph said that I should call her again. Just then the phone rang. “Hi Aunt Faye. Ralph and I were just talking about not hearing from you.”
“Well, Bill and I decided that we will come to dinner, but we won’t stay late.”
“That’s fine. How about next Tuesday, say four o’clock? Great, see you then.”

Tuesday came and so did Faye and Bill. After a little chit chat, we started with a cocktail. Faye had a double martini and, at first, mellowed out. I turned the subject to my mother and asked Faye why she hardly visited her brother and my mother. She became belligerent and launched into a tirade. “I told your dad not to marry that dirty Jew. The Chosen People … ha! Chosen for what? That vermin thinks they were chosen to rule the world.”
“Whoa, you’re talking about my mother,” I yelled. Bill and Ralph just sat there dumbfounded. Faye said that she was sorry, but that’s just the way she feels. I said that she didn’t know what she was talking about. “My mother was one of the sweetest, kindest women I knew. She was generous and compassionate to everyone’s needs.”

“Maybe, but her PEOPLE are greedy, too ambitious and you can’t trust them. And they really stick together.”
“Aunt Faye, where is all that coming from? Have you known any Jews besides my mother?”
“She cut my brother off from the rest of the family,” Faye said. Uncle Bill spoke up. “Actually, the family cut your brother off,” he said. “Nobody in the family wanted anything to do with his Jewish wife.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Faye, I didn’t know your family was so hateful. I don’t think I can eat dinner with you. Please leave.” Faye got up in a huff and snatched her coat from my hand. I slammed the door behind them and broke down. Ralph tried to comfort me. He held me tightly and said that I was lucky that I hadn’t had much to do with them and that side of the family.
This hostility explained why our families didn’t visit much. But I wasn’t satisfied. It just ate at me. Ralph suggested that I investigate Judaism; maybe I’d find out why Faye was so hateful. “Ralph, you always have such great ideas. It’s no wonder I love you.”

But where to start. I went to the local book store. They didn’t have anything on Judaism. The owner suggested that I go to one of the big book chain stores. So off I went to Barnes & Noble.
I was shocked at how many different books there were about Judaism. There were dozens and dozens. Titles included Living Judaism; The Complete Guide to Jewish Belief, Tradition and Practice; Basic Judaism ‒ there was even The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Understanding Judaism. But I selected A Christian’s Guide to Judaism, by Michael Lotker.

I couldn’t wait to get home to start reading it. So, I bought a coffee and took a seat in the coffee shop and started reading. I was so absorbed in my reading; I didn’t notice the woman standing next to me. She finally tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention. “Thinking about converting?” she asked. I told her no. “Why did you buy that book, if you don’t mind me asking.”

I told her the whole story. She was amazed that my parents could keep it a secret from me for so long. She said that she had converted about 15 years ago. I asked her to join me because I had nothing but questions. She sat and said she’d be a happy to try to answer them. We introduced ourselves to each other ‒ her name was Rachel. She said she changed her name when she converted. “I was reinventing my life; therefore, I changed my name to change my destiny when I converted,” she said. “It’s the reason God changed Abram’s and Sarai’s names and when Jacob’s name was changed to Israel. She had answered a question before I even knew to ask it.

After about an hour and a half and several cups of coffee, I told her that I needed to get going. She agreed and suggested that I meet her for Saturday morning services at her synagogue. She said she never misses a Saturday, so whenever I decide to go, she’d be there.
By the time I got home I was so excited I couldn’t wait for Ralph to get home from work. I finished the book and took a little nap. The little nap turned into a long nap ‒ I didn’t wake up until Ralph came in the door. Which was just as well. I told him about meeting Rachel and I’d like to take her up on her invitation to meet her at her synagogue on Saturday. “Ralph, I’d be extremely nervous. Would you go with me?” He thought a few minutes and said that he would.

That Saturday we arrived at Beth Hillel just in time. I asked one of the men where Rachel sat. He said that she is a floor gabbai and sits in the first row on the other side of the sanctuary. “The first row? My God, I don’t want to sit in the first row. Everyone will know that we don’t belong here.” Ralph was just as disturbed as I was. But when we opened the sanctuary door, we saw that hardly anyone was there. I did see Rachel and we shyly went down the outside aisle.

When we reached the first row, Rachel saw me, jumped up and hugged me. I introduced Ralph and we took a seat next to her. I asked her what a floor gabbai was. She told me that people receive honors during the Torah service and that she had a list of honorees and that, at the proper time, she retrieves them and takes them to where they need to be. About three hours later, the service was finally over. Rachel told us to follow her for kiddush and we would have lunch.

We went to the dining room. It was quite crowded and a bunch of men were in one corner singing in Hebrew and then they each guzzled a shot glass of whiskey. Rachel took us to one of the buffet lines, we filled our plates then found a table. While we ate, people came by our table and Rachel would introduce us. About half the people walked around while they ate ‒ talking to as many as they could. The room became quite loud, and the people seemed so happy to see each other.

Finally, the rabbi came to our table. Rachel introduced us and said that this is the woman I told you about. The rabbi was especially pleased to meet me. He invited me to call his office on Monday and make an appointment to meet with him. I nervously said that I would. I turned to Ralph and said, “What am I getting myself into?”

I called Monday and made an appointment. He was so anxious to meet with me that he made it for the next day. Tuesday morning, I arrived at the synagogue. I had to be buzzed in. I found the rabbi’s office and took a seat in the outer office. The secretary announced me to the rabbi and he at once came out and shook my hand, and without letting go, he took me into his office. We met for more than an hour. He had so many questions ‒ almost as many as I had.
He said that he had another appointment, but that the synagogue was beginning an Introduction to Judaism class in two weeks. “The cost is $150, and it meets here every Wednesday at 7:00 pm for the next six months. If you would like to attend, I will waive the fee since you are already Jewish.” I said that the fee is not a problem and that I would like to attend. He said, “Wonderful. Now there are some in the class that are converting and some that are Jewish, knew they were Jewish, but didn’t grow up Jewishly. They know as little about Judaism as you do, so don’t be concerned about your level of knowledge.”

Six months of classes and I don’t mind telling you, I was floored by how much there was to learn. The big thing I learned was that Judaism isn’t just a religion ‒ it is a way of life. Ralph and I had a discussion following each class. He seemed thoroughly interested in what I was learning. After the first month he decided to join me in the class. I’m not good about asking questions, but Ralph was a champion. And the rabbi was genuinely happy to answer Ralph’s questions.

Ralph grew up as a Presbyterian and he said that he was never encouraged to ask questions about the religion or Christianity in general. He too was amazed at the depth of Judaism. Ralph signed up for another class at the synagogue. The class was a group of men who were studying the Talmud ‒ the body of Jewish civil and ceremonial law and legend. Ralph was astonished at the way the Jews argued about their religion ‒ even questioning God. When Ralph remarked about this, one of the men said that wrestling with God is not only normal but expected as part of one’s Jewish identity. In fact, the man continued, the word Israel means wrestles with God.

After a couple of months, I was becoming captivated by what I was learning and I told that to Ralph. At that moment, Ralph announced that he would be converting to Judaism. “Oh Ralph, are you sure?” “Absolutely. It’s been a long time since I’ve been so stimulated,” he said. I asked if he had told the rabbi and he said yes and that he was already on the path.
We both continued to study. A year and a half later, Ralph went through his conversion ritual. It was the first time I had ever seen him cry. He said it was a shame that my mother hadn’t been with us through all this. After his conversion, he said, “Let’s have a Jewish wedding.” Ralph is the kind of guy that jumps into things with both feet. At first, I wasn’t too keen on the idea. But the more I thought about it, the more I liked it.

We met with the rabbi who guided us through the expectations and rituals surrounding a Jewish wedding. The rabbi asked us what our Hebrew names were. We hadn’t thought about that. We asked the rabbi’s advice. He said that we should take on a name that reflects who we are. He added that, traditionally, Jews are named after a deceased ancestor. I though and thought. Then I said, my aunt Rebecca died during the Holocaust, could I take her name? He said that would be perfect. He said that I should definitely use her name. He said that the Hebrew form of Rebecca is Rivka ‒ I could use that. I agreed. My Hebrew name would be Rivka. He added that you include your parents in your Hebrew name. Therefore, your name would be Rivka bat you father’s Hebrew name v’ your mother’s Hebrew name.
I told him that my father was not Jewish. He said then you could just use your mother’s Hebrew name. He asked if I knew it. I said that I did not. He asked what her name was. I said Elizabeth. “Ah, in Hebrew Elizabeth is Elisheva,” the rabbi said. “Ralph, you chose Joshua or Yehoshua in Hebrew, and the parents of a Jew by choice are Avraham v’ Sarah.
Ralph, I still feel like I was born yesterday, but at least now I know who I am.

***

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