‘His Memory For A Blessing’

Gillie shook her  husband awake.

“Andy, sweetheart. It’s 8.00 a.m. You’ve thrashed about all night, moaning in your sleep. You’re not well. If you’re able to dress, I’ll take you to see Dr Lewis.”

“What? Oh, God! I  don’t think I’m ill – just –

“I got home after midnight and crept into bed so as not to disturb you. I nodded off the moment my head hit the pillow, but was plagued by terrible, feverish dreams. Let me get in the shower, then we’ll talk.”

When Andy shuffled downstairs, he found Gillie hunched on the sofa staring into space.

“Well …?”

Andy shook his head as he dropped down beside her. 

“I’m O.K., physically. It’s what happened yesterday. Yom Kippur this year should have been  extra special. What higher honour  than to circumcise a baby on the Day of Atonement? What greater pleasure than to do it before a full, loving congregation? But this …”

“Did you try to call me after the fast ended? I switched off all communication. I didn’t want to speak to - see anyone. I couldn’t eat and just sipped some tea.”

“Same here - and no, I didn’t call. I wanted to wait until we were together. There was an emergency executive meeting immediately after services. Unsurprisingly, I’m no longer rabbi and mohel (ritual circumciser) to Southborough Hebrew Congregation. I resigned at once. 

“But I’m likely to be sued for assault and could go to prison. For crying out loud, people I consider my friends were talking of  ‘criminal negligence’. You know how ‘things are never so bad they can’t be made worse.’ As I related my version of events, I heard Sid Rubens call me ‘a baby killer’.

“Darling, that was the last straw. I overreacted; forgot myself, lashed out at him and made his lip bleed.

“’Well,’ muttered Sid, muffled behind a tissue,  ‘you can lead a lad to Torah but you can’t take the goy out of the boy!’ How I restrained myself then, heaven alone knows. What’s the point in advising someone with such deep prejudices that it’s forbidden to remind a convert of his origins?

“How can I even begin to explain to an ignorant bully my troubled journey here? The half life-time I spent studying medicine; my entry into Judaism and then fairly starting over when I decided to re-train as a rabbi?

“Huh,” said Gillie, taking hold of her husband’s hands. “How dare he? His wife, Poppy’s also a Reform convert. His family disowned him when they got married, so their situation is quite familiar!

“To cut my own story short,  I’ve also been drowning in muck. Before  I could leave the synagogue car park, the Lawsons waylaid me, screaming vile insults.

“The old lady – the sweet-faced grandma  – called me a ‘shiksele whore’ who should be jailed. But most distressing was seeing Ellen staring at me in the background,  wailing wordlessly, ceaselessly,  like a betrayed and wounded animal. We’d become very good friends. But that aside, as a woman and a mother who’s also lost a baby, how could my own heart not break? Once home, I did some research on the web and then shut everything down. I’ll tell you more later.”

“Hmm! As it took the couple several years to conceive, I wonder if there was an inherent problem – perhaps a defective gene - which didn’t emerge during fertility tests. 

“Unlikely, I appreciate, but whatever the reason, I keep re-playing the scene  in my head, seeing that lively, handsome little fellow suddenly become a  wrinkled, lifeless scrap as his uncle held him on his lap.

“Gillie, it seemed almost unreasonable, the way he stopped whimpering, then breathing and simply slipped away as I swabbed the wound. I’m sure I’m blameless and that the autopsy will prove it.

“Of course you are”, said Gillie. “But we both know that whatever happens to you personally, the anti-circumcision lobby will gnaw this juicy bone until it splinters. Remember, it was only the personal intervention of Chancellor Angela Merkel that halted anti-circumcision measures in Germany this year.”

“But we’ve also got the problem of the child’s Jewish identity,” Andy reminded her.

“Matters will get grimmer yet when Ellen and Phil realise  their sweet boy  died without a Hebrew name and that there’s no place in mainstream Jewish tradition for a funeral of a new-born infant. It’s as well that congregations like ours are more sympathetic. If and when they feel like talking civilly, I’ll discuss the possibilities of a formal funeral and later, a headstone setting.”

 “First things, first,” said Gillie. “We could both do with some breakfast and then one of us should make an appointment for you to see Rob Stevenson at Simmons, Adam. This is what I wanted to tell you. My web research brought up a link to a story which appeared in the Jewish Chronicle a couple of years ago. A case echoing  ours was resolved when it was decided that the boy died from ‘sudden infant death syndrome’ and the coroner ruled ‘death by natural causes’.”

“Anything’s possible,” mused Andy,  a little brighter. “How about scrambled eggs, toast and tea?”

“Those are the best English words I’ve heard for almost 48 hours,” said Gillie, as she switched her phone back on.

 “By the way,”, said Andy,  “here’s a little dry irony to dunk in your tea. Just before the fast began I counselled a  potential member  who wants to convert. He was brought up in a Christian evangelical home but he believes he’s from Jewish stock.  I’m revealing a confidence that I shouldn’t for this reason: He was passed on to us after being rejected for  conversion by an Orthodox beth din (rabbinical court) as he’s a haemophiliac and can’t be circumcised.” 

“A classic Orthodox reaction -” said Gillie, “ – to use us as a dustbin for one of their rejects. I’ll make sure he’s made very welcome. Once you’re reinstated, of course!”

(Picture Credit: photographersdirect.com)

Technorati Tags: #fridayflash,Flash Fiction,PerfectlyWriteFamilyTales,His Memory For A Blessing,Circumcision,Brit Milah,Sudden Infant Death Syndrome,Haemophilia,Conversion,Yom Kippur,Beth Din,Angela Merkel,Germany

Natalie Wood

• This ‘flash’ has also just appeared  in the November 2012 edition of Live Encounters magazine, edited by Mark Ulyseas. http://liveencounters.net/?p=1970

(Copyright, Natalie Irene Wood – 26 October 2012)

‘Bill And Monica Lived Here’

There were some differences, admitted Monica Sherwin.

First, she told her friend, Gloria Adams  as they discussed the Clinton-Lewinsky affair, her trophy was a cheap, red pull-on skirt. Not a blue designer dress.

Second, she’d never be able to prove anything, as she’d had the skirt dry-cleaned.

Third,  continued  Monica,  she’d    been enjoying  a  simultaneous        ‘relationship’ with Bill Roberts’s son, Matt.

“Anything else?”, gulped Gloria as Monica paused for breath.

“Yes! When Matt realised later  what had been going on, he told several people that I deserved ‘to be raped’.”

“But I must ask,” said Gloria. “You hinted you wanted to get something off your chest about events from the 1970s. Why now? Why me?”

“Good question, Glo’,” grinned Monica. “Potty, but the stories about showbiz guys abusing young girls seemed reminiscent of what happened to me. Anyway, you’re my dearest girl friend so I reckon you’re entitled to know.

“Of course the situations aren’t parallel and you’re probably thinking that as a 22-year-old professional, I had much more in common with posh American Lewinsky than any  disturbed, sometimes disabled British kids in the clutches of people like Jimmy Savile.

“But still, I was woefully immature, rather lonely and allowed both of the Roberts to abuse my trust quite shamelessly. And don’t forget, when I wasn’t servicing them personally I was working my butt off 25 hours a day, eight days a week for their ruddy business.”

“How did it begin?”, asked Gloria.

“Good question! With Matt, it had been the mid-life ‘my wife doesn’t understand me’ twaddle which I’d devoured whole like a chocolate orange.

“But the old man … that was strange. I don’t think he ever had an inkling about Matt and me. His own marriage had  been rotten for years and he simply wanted a soul-mate. Occasionally, I’d do some work for him. Then one day, when quite absently I quoted some verse as he commented on the weather, he looked at me hard and quoted something back.

“At first it was  unrequited love – on my side, anyway. Despite being well into his sixties, Bill still bore the traces of what had once been slightly raffish good looks. I was hooked. A bunny ensnared by a snake ...

“Things moved on. One day I was treated to another old man’s cliché: ‘Y’know Monica,’ said Bill, ‘I’ve not felt like this for a long time.’

“He leaned over me, locked the office door and told me to put away my notebook and switch off the dictating machine. Then he held my hands briefly and kissed me. Most tenderly.

“It was so sweet that I broke down. I felt as if I were centre-stage in a home-grown TV soap. It was an unnerving experience because I’m sure I could have stymied it all at source. But something stopped me.”

“Curiosity?”, said Gloria.

“’Fascination’ – much more than wanting to know what would happen next.

“Then things hotted up. But Bill was canny. We never went the whole hog. No penetration – no adultery. In fact he’d call our sessions ‘a spot of the orals’ and any local difficulty his ‘building problems’.”

“Yuck! And then?”, asked Gloria, fairly bolted to her chair.

“One day we forgot to lock the office door. I was standing with my back to it. Some of my blouse buttons were open. We were about to get cracking when Matt burst in, knocking a hanger off the coat-hook which hit Bill on the nose as I dived aside.

“Matt didn’t notice my appearance because he was concerned for his dad. So that day we got off scot-free.

“I suppose there’s a bit of Napoleon coming next. Like many short men, Bill was fanatical about his personal ‘dignity’. One day he had a spill. Down the front of my skirt. He couldn’t apologise enough. But really he was trying to justify what had happened to himself. He asked me to leave the room so he could have a brush up. But I never saw him again.”

“What?”

“Yeah! He’d not told me he was ill. Angina or something like that. It seems the episode upset him so much that he became over-agitated and had a heart-attack.”

“How was he found?”

“He’d locked his door after I left and a little later a junior tried to enter the room with his afternoon drink. When she couldn’t, she  called for help and you can imagine what happened next. Personnel from the Emergency Services found it difficult to keep straight faces when they examined Bill’s body and found he had been somewhat playful just before his demise. They related this to Matt who was as much bewildered as enraged.

“The burial was delayed slightly as the Coroner was involved. All staff attended. But Bill’s wife, Helene had been suspicious about me and I was told specifically that I was not ‘obliged’ to attend the funeral tea. I took the hint and stayed away.

“I was also in mourning but it was worse for me because I couldn’t confide in anyone. Then I made a terrible mistake.”

“How?”

“The bloody skirt. In the flurry of that awful day I’d barely sponged the stain and didn’t realise it was still visible.

“Then I wore it one evening some weeks later when I went out with Matt. He noticed the mark  and immediately put two-and-two together. He called me a slut and then stalked out of the bar where we’d been sitting. I never saw him again either.

“Next morning, there was a  ‘redundancy notice’ on my desk with a cheque representing six months’ salary. However, Matt’s every bit as cute as his father. He gave me  the customary written references but followed them up with chatty phone-calls to everyone in the trade. He had me black-listed and I never worked in the building industry again.

“Oedipus, Shmoedipus,” said Gloria, a great fan of pop psychology, “as long as you love your daddy.”

Technorati Tags: #fridayflash,Flash Fiction,PerfectlyWriteFamilyTales,Bill and Monica Lived Here,Time Magazine,Bill Clinton.Monica Lewinsky,Jimmy Savile,Oedipus,Psychology

Natalie Wood

(Copyright, Natalie Irene Wood – 12 October 2012)

 

 

 

‘A Piece Of Fruit – And A Kiss On The Head’

A piece of fruit and a kiss on the head. Grandma Sophie stooped and smiled.

How better to say ‘goodbye’ - once times five?

 

 

A single farewell -  five tiny cherries. A growing  crop from too many passions.

A banana for Will. May had an apple,  Judith a plum. For Frank and George? A pear and a peach. Sophie sowed fruits and kisses. One of both. Each. But she wouldn’t see her seedlings grow.

“Please be good,”  she begged as she blew away, never to be seen again.

Then Grandpa Hymie  cut his shirt, sat on a stool and wept for a week.  They do that in Jewish homes when someone passes.

“What happened?”, asked Abe, his friend next door.

“My love and trust died on Tuesday. Sophie stole them both.  I didn’t mind the kissing and sharing. But she should have asked me first!”

Technorati Tags: #fridayflash,Flash Fiction,PerfectlyWriteFamilyTales,A Piece Of Fruit - And A Kiss On The Head

 

Natalie Wood

(Copyright, Natalie Irene Wood – 08 October 2012)

‘Throw A Little Light’

He was  an odd-ball, that man at the door.

And those girls sitting on the  outside wall.  They sniggered when I stumbled, walking past.

He, mark you, wore a large, black velvet skull cap while they, modestly apart, were in long  skirts, heavy cotton blouses,  flat shoes. They must have roasted under the burning sun.

Then Mr Odd Ball stopped me short.

“I’m sorry, Madam. You can't come through here. Your husband, yes. Maybe you’ll feel more comfortable using the left-hand entrance, the one reserved for ladies.”

“Me? I’m no lady!”, I snorted,  pushing past. “I’ve come just because I've heard of the spiritual enlightenment thousands gain visiting the tomb of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, here at Meron, in Israel’s Galilee.

“By the way,” I added, “I’ve been told the rabbi was responsible for cleaning up ancient Tiberius. Cripes, I wish he were here now, parts of the modern town are flamin’ filthy!”

“Madam,” continued Mr Oddity, with measured calm. “Rabbi  bar Yochai, known colloquially as ‘Harashbi’, did not use a mop and bucket. His cleansing technique was of a higher order.

“Which reminds me. I guess, listening to your struggle with Hebrew, that you may need a guide to accompany you around the site. I’ll attend to your husband, if you’d care to allow my wife to show you around the women’s section.

“We do this as a mitzvah – holy duty – and the cost is a mere one hundred and fifty shekels per person. My family will use the proceeds to fund our oldest son’s barmitzvah next year.

“I wonder, he added, “did you light a memorial candle on Yom Kippur – the Day of Atonement? It’s also a great mitzvah, along with lighting candles on the anniversary of the death of a close relative. We can give you the candles and help you to say the prayers here. It’s a service we offer for only eighty shekels each.”

“That’s fine,” I said, starting to back away. “But if you don’t mind, I think I’ll leave it. The crowds and the heat are making me feel faint. I’m sure those kind little girls sitting outside will give – er – sell me some water.

“But before I go, let me tell you something. I keep a regular supply of memorial lights at home. I use one on  Yom Kippur, of course. I also light them on the due dates for my parents. Then there are two we need for my husband’s parents.

“More are required for Yom Hashoa  – Israel’s Holocaust Memorial Day and Yom Hazikaron – its day for fallen I.D.F. soldiers. Then there’s the one I use in January for International Holocaust Day. Let’s not forget the millions of gentiles who perished in the flames.

“Finally, in the harsh, early days of spring, I light one to recall my dear, late friend Judy. She had been a Reform convert to Judaism who decided, after a terrible ten year battle with leukaemia, that she preferred to be cremated instead of buried.

“But I don’t suppose you’d want me to waste a ‘kosher’ light on her,” I said. “She was only a woman. And, I bet you’re going to tell me she wasn’t a ‘real’ Jew.”

Technorati Tags: #fridayflash,Flash Fiction,PerfectlyWriteFamilyTales,Throw A Little Light,Harashbi's Tomb,Rabbi Shimon Ben Yochai,Meron,Tiberius,Galilee,Israel,Jewish Memorial Lights,Holocaust,I.D.F.,Burial,Cremation

Natalie Wood

(Copyright, Natalie Irene Wood – 01 October 2012)