Christmas for Joshua - A Novel (30 page)

Rebecca looked at me. “Are you ill?”

“I’m fine. Why?”

“You don’t look fine.” She touched my forehead. “No fever, but your skin color—”

“Must be the long bath.” I checked myself in the mirror and saw Debra’s face in the back. “Are you excited?”

“Nervous,” Debra said. “I hope Rabbi Rachel isn’t angry with me.”

“Not with you.” I chuckled, remembering the rabbi’s reaction to my touch, her back-flip, and the snow avalanche burying her.

Rebecca didn’t miss it. “What’s so funny?”

“
Our rabbi,” I said, “she’s in quite a state.”

“
She won’t start arguing about the Warnick donation tonight, will she?”

“Probably not.” I glanced at the mirror again, finding Debra. “Have you come to terms with what happened at the wedding?”

“We phoned Mordechai’s parents earlier.” She looked across at her husband. “I wanted them to know how upset I am about your exclusion from the chuppah and even more about keeping me in the dark. I know we can’t go back and make it right, but I wanted to hear from them that something like this will never happen again.”

Pride filled me. That’s my girl!

“It’s not so simple,” Rebecca said.

“Actually, it’s pretty simple.” I made another turn and slowed down. “Respect. That’s all. What did they say?”

“They feel badly.” Debra hesitated. “They wished it was possible to join us tonight.”

“We’re only a plane ride away,” I said. “And what did they say about the future? Would they let a similar thing happen again?”

“My parents like you a lot,” Mordechai said. “And they love Debra to death.”

I noted the diplomacy of his answer. “And if you had an opportunity to make it right for me, would you take it?”

They responded together, “Of course!”

“
No question,” Mordechai added.

“Good,” I said. “How about tonight?”

Rebecca turned sharply. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Think of tonight as Daddy’s Sheva Brachot dinner.” I tapped the brake pedal as we approached the next street corner, where the synagogue would become visible. “I missed the wedding, so we’ll celebrate this event my way, okay?”

Grateful for a stop sign and no traffic behind me, I waited for a response.

“Sure,” Debra said. “But what are we supposed to do?”

“Accept my gift of a very special night. Go with the flow, so to speak.”

“What have you done?” My wife pulled her phone from her purse. “I’m calling the caterer!”

“All I’m asking is that you enjoy the evening as it is, without passing judgment. Eat, drink, and sing along with my music.”

“I love your piano playing,” Debra said. “Did you write a song for us?”

“You could say that.”

The car made the turn, and the front windshield filled with the glow of a thousand lights. I honked the horn and sang, “
Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum!
”

“Oh, my God!” Rebecca dropped her phone. “What the hell is this?”

“Welcome,” I announced, “to the first-ever Christmas Nosh!”

From an objective standpoint, it was just a building dressed up with all the familiar Christmas lights, an explosion of red, green, blue, and gold. The giant tree up front looked surprisingly natural, filled with blinking stars and hundreds of trinkets. Even the real plants—the tall Saguaro cacti, lush oleanders, and red bougainvillea—were fitted with a chain link of fiber optic flames that gave the illusion of a burning bush that wasn’t consumed. In the midst of this very American holiday season, when every shopping center could be seen from outer space on a clear night, no one would have paid any particular attention to what
Lights4U
had done for me here. Except that this was a synagogue, which explained why cars slowed down as they passed before it, and why Rebecca was about to turn violent.

“Calm down,” I said in my most casual tone. “It’s just a bunch of lights. There’s no crosses or nativity scenes. It’s strictly kosher fun.”

“Daddy is right,” Debra said from the back seat. “It’s beautiful!”

She was correct, of course. It was beautiful. Better than I had imagined.

We were a few minutes early, which allowed us to park close to the entrance. I came around the car and helped Rebecca out. Between her long dress, her clenched teeth, and her vision, which was jarred by the flashing rainbows, she needed my arm to steady herself.

Debra and Mordechai joined us, and we approached the mound of snow, where a couple of neighborhood kids were sledding on plastic garbage bags.

I let go of Rebecca and put my arms on their shoulders, Debra on my right and Mordechai on my left. “When I left Pillars of Joy on Sunday night,” I said, “it felt like I was leaving behind everything that was me—that I was losing the person whom I had perceived to be me until that moment, when old
Mean-Tseh-Berg
ruled that I was a gentile, a shaygetz, undeserving of a Jew’s rights and privileges, undeserving of the honor of standing with the two of you under your chuppah as your father. Do you understand?”

They nodded.

“
So on the cab ride into Manhattan, the songs on the radio, the holiday decorations everywhere, the millions of happy people in that huge city, made me remember my own feelings as a boy, how I used to wait all year for Christmas to arrive.” I pulled Mordechai closer. “It might be a gentile holiday, especially for you, I know, but please understand that my feelings, my longings, were stimulated by the holiday, not by faith in Jesus, in his birth and crucifixion and all that. Maybe I once did believe in him, as a kid, when I still believed in Santa Claus.”

Mordechai nodded, smiling. Debra also smiled. But Rebecca didn’t.

“
So that’s what I’m trying to do,” I said, “build a bridge between my current life, you, and my childhood’s happiest holiday. I’m trying to have a real Christmas, just like the ones I used to know, happy and warm, shared with the people I love. Does it make sense to you?”

Cars began to arrive, and Jose ran to direct them.

“
I understand, Daddy.” My daughter reached up and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“
What the heck,” Mordechai said, “I’m fine with it, Dr. Dinwall.”

“
And I’m going to kill you,” Rebecca said. “But not right now.”

“
Too many witnesses?” I let go of the kids and hugged Rebecca even though she tried to push me away. “Come on,” I said, “humor me.”

“
You’re asking too much!”

“
Then think of all this as another one of old Rusty’s jokes, will you?”

“
Come on, Mom, look at this stuff.” Debra gestured. “It’s only decorations.”

“
Very festive,” Mordechai said.

Rebecca glared at me, and while a group of friends was approaching us, I leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “Chill out. We can always move to New York, right?”

“
After this—we’ll have to move!” She slipped away from me and stepped forward. “Hello! Welcome!”

Part Seven

Christmas Nosh

O Come, All Ye Faithful

The Gathering Hall was lit with old-fashioned recess fluorescent rods. A string of windows along the top of the exterior walls gave the impression that the ceiling floated without support. Normally dark at night, the windows let in the colorful glow of the Christmas lights along the roof overhang.

A sliding sectional wall separated the space from the Prayer Hall. During the high holidays it was pushed aside on tracked wheels to allow setting up rows of additional chairs. A series of Judy Levy’s oversized canvas oils covered the walls with scenes of southwestern wildlife. The only human Judy allowed into the series was a feathered Native American riding a buffalo at the foothills of the Superstition Mountains. She titled it:
Extinct Together.

Tonight, the partitioning wall was closed. The caterer had set the tables for two hundred guests. The dominant color was red, somewhere between Rebecca’s dress and Debra’s cap. Two tables were reserved for Father Donne and his group.

Jose had rolled the piano over from the Prayer Hall before closing up the partition, placing it near the podium. The sight of the piano jolted me with nervous excitement. My plans for tonight relied heavily on music as the primary vehicle for delivering a message that should be inoffensive yet explicit—a tough balancing act.

Following my instructions, Pinky had propped up my Christmas tree near the piano. The tree seemed small compared with its former dominance of our living room. She must have spent time grooming it, for it did not look like a tree that had been toppled over, expelled from its first home, and lain for half a day in the back seat of my Volvo under the Phoenix sun. Its broken branches had been pruned nicely, its bearded superheroes, menorahs, and Jewish stars had been repositioned in a proportional spread over the conical shape of its boughs, and the blue-and-white lights had been rearranged to appear more subtle, as if the tree itself was budding with lights. Several spotlights had been placed strategically to illuminate my tree from below, endowing it with graceful radiance near the speaker’s podium and the piano.

I could not detect a shred of irritation in Rebecca, who stood at the door with me, Debra, and Mordechai to receive our guests. A few of them made bemused comments about the extravagant decorations that had welcomed them outside, but none showed anger or expressed criticism.

Judy Levy, however, was upset. “I’m the chair of the building committee,” she berated me. “Why didn’t you call me? I have this piece of a farm combine that I’ve turned into a cactus with huge, natural-color fruits that glow like Chernobyl. I’ve been waiting for a chance to display it!”

“
Next year,” I said and moved away just as Rebecca tried to elbow me.

And Aaron, as soon as he entered, pointed at me and crooned, “
We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmaaaaaaaaaaaas…and a Happy New Year!
”

“
Brutsky!” His wife hit him with her purse. “Shush!”

He hugged me. “You’re a maniac,” he said, “but I love you anyway.”

“
Same here.”

His expression changed as he looked up at me. “You don’t look well. What’s wrong?”

“
Playing doctor again?” I nudged him. “Go. Go. You’re holding up the line.”

He tried to say something, but Miriam pulled him away.

Many guests congratulated me on winning Jonathan Warnick’s donation. Larry Emanuel hugged me and declared, “Finally, you won’t hit me for donations anymore! I can start saving for retirement!”

When the stream of guests dwindled down to the last few, the four of us went to our table up front. Two chairs were waiting for Rabbi Rachel and Cantor Bentov. I had not mentioned to anyone what had happened to the rabbi. Under the circumstances, it would be better if she didn’t make it tonight. But where was the cantor?

We honored Mordechai with the recital of the blessing on the bread, which he did in a clear and sonorous voice.

Aaron followed him with a toast. “Little Debra,” he said, “is a married woman. The world has gone crazy!”

Everyone clapped.

“
I’m supposed to tell a funny story,” he continued, turning to Debra, “that puts you in a ridiculous light.”

“
It’s a toast,” I said, “not a roast.”

“
Don’t worry,” Aaron said, “because unlike her father, Debra has never done anything dumb for me to recall here. You were the cutest baby, with red cheeks and chubby
pulkehs
. You then became a perfect little girl, polite and curious, and, might I add, viciously smart. And as a teenager, you gave your parents a balanced mix of exciting rebelliousness with excellent report cards. And now?” He uttered an exaggerated sigh. “You make us all so proud! Our very own representative to Columbia University in New York!”

More clapping.

I smiled at Miriam. Their two children were attending Arizona State University, which had disappointed Aaron. But rather than show jealousy, he had been bragging about Debra’s achievements as if she were his own daughter.

“
All I can say is,” he concluded, lifting his glass, “Uncle Aaron is looking forward to many years of pleasure from you and Mordechai. So, to the new Mrs. Levinson, Mazal Tov!”

The buffet meal was served on counters that lined both side walls. According to Rebecca’s specifications, there were twelve different salads, six types of hot sides, three choices each of fish and chicken, and a beef brisket that attracted the longest queue. An open bar served cold drinks and wine, but no heavy alcohol, which usually had few takers anyhow.

Roaming the hall, I shook hands and patted shoulders like a politician after a surprise win. People had a lot of questions about the Warnick donation, which I couldn’t answer with much detail. No one asked about the rabbi. Perhaps they assumed she wasn’t here due to embarrassment over the e-mail mishap. For me, her absence was a relief, but the cantor’s no-show was a problem. I knew Debra was looking forward to his rendition of the seven blessings. It occurred to me that the cantor might have called me on my dead Blackberry, leaving a message I couldn’t retrieve.