The Devil in Jerusalem (29 page)

“Yes?” she said without looking up, continuing to fold.

“His rebbe called me yesterday.”

She put down the undershirt in her hands. Now he had her attention. “Again?”

He nodded uncomfortably. “He complained Duvie isn't participating in the Talmud class. He isn't doing his homework.”

“Weren't you supposed to talk to Duvie about his behavior?” she accused.

“I did!” He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, as if on the witness stand. “I explained to him the great
zchus
of being a Talmud scholar. But he says he's bored. That the teacher is boring and mean.”

She sighed, leaning back. “Maybe he needs a new school?”

“No, no. The Messiah says he's in a very good school.”

“Then you have to spend more time with him, Shlomie! Learn with him. Try to inspire him. He doesn't understand yet the importance of learning. He's still a child.”

“In two and a half years, he'll be Bar Mitzvah, responsible for his own sins.”

“Then isn't now the time for you to try harder with him? If you were only home more, instead of—”

“Whatever I do, I do for the good of our family—you know that! I do exactly what the Messiah tells me. He says I must link myself to the spirits of saints, to bring down their holiness into my life. And so I pray at their graves all over the Galilee, hoping for grace.”

“Graves? You spend your time in graveyards?”

“You can't imagine the feeling that comes over me at the foot of a saint's grave! The feeling of Divine inspiration. It's as if I'm filled with sudden holiness and understanding. It's—”

“Shlomie, I didn't have these children by myself. I can't bring them up by myself. You have to be a full-time father.”

He hung his head, chastened. “I will try harder,” he promised.

But when he discussed it with Menachem Shem Tov, to his surprise, this time the Messiah shook his head emphatically. “You cannot be ruled by a woman or by a child. There are ten aspects of Divinity in man, the ten Sefirot. It is a roadmap to a genuinely balanced life. But it requires discipline to learn and to practice. Before you can help your children, you must help yourself. Like on an airplane, what do they tell you to do if the cabin pressure falls?”

His eyes lit up with sudden understanding. “To put on your own oxygen mask first before helping your children.”

Shem Tov nodded sagely. “Exactly. How can you help your children if you yourself are dying from lack of oxygen? To visit the graves of saints is spiritual oxygen. It allows even the most ignorant fool to absorb the greatness of spirit, the divinity of these hallowed souls. By praying to them, you are rewarded by receiving some of their greatness. Only then, when you have absorbed enough, will you be able to lead your family. You must not do less; you must do more!”

“But, my wife, Daniella, she is unhappy. She complains I am never home as it is.”

“Why was Adam expelled from Eden?”

“Because he was seduced by Eve.”

He nodded. “And did listening to her advice bring either of them blessing?”

A great light suddenly exploded in Shlomie Goodman's mind. He shook his head eagerly. “No. Eve was also expelled from Eden! She had to bear children in agony!”

“Yes! And the rest of her curse was?” He looked at Shlomie expectantly.

“‘Her desire is to her husband and he shall rule over her,'” Shlomie quoted, ecstatic he actually knew the answer.

“Exactly. This is your lesson, what God is trying to teach you. You must ignore your wife's pleadings and go forward to earn you both blessing and not a curse. You must rule over her and yourself. Do not be weak. Do not give in.”

Shlomie bowed. “My rebbe, Messiah, how can I ever thank you?” His lips trembled and his eyes were wet with tears.

“The evil and good that befall us every day are of our own making, not that of the indifferent universe. Choose wisely,” Shem Tov admonished him, allowing his fingers to be kissed. When Shlomie had gone, he went to the bathroom and washed his hands three times with soap, scrubbing them with a nail brush. As he looked into the bathroom mirror, he saw in the depths of his own brown eyes a flicker of disgust, of contempt, and of satisfaction.

*   *   *

In the coming year, Shlomie often didn't come home at all, sleeping overnight in Meron near the grave of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai, who was attributed with the authorship of the Zohar, or in the forests as dawn broke after all-night prayer sessions. More and more, he felt distanced from his wife and children. But this could not be helped, he told himself. He thought of Moses and how he had also separated from his wife Zipporah and his children. That was the life of the saint or prophet, he told himself. A man rises in holiness when he removes himself from the petty burdens and strife of everyday life. This was his destiny.

He thought of Rabbi Akiva, the ignorant shepherd, son of a convert, who had married the wealthy heiress Rachel, whose father disinherited her for her choice. With Rachel's blessing and encouragement, Akiva abandoned her to poverty and loneliness and went off to learn Torah with her admonition—“Only return to me when you are a great scholar”—ringing in his ears.

He, too, would return to his wife and his family only when he became a great scholar. With the Messiah's encouragement, he chose to dress in accordance with his new status. Every day he would put on the flowing white robes he had worn for Menchie's brit, clothes of spotless white, without a single stain or blemish, to match the yearning of his soul to be purified.

When Duvie turned twelve, he was once again kicked out of his yeshiva. Given that this was the only yeshiva that had been willing to take him in, it placed Daniella and Shlomie in a very serious bind. But they couldn't very well argue with the principal, who had kindly taken Duvie in, based on assurances that the boy would turn himself around if given another chance. If anything, Duvie's behavior had taken a severe turn for the worse. Now he skipped classes altogether, spending afternoons in the center of town, where he would smoke cigarettes and eat pizza with other yeshiva dropouts.

Daniella had done her best to talk to him, to no avail. She begged Shlomie to take him in hand. But the child had no use for his father's advice, either.

“I never wanted to go to that stupid place. I'm not learning anything there. No English. Hardly any math, no history or social studies. All they want is for me to learn about five brothers who get married and one of them dies, and no one remembers who married whom. It's stupid. They're making me stupid.”

With Duvie's problems, their own seemed to grow, the fights between them erupting at closer and closer intervals, spewing poisonous fumes over everything in their wake, destroying their domestic life. Soon, their problems with Duvie spread, virus-like, to their other children.

Amalya, always so quiet and docile, came to blows with Shoshana, who was constantly in her room destroying her precious doll collection. Yossi took to clinging to Daniella even more than usual, wanting her constant attention, getting up late every morning, and stashing secret supplies of chocolate under his bed. He gained so much weight that his pediatrician told her he was prediabetic. And if that was not enough, Gabriel began wetting the bed. Even Shoshana, Daniella's bright, pretty, chatterbox, seemed quieter, sadder, burdened somehow. Only the babies, Eli and Menchie, seemed oblivious. Daniella struggled on, refusing to admit defeat, until things came to a sudden head.

It was Purim, and Duvie and Yossi had disappeared. Daniella and Shlomie were on the verge of calling the police, when the two finally showed up, long after dark, their eyes red and glassy, their words slurred.

“Where have you been!” Daniella shouted at them.

They giggled.

They were drunk, she realized, appalled. A twelve-year-old and an eleven-year-old.

“You are supposed to drink until you don't know the difference between ‘Blessed is Mordechai and cursed is Haman!'” Duvie protested.

“I don't know the difference,” Yossi exclaimed, before running to the bathroom to throw up.

“Did you let your brother drink alcohol? Your little brother?” Daniella screamed at Duvie.

“All the boys were drinking!”

“Now, now, Daniella, it's the custom on Purim for people to drink wine and be merry,” Shlomie soothed.

“Shut up! That is not the custom for us, for our children. They're still babies, for God's sake!”

Shlomie looked as if a pet dog had jumped up and bit him.

“And what's this?” she said, shaking cigarette ashes off Yossi's costume, a scarlet king's robe, as the boy came back into the room. “Were you smoking!”

He looked down defiantly.

She turned to Shlomie. “What do you expect! He has no father to teach him. Our children are fatherless!”

The children were stunned by this, cowering. While they were already used to hearing their parents fight, previously it had always taken place behind closed doors. This was an escalation. Even Eli and Menchie looked up, startled, beginning to cry. Amalya and Shoshana picked them up, carrying them into the bedroom. Gabriel, too, seemed overcome with grief. Duvie led him off, plying him with cookies, while Yossi sat uneasily by the table, finishing off a mountain of sweets.

“Really, Daniella!” Shlomie remonstrated, shocked.

“You are a big waste of time. A do-nothing. I can't stand the sight of you. Get out!” she shouted at her husband. “Get out of my life!”

“Please, we can talk about this—”

“Aba, Ima, don't!” Yossi cried.

But Daniella was beyond reasoning, frustration bursting through the artificial dams she'd hammered together through the years composed of piety, self-sacrifice, and shame at another failure. She heard the rankling echo of Joel's words:
Why do you put up with it?

“Get out before I throw you out!”

Shlomie took his tallis, tefillin, and siddur off the chair and left. She locked the door behind him.

*   *   *

Of course, he headed straight to Beit Shemesh Heights, straight to the home of the Messiah. It was almost midnight when he arrived. He was pleased to see a light still shone in the window.

Kuni Batlan opened the door. Shlomie could smell the alcohol on his breath as he shouted,
“Ah freilichen Purim,”
clapping Shlomie on the shoulder so hard it hurt. Batlan was drunk, Shlomie realized as he followed him inside. There was no sign of Ruth Shem Tov or the children, but Shmaya Hod and Yissaschar Goldschmidt were there, their heads lolling to one side or another as they lifted glasses of arak and vodka to their wet lips while Shem Tov, the Messiah, sat in his accustomed place at the table's head, watching them in amusement and contempt.

I am also drunk, Shlomie realized, sliding into a chair barely a moment before his legs gave out beneath him. And I drove all the way here that way. He found this laughable. Although he hadn't dared agree with Duvie in front of Daniella, he thought Duvie was right: Purim was the time to get roaring drunk. It was a mitzvah.

The group welcomed Shlomie loudly and enthusiastically. Soon the noise elicited a child's cries that came floating down the steps leading to the upstairs bedrooms. Following Shem Tov's lead, everyone ignored it, feeling no need to lower their voices. Batlan poured Shlomie a tall glass of arak.

He waved it away. “She's kicked me out. My wife, Daniella, has kicked me out of my own house!” he wailed.

He thought he saw a flash of contempt and amusement flit across the Messiah's face. But it was just the drink, he assured himself. He could not be seeing straight. When he looked again, the Messiah was peering into his troubled, frightened eyes with compassion. “What shall we tell our friend here, eh?” Shem Tov said, turning to Batlan, Hod, and Goldschmidt.

“As it is written: ‘A man's enemies are the women in his household,'” said Batlan.

Shlomie looked at him, dumbfounded. What could that possibly mean? Yet, all the others were smiling and nodding.

“‘Better to dwell on the corner of the roof than with a quarrelsome woman,'” chimed in Hod.

“‘A quarrelsome woman is like a miserable drizzle on a wet day,'” agreed Goldschmidt.

“‘Why is she called woman? Because she is woe!'” Batlan laughed.

Shem Tov smashed his closed fist onto the table. “Silence!” he shouted, and they cowered in fright, their laughter gone. “Is that any way to treat our brother in his sorrow?” He turned to Shlomie, taking his shaking hands into his own. “Women are the source of everything; as it is written: ‘Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a God-fearing woman is to be praised.' And Daniella is surely a God-fearing woman. If she is angry at you, there must be a reason.”

“She says I am never home. She cannot manage the children alone. She says Duvie will become a rebellious son because of me!”

Shem Tov searched thoughtfully through his beard. He put his arm around Shlomie. “My friend, you must placate your wife. Tell her you are sorry.”

“He should apologize?” Batlan shouted indignantly.

“‘When Eve was made, so was Satan!'” Goldschmidt quoted, taking Batlan's side.

“‘Give me any ill but the heart's ill, any wickedness but woman's!'” put in Hod.

Shem Tov gave them a withering look and they immediately fell into silence. “Tell your wife you will now study at home.”

“What!” Hod stood up.

“We will all go to Shlomie's home every day to study, so that there may be domestic bliss between him and his wife, which is the most important thing in the world. As it is written: ‘So great is peace that God's name is Shalom, and all blessings are held within it.'”

“Rebbe, Rebbe, how can I ever thank you!” Shlomie cried, kneeling before him, kissing his hand with wet, sloppy kisses, overcome with joy.