The Marrying of Chani Kaufman (20 page)

After his third date with Chani he decided to bite the bullet. His sisters were at school rehearsing for the school play and his mother was serving up dinner. The latest appliances whirred and the black granite worktop sparkled in the glare of the halogen lights. Sleek white drawers sprang open to her touch and the microwave resembled a spacecraft. His mother's heels echoed on the marble. He waited for the crashing of kitchenware to abate, for his mother to take her seat and for his father to recite the appropriate blessings.

His father whizzed through the sanctifications with his usual aplomb, his mouth barely moving through the fuzz of beard.

‘Amen,' sang out his mother.

‘Amen,' whispered Baruch. Come on HaShem. I really need Your help now.

‘Let's eat,' said Mr Levy, heaping steaming potatoes onto his plate.

Baruch stared at the greasy slab of schnitzel, his stomach recoiling in horror but to please his mother he took a bite. He could not swallow. So he chewed. And chewed a bit more.

‘Everything ok, Baruch?' queried Mrs Levy, sawing at her chicken. ‘There's plenty more in the pan. Have a pickle.' She thrust her chin at the jar on the table.

‘Not just now, thanks. It's delicious, mum. Excuse me a moment.' And he left the table.

His parents exchanged looks. Mr Levy shrugged and shovelled another forkful into his already stuffed mouth. Mrs Levy patted hers with her napkin and abruptly stood up. She crept along the room towards the open door.

‘What are you doing now, Berenice? Can't you just sit down and let us enjoy our dinner in peace for once? You're always jumping up disturbing things,' grumbled Mr Levy.

‘I'm checking on him,' hissed Mrs Levy as she continued to sidle out of the room towards the small lavatory under the stairs. She hung onto the kitchen door to prevent it slamming and put her ear up against the toilet door.

Hearing the rumble of the flush, she fled back in.

Baruch emerged seconds later, wiping his mouth guiltily with the back of his hand. The toilet had whisked away his mouthful of schnitzel and he felt better.

He took his seat and gripped his knife and fork. He stared at his parents. His father was too engrossed to notice. His mother's fork was suspended in mid-air. She waited for him to speak.

‘I have something to tell you,' he began.

Mrs Levy kicked Mr Levy hard under the table. He looked up from his plate, jaws working furiously. He was a noisy eater.

‘Yes, Baruch darling, do go on. We're all ears,' chirped Mrs Levy. Inside, her heart sank. She knew what was coming and like a runaway freight train, it was beyond her power to stop it.

For the past few weeks it had not escaped her attention that her son had drifted about the house like a lovesick cloud and she regretted acquiescing to the shidduch. She only had herself to blame. Her husband had been of little support in the interregnum, refusing to discuss the matter further until Baruch publicised the outcome. So Mrs Levy had tried to ignore her son's moody silences, his sudden bouts of giddiness, telling herself it would pass, that things would fall through.

She had restrained her natural tendency to pry, for fear of unleashing the unpalatable truth and had wrestled with her inner self in a bid to accept her son's preferences for his sake. But soul-searching had never been her forte. She thought of the sniggers that would occur behind her back, the delicious schadenfreude of her enemies. She simply could not accept the girl. Finally she had prayed – in vain as it appeared in hindsight, for now her worst nightmare was coming true.

Baruch cleared his throat. The cutlery was beginning to slide in his grasp.

‘I want to marry Chani.'

His father stopped chewing. His mother mewled.

‘But darling, don't you think – '

‘Not now, Berenice! He hasn't finished!'

Baruch nodded his gratitude. ‘I like her. I was planning to ask her on the next shidduch.'

‘And you're quite sure she'll have you?' said Mr Levy.

‘Yes, darling – how do you know she wants you?' squeaked Mrs Levy as her world began to tilt.

‘Quiet, Berenice!'

‘Dovid! He's my son too.'

‘I think, I think she'll say yes. I get the feeling she was hoping that I'd ask already – '

‘Do her parents know? Have you met them?'

‘No, of course I haven't.'

‘
We
have to meet her first. And them.' interjected his mother, scrabbling for time. ‘And only then will we see if she's truly suitable.'

‘She is, Mum. I promise you. You'll like her. She's pretty and clever and funny and . . .'

‘Frum? Modest? The right sort of girl for a boy like you?' asked Mr Levy. ‘Yes Dad. I really feel she is.'

His mother looked as if she was about to cry. His father patted her cheek.

‘It could be worse, Berenice . . .'

‘I know. I had such hopes. Libby Zuckerman – 'she snivelled into her napkin.

‘I don't want to marry Libby blooming Zuckerman!' said Baruch through gritted teeth.

‘Baruch.' Mr Levy thumped the table with his fist, making the plates bounce. Several peas rolled overboard into Mrs Levy's lap.

‘I'm sorry, I'm sorry – I want to marry Chani and that's it. This is my choice. I have to live with my wife-to-be for the rest of my life, not you.'

His mother snorted.

‘We have to live with the consequences and all the ties that she comes with,' intoned Mr Levy. ‘But Baruch, we respect your decision and as long as her family agrees and we get on reasonably well with them, so be it.'

‘On your head be it!' quivered his mother.

‘Berenice, let's meet them and the girl first and reserve our judgment until then. If this is what our son really wants, then who are we to stand in his way?'

Baruch offered up a silent prayer for providing him with a father who was capable of being reasonable. His mother remained in an altogether different category.

‘Thank you, Dad,' he whispered.

‘And if the rabbonim agree – ' continued Mr Levy.

‘The rabbonim! What about his mother?' shrieked Mrs Levy.

‘Please Mum, this is really important to me.' Baruch put an arm around her.

Mrs Levy sniffed. ‘Ok then darling, we'll meet her and her parents if that's what you really want. Whoever said being a mother was easy?' But already in her head the cogs had begun to whir.

‘Thank you so much, Mum. This means everything.'

‘I hope you're right there,' mumbled Mr Levy. ‘Pass the vegetables please, Berenice.'

April 2008 – London

Avromi woke disorientated. His mouth was parched and his head reverberated with each heartbeat. He was also stark naked, which was an unusual sensation for someone who always slept in pyjamas. Nor was he alone. The sound of gentle snoring reached his ears. His right leg was crushed by something warm and heavy. Cracking open an eye, he shifted, rolling away from the burden. Shola stirred and turned towards the wall.

The room was bathed in a dim red glow, as the morning shone through Shola's maroon curtains. Avromi sat bolt upright. What had he done? He must leave immediately. But how could he face his parents? He must daven. Repent. Pray for forgiveness. Perhaps a dip in the men's mikveh would absolve him of this abomination? He felt frightened at the suddenness of it all.

The act came back to him in flashes. The shedding of clothes, the grabbing and holding, the overwhelming need to be as close as possible. Then he remembered the slippery heat of her body and how he had shuddered and sighed. And how it had been over, so quickly, too quickly. How she had smiled up at him and he had felt such delight in her, in this strange, violent new unity. He had not wanted it to end. They had fallen asleep in a tangle of limbs.

She was not his wife. She was not even Jewish. Which in a strange way was something for which to be grateful. Had she been Jewish, he would have had to marry her.

He could not locate his underpants, but found his trousers and stumbled into them, forcing both legs through one hole. Shirt on, he shoved bare feet into his shoes and, picking his way through Shola's strewn clothes, made for the door.

‘Avromi?'

Shola's sleepy voice halted him in his tracks. She was watching him from under her duvet.

‘Where do you think you're slinking off to?'

‘I've got to go home.' He could not meet her eye.

‘Right. So you weren't even going to say goodbye?'

‘I was going to ring you.' He felt full of self-loathing at using such a pathetic excuse. Shola was cocooned in her duvet, her hair standing on end as if she had been electrocuted. She looked small and lost against the sea of white.

He sat down on the edge of her bed. They were silent for a long while.

‘It's all right, go home, Avromi. We made a mistake. Don't blame yourself. Blame the drink. We can just try to forget about it.' Her voice shook a little.

Avromi reached for her hand. She was the last person he wanted to hurt.

‘You know I've never done this before? Do you understand how big a deal this is for me?'

She nodded.

‘Do you understand that the only girl I am supposed to touch, let alone sleep with, is my wife, once we are married?'

‘I know.'

‘Shola, I'm really confused. And scared. I know what I've done – what we've done – is a sin in the eyes of my religion. But I like you. A lot. Not just physically, but as a person, a friend.'

She squeezed his hand but did not dare look at him.

‘And if I am really being honest, I've wanted to be with you like last night, for a long time.'

Shola's smile broadened. ‘That's nice, but I hope you're not proposing?'

He laughed. ‘No, I can't marry you. You're not Jewish.'

‘Avromi, I was joking.'

‘Oh.'

‘You're blushing. You've gone so red, you match my curtains!' Shola was giggling.

‘Argghhh! I am such an idiot!' He fell sideways, onto the bed, hiding his face with his hands.

‘Yup. But it takes two to tango.'

‘I guess so. So you seduced me?'

‘You kissed me first!'

He thought back to the early hours of the morning. ‘I did, didn't I? Wow, no longer a virgin and an experienced drunk. All in one night.' He fell silent. ‘Did we, um, use anything?'

‘I'm on the Pill. For my periods – it helps them to be less painful.'

‘The Pill?'

‘Oh God, Avromi! Don't tell me you've never heard of it!'

‘I've heard of condoms.'

‘Bravo! Well, the Pill stops a woman from ovulating, so she can't get pregnant. It is a tiny tablet I have to take every day, full of hormones that interrupt my normal reproductive process. So I don't produce an egg each month. That means if I have sex, there is nothing there to fertilise.'

‘An egg?'

‘Yes, an egg.'

He stared at her.

‘Avromi!' Shola grabbed a pillow and hit him around the head. ‘Don't tell me you weren't taught the facts of life at school?'

He looked sheepish. ‘Well, not really. It gets glossed over at the type of schools we go to.'

Shola flopped backwards and stared at the ceiling. He sat up to gaze down at her face.

‘But I enjoyed learning about them last night.'

‘Oh, did you now? I'm surprised you can remember.'

‘That's because you're such an inspiring teacher.' He swooped in and gave her lips a tentative peck.

Shola eyed him warily. ‘Is that all I am to you, then?'

‘No, you know you're not. I think about you all the time.' He stroked her cheek, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. ‘But in my community, guys like me are not supposed to have girlfriends. It's nothing until marriage.'

‘So, what are we going to do?' Shola asked.

‘I don't know.'

‘Neither do I. Anyway, you'd better go. Your parents.'

‘Yes.'

They kissed again and he felt himself melting once more. Shola pulled away.

‘Avromi, go home. Now. I don't want you to get into any more trouble.'

‘Ok. Can I call you later?

‘Of course you can. I'd like that very much.'

June 2008 – London

Mrs Levy had a plan. The next day she swallowed her pride and rang Mrs Gelb­mann.

‘Mrs Gelb­mann, it's Mrs Levy here. I was wondering if you could help me . . .'

‘Ah Mrs Levy, how nice to hear from you. How are you? And moreover how can I be of assistance?' purred the matchmaker. She had known the bird would return and had been patiently biding her time waiting for the call.

Mrs Levy clutched at the phone wire as if it were an umbilical cord.

‘Baruch HaShem. I have a problem. They've had three dates as you may well know and now Baruch wants to marry Chani and I'm not happy about it at all. You know the reasons why.'

Mrs Gelb­mann settled herself more comfortably into her armchair. A smile wreathed her waxy features. This would need careful handling but it was well within her capability. She prepared to flex her persuasive muscles.

‘I see, Mrs Levy. I understand you. But what would you like me to do?'

Mrs Levy could hear the shadchan smiling down the phone. She paused.

‘I want you to dissuade Chani. I want you to put her off my son. Tell her mother he's not interested any more if you have to.'

Ah how the mighty have fallen, mused Mrs Gelb­mann.

‘But Mrs Levy, you know I can't do that. They like each other, so that means HaShem has given his approval to the match. I can't interfere with fate . . . only HaShem can.'

Mrs Levy bit her lip.

‘I'll pay you,' she hissed. Shame spread through her like the heat given off by strong liquor.

Mrs Gelb­mann worked hard to disguise her delight. A chuckle of glee morphed into a cough.

‘Do excuse me . . . now Mrs Levy, I understand your predicament but you know very well that I do not accept bribes. I have my excellent reputation to think of – '

‘A thousand pounds up front. That's what I'm offering. Take it or leave it.' She was filled with a desperate urge to be excused but hung on grimly.

Mrs Gelb­mann hesitated. She thought of the expensive hotel in which she would luxuriate the next time she visited her daughter in New York.

Yet if they got married she would earn more, albeit in instalments. Not a lot more but enough. She would sit it out.

‘Mrs Levy, I cannot accept. I am terribly sorry.'

Mrs Levy slumped. The fight had gone out of her. ‘I see, Mrs Gelb­mann,' she sighed.

Now was time for the shadchan to show a little compassion. ‘Mrs Levy, you are not the first mother to come to me and ask me to try and interfere with the course of events. Usually it all turns out for the best. Perhaps you should just meet the girl first?'

‘Perhaps,' said Mrs Levy. 'Please do not let this conversation go any further,' she added hastily.

‘You can have complete confidence,' crooned Mrs Gelb­mann.

‘Thank you, Mrs Gelb­mann. If my husband were to find out – '

‘No need to worry. He won't.'

‘Ok then.'

‘All right, Mrs Levy.'

‘Goodbye for now.'

‘Goodbye, Mrs Levy.'

Utterly dispirited, Mrs Levy curled up on her cream leather sofa and wept softly into its cracks.

Mrs Gelb­mann jumped nimbly out of her arm-chair and reached into her secret drawer. The box of Belgian truffles awaited. After all, she deserved a little reward. Then she relented and opened her prayer book. First she would thank HaShem for showing her His Favour.

 

Mrs Levy slept a little. When she woke she felt calmer. Vigour restored, she racked her brains for another way to thwart her son's impending engagement. Try as she might she could see no other option but to seek celestial guidance. Rebbetzin Zilberman might have a solution. Perhaps Rabbi Zilberman could speak to her husband and then to Baruch? Obviously if the rabbi agreed with her about Chani's unsuitability, Mr Levy would return to his initial opinion of the match. With God on her side, she felt adamant that they could coax Baruch out of it. The rabbi and his wife were her last resort.

She dialled the Zilbermans' number.

‘Ah, Rebbbetzin, it's Mrs Levy here. I wondered if I could come round for a little chat. I need your advice.'

‘Of course. With pleasure. Are you free now? It's just the children. My husband will be back later – '

‘Yes. I'll come now.'

The Rebbetzin replaced the receiver and wondered what this was all about. She rested her hand on her stomach, rubbed her tightening waistband and smiled softly to herself. Whatever it was, nothing could be as monumental as her own good news. She hugged herself in delight. She would tell Chaim that evening.

The doorbell rang, interrupting her reverie. There stood Mrs Levy resplendent in her copper sheitel. A jacket of the softest chocolate leather hung casually from her shoulders. Around her neck glowed a row of enormous pink pearls.

‘Baruch HaShem, Mrs Levy. Do come in,' said the Rebbetzin warmly.

‘Thank you so much for seeing me at such short notice,' simpered Mrs Levy.

The Rebbetzin beamed at her. Mrs Levy noted the rosy smoothness of the Rebbetzin's cheeks. Her eyes were clear and bright. She looks remarkably well thought Mrs Levy. But isn't she rather old for that? Quickly she banished any negative thoughts. After all, she needed the Rebbetzin on her side.

‘Can I get you a cup of tea?'

‘Oh yes please. No milk please but two sugars.'

The Rebbetzin showed her into the living room. Mrs Levy noted the dirty net curtains as she sank into the shabby sofa. She looked around her at the rows of leather-bound books inside the large glass cabinet. There was not a lot else in the room apart from a few sticks of furniture that had clearly seen better days. Yes, this was the place to get proper holy help.

The Rebbetzin reappeared holding two steaming mugs. She clutched a pack of biscuits under her arm.

‘Here we are then,' she said placing the tea and biscuits on the little coffee table and taking her place on the sofa next to her guest. ‘I always find there's nothing like a good biscuit or two to cheer me up. Or three.' She let out a giggle.

Mrs Levy felt herself relax. She was safe here. Lulled by the sweetness of the Rebbetzin and the informality of her surroundings she warmed to her subject. The Rebbetzin sat and listened keeping her eyes fixed on her guest's face. From time to time her expression wrinkled in sympathy with Mrs Levy's woes.

The Rebbetzin thought back to the time of her own engagement. Chaim's parents had not been overly keen on her either. She had no degree or profession and had no real means of her own. At first they had seen her as another burden to add to the embarrassment of having a son who had suddenly ‘turned frum' and wanted to be a rabbi in Jerusalem. They had wanted him to come home. She remembered her first terrifying meeting with them; how much she had wanted them to like and accept her. She looked at Mrs Levy in her expensive clothes and perfect make-up and wondered if the woman had any idea how intimidating she would appear to a young, naïve girl like this Chani Kaufman. Well, she assumed that Chani was naïve. She had not heard of her before, although she was aware of Rabbi Kaufman and the whereabouts of his tiny synagogue.

 

‘And do you see, Baruch just can't marry a girl like that, Rebbetzin,' moaned Mrs Levy. ‘So I was wondering if you could speak to your husband and perhaps he could persuade Baruch not to ask her.'

‘But Mrs Levy, there's nothing in the Torah to prevent their marriage. It's entirely proper. My husband wouldn't be able to do anything.'

‘But he could just speak to my husband, couldn't he? Or even Baruch?' Mrs Levy felt herself clutching at straws.

The Rebbetzin saw the strain beneath the powder and paint. She felt truly sorry for Mrs Levy. She hated to see anyone suffer and she wondered what she would do if Avromi voiced a desire to marry a girl of whom she did not approve. Fortunately nothing of the sort had happened but one never knew.

She would try to offer the only comfort she knew.

‘Sometimes HaShem challenges us by making life difficult. We are given a choice to get angry and resentful with Him or we can learn and grow from the problem He has given us. Maybe Mrs Levy, HaShem is trying to tell you something?'

Mrs Levy twitched impatiently. This was not quite the support she had hoped for.

‘Yes, but Rebbetzin, I can see that it will all end in tears for the pair of them. Surely HaShem can see that? I'm not thinking about myself here but about Baruch. And Chani of course,' she added hastily.

The Rebbetzin reached for another biscuit in order to hide her amusement.

‘Perhaps you could see it as a mitzvah to meet the girl and see the best in her? How do you know she's as unsuitable as you think?'

‘Because the whole kehilla knows who we are and for my son to marry a – a – '

‘Nobody?' ventured the Rebbetzin.

‘Exactly,' squirmed Mrs Levy.

‘So who in your eyes would be the perfect girl for Baruch?'

‘Libby Zuckerman,' said Mrs Levy without a moment's hesitation.

‘Libby's engaged.'

‘Since when?' cried Mrs Levy. ‘How come nobody told me?'

‘It isn't common knowledge but I am telling you because you obviously harbour a hope there. Mrs Zuckerman told me last night. She's going to marry a distant cousin from Manchester.'

How provincial, thought Mrs Levy, her hopes now in tatters. ‘So it clearly wasn't meant to be.'

‘That's why you should try to embrace Chani if she accepts. Welcome her. Be nice to her. Make a special effort and you might be pleasantly surprised.'

‘Oh. Well wouldn't that be rather false on my behalf?'

‘Not if you go with an open heart. At least meet the girl and then decide.'

It was clear, thought Mrs Levy, that the Rebbetzin had never suffered from her children's poor taste. She stood up to take her leave.

‘Thank you Rebbetzin, you may be right. I will meet her and will try my best to reserve judgment until then. After all, it seems I haven't got much choice, the way things are going.'

‘Don't be so pessimistic. You never know . . .'

Mrs Levy knew. Being a resourceful woman, she had already decided on a new tack. Yes she certainly would meet Chani.

 

The Rebbetzin lay in bed waiting for her husband to finish saying his prayers. She had already said hers and she lay curled up on her side listening to his familiar muttering. Car beams bounced across the ceiling through the gaps in the curtains.

Finally he pulled her close and kissed the nape of her neck.

‘Night, Rivka.'

‘I've got something to tell you. I've waited all day.'

‘So tell me.'

‘Well, it's come as a bit of a shock – a good shock.'

‘Tell me – now I'm on spilkes.'

‘Ok . . . I'm pregnant.'

She felt him go very still. Then he sat up and stared down at her. She couldn't see his face in the darkness of the room.

‘Are you sure? When did you find out?' he whispered.

‘Today. I was two weeks late so I did a test.'

‘That's amazing . . . after Moishe we were so sure we couldn't and now . . .'

‘I know.'

He sank back and wriggled his hand under her nightdress to rest it on her belly. The silence was filled with wonder as he smiled into the darkness, their differences and lingering resentments forgotten in the elation of the moment.

‘If it's a boy, let's call him . . .'

‘Shh. Let's wait and see if we get that far.'

‘B'srat HaShem.'

She squeezed his hand. After a while she felt his heartbeat slow and his breath lengthen. She had forgotten to tell him about Mrs Levy's visit. All that seemed irrelevant now. Moving gently across the bed, she arranged her limbs more comfortably and stared at the ceiling thinking about the life that had begun inside her.

Her mind drifted back to Mrs Levy's conundrum. She thought about the girl and felt sorry for her. She wondered what she was like and whether she would ever get to meet her. It seemed highly unlikely. The Mrs Levys of this world usually got their way. Poor Baruch, he must be feeling very resentful. The Rebbetzin hoped she would never cause Avromi similar pain. Her mind circled sleepily and soon she nodded off.