The Two-Family House(55)

“Honey, I don’t know. It’s hard to know things like that.”

“But they’ll take care of him, won’t they?”

Abe wrapped his arms around her. “They’ll take care of him.” He held her while she cried, until the last tiny sob escaped from her lips, until he felt her exhale, long and slow, and when she finally let go and he looked at her, he saw that something within her had altered. It was like looking at a finished jigsaw puzzle with one piece missing from an undetectable place. No matter what Abe did, he knew he could never replace what had been lost.





Chapter 41





JUDITH


Black dresses made Judith think of funerals. That was why she didn’t own any. Now that she actually had a funeral to go to, she realized that what she wore—what anyone wore—didn’t matter. In the end, she chose a dark gray skirt and a navy sweater. No one would notice.

Half of the people at the funeral home were strangers to her, but all of them gave her quiet smiles or kind glances. The room was crowded, full of people shaking their heads and dabbing their eyes with tissues. One of Teddy’s teachers approached Judith to say what a special boy her brother was, but Dinah interrupted. “We’re supposed to go into the chapel,” she said. “Rabbi Hirsch wants to talk to us.”

In the front right corner of the chapel, Rabbi Hirsch was speaking quietly to her parents. He was the rabbi from their old synagogue in Brooklyn and had traveled to Long Island to be with them. Rabbi Hirsch had been at Teddy’s bris and all her cousins’ bar mitzvahs. He was in his sixties, with a full gray beard and kind gray eyes. Judith hadn’t seen him for years.

Uncle Abe, Aunt Helen and her cousins were in the chapel too, sitting on the long upholstered benches in the back. Aunt Helen’s eyes were closed and her head was resting on Uncle Abe’s shoulder. As soon as Harry saw Judith, he walked over to give her a hug. He didn’t know what to say, but she was grateful he was there. Aunt Helen hadn’t seen her come in.

“Judith, dear, come here. Your sisters too,” said the rabbi. After Judith, her sisters and her parents gathered together, Rabbi Hirsch spoke to them about keriah, the Jewish practice of tearing one’s clothes as part of mourning. Hei handed each of them a torn black ribbon attached to a safety pin. “Take this,” he told them “and pin it on the left side of your chest over your heart.”

Mimi objected. “I’d rather put mine on my skirt. This blouse is silk and it might get a hole and I—”

Rabbi Hirsch cut her off. “Why do we pin it here?” he asked her, thumping the left side of his chest with his fist. “We do it because the tear in the ribbon is a symbol, a symbol that our hearts are torn and broken in our grief. In my day, we tore our clothes. But today,” he looked at Mimi again, “we use the ribbon.”

Mimi replied, “I hope you have more of these because there are a lot of people out there—”

Rabbi Hirsch silenced Mimi for a second time. “The ribbon is not a prize that we pass around the room. It is not an accessory, to be worn wherever we like or by whomever we choose. It is worn only by the immediate family—the spouse, the parents, the siblings and the children of the deceased. No one else.” Mimi’s face reddened and the rabbi continued, “The death of your brother is a terrible tragedy. A child has no wife or children of his own to mourn him. He has only you.” Mimi was silent. She pinned the ribbon to her blouse without another word. The rest of them did the same. The rabbi told them he would begin the service in a few minutes, so Judith walked over to her aunt and uncle to tell them. “We’re almost ready to start.”

When Helen opened her eyes, they immediately went to the ribbon pinned to Judith’s sweater. “Where did you get that?”

“Rabbi Hirsch.”

Helen sprang from her seat and began barking orders at Uncle Abe. “We have to put ribbons on before the service. We need to tell the rabbi right away!”

Judith was confused. “Aunt Helen, I don’t think he has any more of them. The rabbi said…”

Her aunt wasn’t listening. “Abe, we have to get a ribbon from the rabbi now!”

“Shhhh, shhhh.” Abe’s voice was barely above a whisper. “The ribbon is for the immediate family, sweetheart. You know that.”

“You think we’re not Teddy’s family?” She was frantic now, pacing in front of them, her face flushed with distress.

He tried to soothe her. “Of course we’re his family, but only his parents and his sisters can wear the ribbon.”

“I was there when he was born! I took care of him and rocked him when he had colic! Every day I watched to make sure she didn’t neglect him!” She was yelling now, too loud for the others in the chapel to pretend not to hear.

“I know. I know how much you loved Teddy. But you’re not his mother—”

“Shut up!” Judith gasped as she watched her aunt slap her uncle across the face. His hand went immediately to his cheek as the sound of the slap echoed off the chapel’s stone walls and floor. When she realized what she had done, Aunt Helen sat back down on the bench and began to sob.

What happened next was something Judith would always remember. She thought Uncle Abe would walk away then, or yell at Aunt Helen for hitting him. Judith assumed he would be furious at what had just occurred. She worried he might retaliate. But Uncle Abe didn’t do any of those things. He didn’t even look angry, just sad. He moved close to Aunt Helen and brushed her hair gently away from her face. He took a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and wiped away her tears. He kissed her on the cheek, not just once, but twice. And then he held her hand and pressed it to the spot where she had struck him. She folded herself into his embrace and allowed him to comfort her. The rest of them, including the rabbi, looked away. “Love is always forgiving,” the rabbi murmured under his breath.