You Asked for Perfect(50)

I spent four days a week with everyone in that picture. Sunday school, plus after-school classes on Tuesday and Thursday, plus services on Saturday and the bar and bat mitzvah parties to go along with them. We all knew each other well, despite being in different social groups at school. I only talk to a few of them now, mostly the kids in my AP classes like Isaac. My social circle has grown small over the years. And now, the few people I still hang out with aren’t talking to me.

My alarm buzzes in my pocket. Time for my meeting. I walk down to Rabbi Solomon’s office and knock.

She calls out, “Come in.”

As I head inside, it hits me that this is the third time I’ve been here in a month.

“Have a seat, Ariel. Would you like some tea?”

I almost say no. But it’s a Friday afternoon, and I’m relatively caught up on my work. Turns out your friends not speaking to you frees up time. My Harvard interview is tomorrow, but I’m ready for that since I’ve been preparing since it was scheduled. So, strangely, I have an empty evening ahead of me. “Sure, thanks.”

“I have some more mandel bread, too.” Rabbi Solomon winks, then flicks on the electric kettle next to her desk.

A few minutes later, we each have a steaming mug of Israeli tea and a hunk of mandel bread. I dip mine into the tea, then take a bite.

“So, Ariel. How did your reading go?”

Earlier in the week, when we made the appointment, she asked me to read a story from the Talmud. It was short, only a page. And it was nice to read something and know that I didn’t have to write an essay about it.

“I liked it,” I reply.

And I did. We discuss the story. It’s called “The Fox in the Vineyard.” A fox spies luscious grapes in a vineyard, but the hole in the fence is too small. He can’t get through. So he starves himself for three days until he can slip through and gorge on the grapes. But once he’s eaten all the grapes, he can’t get back through the fence. He must fast for three more days and leaves as unsatisfied as he came.

“How do you interpret the story?” Rabbi Solomon asks.

“Well, my first thought was his eyes are bigger than his stomach, but I think it’s more than that. It’s like he was chasing something pointless. He starved himself for six days for nothing. He thought the grapes would make him happy, but in the end, it was a waste of time.”

“So it’s about fruitless activities?” Rabbi Solomon grins and holds up her hands. “Pun not intended, I promise.”

“Ha, yeah, I don’t know. It’s confusing. How do you know if a goal is worth it until you get it? We work hard for a lot of stuff. Should we not put in effort because the reward might not be what we thought?”

“Those are big questions, Ariel.”

“I guess.” I scratch my ear. “So do you have any answers?”

“It’s not so much about the answers. Answers end a conversation. Questions keep a conversation going. We’re here to discuss and explore. Why cut off a journey before we get started?”

“But why ask questions if you’re never going to get the answers?”

Rabbi Solomon grins. “See, you’re already in the habit. Answer a question with a question. That’s rabbinical method.”

Rabbi Solomon stirs her tea. “What other questions do you have, Ariel? What’s been on your mind?” Her face softens. “I heard about your sister. Would you like to talk about it?”

“I guess it’s kind of like the story. Rachel and I both want to do well in school. If you do well, you get into a good college and get a good job and make good money…” I glance down at my hands. “But what if we do all of that, and we’re too tired to enjoy the reward?”

“What if you get the grapes but you’re too full to appreciate them?”

“Something like that,” I say. “But I can’t just stop. It’s school. I can’t drop out. How are we supposed to do everything right without burning out?”

Rabbi Solomon’s eyes flicker with something—with sadness. “That’s a tough question, Ariel.”

“Got a Talmud story for it?”

*

Half an hour later, I leave the office and freeze when I see who’s sitting on the couch outside. Rabbi Solomon pokes her head out. “Give me five minutes, Malka. I have to make a quick phone call.”

“Sure,” Malka says with a slight smile.

It’s only been a week since I’ve seen her, but she seems different. Older? I don’t know. That’s the weird thing about being friends with someone for so long. One day you look at them and realize they’re not the eight-year-old kid you built pillow forts with.

“Hey,” I say, my shoulders tense.

Except for a text update about Rachel, we haven’t spoken since that phone call before the Dizzy Daisies’ gig.

She gives a small nod. “Hi.”

I scratch the floor with my shoe. “I shouldn’t have ditched you guys,” I say. “Not at the last minute, especially without explaining. It was a jerk move. And I’m sorry.”

She’s silent for a moment, then pats the couch. “Come on. Sit down.”

I take the seat next to her. “I’m really sorry,” I say, my throat tight. I look down and twist my fingers together.