Rosa Blau falls ill
“How long have we been married?” George paused for a minute. However, Sybil believing he was playing for time wouldn’t let him off the hook. “20 years,” she reminded him, “and in all those years have you even listened to me once? Have you?” George was about to answer his wife, but again she felt he was playing for time and didn’t let him answer. “That’s right, not once. Not once have you listened to me. You always feel you know better and there, and there we have your answer. You walk out of the kitchen while your daughters, son and I are deciding what to do next, and you think you’re a drill sergeant and say I will see outside in ten minutes.” George knew he was defeated. The best thing he could do was stand there looking sorry for himself and let his wife beat up on him.
A couple of days ago George was faced with a decision of a lifetime. He had built up the Jewish community of North Topsail Beach over a number of years and now held the prestigious position of both Rabbi and Cantor of Beth El Al Synagogue. He had now been put in a predicament not of his choosing, by being offered the job of Rabbi in the Falasha community in Sneads Ferry.
“But I don’t know Ethiopian!” he told Moshe when he was approached underhandedly, he felt, after Moshe had too much wine to drink. George was too savvy to subject himself to Manischewitz wine. “Tastes like sweet grape juice,” he had told his parents decades ago when they lived on the New Jersey shore and a relative had paid them a visit around Chanukah to sell them kosher wine. Unfortunately, George’s father Sol, who was a devout Jew, believed everything the salesman had told him and had bought a case of it. After each member of the family held a glass of this wine up high and with shouts La Chaim and drank it, the rest was thrown in the Hudson. Moshe had drunk too much of it, and George none of it.
“No, no, George, we don’t talk Ethiopian anymore. We live in America. We speak English but all our prayers are in Hebrew, just as King David wanted it.”
George and his family left that Rosh Hashanah dinner in a quandary. George because he didn’t know what to do about the offer, and Sybil and the children filled with the best food they had ever had and weren’t sure they would ever have again.
A few weeks later George had to make a decision about his future as a Rabbi and that of his family. He had invited, not ordered as he reminded his wife, to meet him on the sand dune closest to their nest so he could talk to them seriously. What he didn’t know was that the tide was coming in. For the next half an hour or so, while he engaged them in verbal combat, the tide washed in and they all found themselves standing on one leg in deep water. The result was what Sybil was lambasting George for. Rosa had come down with at first a runny nose, which quickly escalated into full blown cold.
“When I suggested to Rosa this morning that we should go the park so she could jump on the swing and fly as high as she could she said no mummy not today, and it was then I knew there was something very wrong with her.”
George saw an opening, “I bet she would for me. Where is she?”
“In her bedroom getting ready to climb into her bed,” replied Sybil with a smirk on her face because she knew what Rosa’s answer would be. George, who was quite determined to prove his wife wrong, walked into Rosa’s bedroom. But before he could say anything, he noticed her pillows lined with all her toy dolls and unicorns. She was about to climb into bed.
“No, Daddy,” said Rosa who must’ve heard her parents’ conversation. “I don’t feel well. So not today. I don’t want to go to the park.” Sybil revelled in the knowledge that George’s favourite 7 year old daughter, had shot him down.
George was lost for words. “Are Timmy or Julia sick?”
“No not yet,” replied Sybil, “but it’s only matter of time. I told you I didn’t think it was a good idea to remain standing on one foot in water, but you wouldn’t listen to me and so here we have it. Your youngest daughter is sick and I’m sure Timmy and Julia will be soon as well.” There was only one thing for George to do, and that was to make matters much worse. He turned, looked at his wife as Rosa climbed into the bed and pull the covers around her neck.
“You know we never came to a decision about what we as a family are going to do about the Falashas’ offer.”
No, George, that was not the right thing to do. Forget about the offer the Falashas made to you, think of your sick daughter and maybe your entire family. He closed his beak before he made another mistake. Belatedly he felt it called for diplomacy. “Why don’t we talk in the living room,” he offered, “and let Rosa sleep.” Sybil agreed but before they left, George walked over to her, gave her a peck on the cheek and whispered, “I love you.”
Rosa who at most times was given to dramatics didn’t this time and just smiled at George. “I love you too daddy,” she whispered as Sybil and George left the room. They went into the living room where Timmy and Julia were sitting watching the Bachelorette show on TV. The grownups shook their heads and George turned off the TV after wrestling the remote from his son.
“While you’re here,” he began, “why don’t we finish the conversation of a few days ago?”
“About moving to Snead’s Ferry?” asked Julie.
“Yes,” replied George knowing immediately that the conversation wasn’t going in a direction he would’ve liked. “I guess you guys want to stay here.”
“Yes please,” replied Timmy.
“But you’ll be closer to Melanie,” offered George feeling that that would do the trick.
Julie answered for him. “No, Timmy doesn’t like Melanie anymore. Didn’t you see the way he was smiling at Naomi?”
“Chaim’s daughter?” asked George and before Timmy could defend himself, George added, “but they are Reform as well.”
“Well, I’m not sure I want to date either of them.”
Yes George, go for it. George you’re dying to say it, go ahead George. But George closed his beak and didn’t utter what was on his mind. “Is this a good show?” he asked and Sybil looked at him strangely.
“Are you nuts? It’s a stupid show. It’s only made for the goyim. Can you imagine a nice Jewish girl going on a show like this? Sometimes I wonder about you.”
“Beth Meyerson was Miss America once.” George said throwing Timmy the remote. “Sybil,” he shouted running after her, “Sybil what was wrong with what I said? I only asked,” but Sybil by then was in Rosa’s bedroom about to check her temperature. George sauntered into the kitchen and opened the fridge to see if there was anything to eat. He was starving.