Part 20 (1/2)
”I'm sorry.”
”It's okay.”
”I guess I've been feeling sorry for myself.”
”Sure sounds that way.”
Another silence.
He looked at his bad leg. ”You know, sometimes I think I deserve this.”
”How can you say that?”
He thought for a second. ”Cause I killed a man.”
”But you were defending yourself; he was a horrible man.”
He wasn't surprised that she knew, he'd suspected her father had told her. ”Maybe so,” he said, ”but I didn't have to kill him.”
”So you think you're being punished?”
”Sort of.”
”Well, maybe G.o.d wanted you to kill him. Maybe you were G.o.d's messenger.”
He looked at her askance.
”Do you know the story of Pinchas in the Bible?” she asked.
He shook his head, ”No.”
”Well, Pinchas was a righteous, G.o.d-fearing man, who killed another man for having forbidden s.e.xual relations with a woman. And the Torah applauds what he did.”
”I didn't see anyone applauding what I did.”
”If I would have been there, I would have applauded.”
She probably would have, he thought. It didn't mollify his guilt, but it was somehow comforting. He managed a smile.
She smiled back. Then, out of the blue, he laughed.
”Why are you laughing?” she asked.
”I can't tell you, it's stupid.”
”No, you have to tell me. If we're going to be friends, we must tell each other everything.”
G.o.d, she killed him. He just couldn't help himself in her presence. ”It's the name, Pinchas.” He had trouble p.r.o.nouncing the ch, it came out more like a k. ”I know someone who goes by that name, and he ain't nothing like that guy in the Bible.”
”That's so funny,” she exclaimed. ”I do too.”
”That's right,” he said, realizing the connection. ”You do know him.”
She appeared bewildered.
”Pinchas, you do know him,” he repeated.
She thought for a moment, then figured it out. ”Of course, it's the same Pinchas. That's how your mother knows my father. They both worked for his parents.”
Simultaneous smiles.
Such a small world.
CHAPTER 27.
Rabbi Isaac Weissman stood in the doorway, wearing his nervousness. ”Please, come in,” the rabbi said, beckoning the young man into his home.
”Thank you,” Benjamin Frankel responded, appearing equally uncomfortable.
They shared a clammy handshake and forced smiles. The rabbi took the young man's coat, and led the way to the living room where Rachel and Hannah were waiting.
”Hannah, Rucheleh, this is Benjamin Frankel, the young man that Reb Blesofsky has been telling us so much about.”
A moment of silence loomed as Rachel's eyes met Benjamin's. A pleasant looking fellow, she thought. Tall, thin, dark-haired with soft blue eyes, and sharply dressed in a navy pin-striped suit, starched white s.h.i.+rt and burgundy tie. She took special note of the tie, a sign that he wasn't one of those rigid Hasidic men who refused to wear ties, fearing it made them appear like the gentiles. Seeing that he was more like her father, and some other Lubavitchers who were more liberal about such things, brought a sense of relief.
”My friends call me Binny,” the young man said, as he and the rabbi took seats.
A gentle voice, Rachel noted. ”My friends call me Rachel,” she said.
The young man seemed to ease up a bit. Rachel had been told that this was also his first s.h.i.+ddoch, and that he was a shy sort. She had a sense, from the way he looked at her, that he was as pleased with her appearance as she was with his.
”So, your family is from South Africa?” Hannah asked, trying to make conversation. She had already known almost everything there was to know about the young man.
”Yes, there is a small Lubavitcher community there. My father is in diamonds.”
Rabbi Weissman: ”And they sent you here to study?”
Binny: ”Yes, to study, and to be closer to the Rebbe.”
Rachel had to admit she was impressed, though still apprehensive. She'd been told by her parents that he was one of the brightest rabbinical students in the seminary. Should bode well for our children, she thought fleetingly, and then it hit her-children would be what a man like him would want, lots of children, as soon as possible. And her job would be to take care of them, run after them, and keep the home. That, after all, was the Hasidic way.
She felt a sudden wave of anxiety. How could she possibly marry someone like Benjamin Frankel and fulfill her dreams? How could she tell her parents the truth without breaking their hearts? But she couldn't think about all that right now, it was much too overwhelming.
”It's funny, I've never seen you around the neighborhood,” she said.
”Rucheleh, Binny is a rabbinical student,” her father said. ”He doesn't have time to hang around the neighborhood, or stand outside the shul on Shabbos, looking at the girls. He studies, eats, and dovens in the yes.h.i.+va! Yes?” He looked to Binny for a reply.