“Maybe you should have a personal accountability lesson,” Rachel says with a smirk.
Mom eyes Rachel, and we all laugh.
“Okay, Ariel,” Mom prompts. “Blooper and highlight.”
I hesitate. “I almost walked out the door without a shirt on this morning,” I say. “Dad saved me.”
Rachel laughs, and so does Dad, but Mom looks concerned. “Maybe you need to slow down in the mornings,” she says.
“I’m good, Mom. Really.”
“You could go to bed earlier. Or go on a shorter run.”
I shift in my chair. “I thought it was funny. You were supposed to laugh. It was funny, Dad, right?”
He glances between the two of us. “Yeah, I’m a smart man. I’m not getting in the middle of this.”
Mom rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Saul. You’re so weak.”
“This is true, Miriam,” he agrees. “All right, Ariel. Highlight?”
Wow. So many to choose from. I can talk about the calc quiz I failed or the orchestra solo I bombed. I tear my challah into small pieces. The rest of my family doesn’t have real failures. They have blunders, gaffes. I’m the only one messing up important things.
“Ariel?” Mom asks.
I swallow. “Uh, I ran a minute faster than my average this morning.”
“Nice.” Dad air-high-fives me.
“Proud of you, boychik,” Mom says.
“Thanks.”
I rip my challah again and again until it crumbles.
Three
“Barchu et adonai hamvorah,” Rabbi Solomon leads.
“Barchu et adonai hamvorah leiolam va-edh,” the congregation echoes.
I mumble the response prayer while reading Crime and Punishment off my Kindle, which is tucked inside my prayer book and angled away from my parents. I need to devote as much time to calculus as possible without ignoring my other classes, so I’m getting creative.
Mom and Dad are on my left. They’re a matched pair, both wearing classic tallit with dark-blue stripes and the identical reading glasses they purchased in a multipack at Costco. Rachel is on my right, paying close attention, reading along with every prayer. She goes to Hebrew School three times a week now and is only a few years away from her bat mitzvah. Before I know it, she’ll be in high school, sitting in Ms. Hayes’s office.
Mom notices my Kindle. She nudges me and gives the look. “Pay attention, Ariel.”
We’re not the most religious Jews on the kibbutz, but we go to services every Saturday. My parents are machers in the community. Everyone knows and loves them. Sometimes I enjoy services, but when I’m behind on homework, every minute stretches by like an hour.
After reading from the Torah, Rabbi Solomon takes the bema and gives her sermon. There are 613 mitzvot in the Torah, and 74 of those good deeds are in this week’s portion. It’s a parsha of ethical battlegrounds, about making the right decisions even in the most difficult times.
Rabbi Solomon engages me enough I don’t pick up my phone or Kindle for twenty minutes straight. Eventually, though, we switch to Hebrew prayer, and despite the ethical ramifications of reading during services, I dive back into Crime and Punishment.
* * *
After services, we convene in the social hall for kiddush. Congregants swirl around Mom, noshing on bagels and lox as they schmooze. Mom has this ability to make eye contact with everyone at once. Dad says she’s the belle of every ball, even the ones she doesn’t attend. It’s why she’s a great journalist. She’s a talented writer, but she also connects with everyone. And if you’re friends with someone, they’ll come to you with their stories first.
Dad is off in a corner, a raisin bagel in his mouth, not-so-discreetly working on his phone. Rachel is out of sight, probably running around Tinder Hill Park. The wooded trails back up to the synagogue, and after services, kids race around, playing hide-and-seek and tag. Jealousy seethes through me for a second.
“Shabbat Shalom, Ariel.”
I turn and find Malka Rothberg wearing her Saturday best. An olive wrap dress hugs her curves, though it goes past her knees and covers her arms. Her dark hair falls in waves against her face, a contrast to her light skin.
We dated for about two seconds when I was a rising sophomore and she was a rising junior, but it was one of those relationships people have just so they can say they were in a relationship. We’re much better off as friends. She goes to college in Atlanta now.
“Good Shabbos,” I say. “What’s up? How’s school?”
“School is good…” She trails off. “Commuting back and forth for the band can be a pain, but it’s okay.” Malka plays guitar in Sook’s band, Dizzy Daisies, and drives back to our suburb all the time for practice.
I nod. “Cool, cool.” I glance at the door. I need to leave soon. I have a volunteer shift at the animal shelter. Hopefully I’ll be able to get some studying done there.
Malka narrows her eyes. “You okay?”
“Yep.” I scratch the back of my head. My fingers meet the bobby pin holding my kippah in place. I slide both off and shove them in my pocket. “So are Sook and I going to lose you to the cool, glamorous life of college?”
She laughs, awkwardly, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “Yup. I’m too cool for you seventeen-year-olds.”
“Dude, you turned eighteen a month ago.”
“Dude, whatever.” She grins. “Hey! You should join us for practice sometime. Sook wrote a new song that would sound great with violin.”
“I’ll think about it. No promises.”
It would be nice to play violin for fun again, but I don’t have the time for that. My alarm goes off, phone buzzing in my pocket. “I’ve gotta go. Animal shelter. I’ll see you soon. Tell me some cool-kid college stories next time, okay?”
She laughs awkwardly again. I give her a quick hug and head out.
* * *
“Ezekiel, come back!” I shout, chasing after the loose terrier. I didn’t knot his leash properly before bathing him, and now he’s running around the back of the shelter, a tiny ball of suds and fury. “Get him, Rachel!”
“On it!” She scampers after him. She forgot a change of clothes, so she’s wearing one of my T-shirts over her Shabbos dress. It hangs down to her knees. Ezekiel stops at the window to bark at a squirrel. Rachel sneaks up behind him and pulls him to her chest with a gentle hug. He scrambles for a second, but then gives in and kisses her face. “Good boy.” She giggles.