Fiction: “It’s a Good Start”

Editor’s Note: Here is another short story that we proudly publish as part of our ongoing program to present Jewish-oriented fiction to our readers.  If you have a story you would like to share, please contact San Diego Jewish World’s editor at donald.harrison@sdjewishworld.com

By Eva Trieger

Eva Trieger

SOLANA BEACH –Adam looked at the kitchen clock and realized he would not make it to the morning minyan, even if he sprinted. He would daven shachris from home, in his new apartment. He began the morning blessings, thanking Hashem for causing him to wake from sleep, for being born a male, for being sure-footed. These primary blessings were intended to set the tone of praise, gratitude, and mindfulness for the prayers to follow.

Adam stood, facing towards Prospect Park West, east of his new home in the Park Slope neighborhood of Brooklyn. The earliest rays of the sun highlighted the furniture that was not new, but clean and well maintained. He had just moved in last month, right after Sukkot, and could scarcely believe his good fortune. He had exceeded all of his expectations in being able to afford a two-bedroom apartment in this up and coming neighborhood. The area was in the process of being gentrified, and these apartments were still affordable, but no doubt they’d skyrocket out of reach like nobody’s business.

The master bedroom was large and contained a full bath with a white porcelain sink and commode. The original hardware graced each door, with heavy leaded crystal doorknobs. Dated brass light switch plates gleamed from the walls. The second bedroom, smaller, now served as Adam’s temporary office for all of his law books and unpacked boxes. He’d get to them soon, he promised himself. As Adam wound the tefillin about his left arm and forehead, he thought, “It’s a good start”.

Before he began praying, he indulged in a moment of excited anticipation. This evening he hoped to meet his future wife. After work, he would go to his shiddach, to meet his intended. He knew little about Rachel, only what he was told by the matchmaker, but he had every reason to believe that she would be his soul mate. He had sat in his parents’ home last Sunday afternoon, before returning to shul to learn with Jacob and Ezri. Mrs. Goldstein, the schadchan, had come over, bubbling with eagerness to talk about the match.

“She is a smart girl, and both of her grandfathers were rabbis in Chicago. For Shabbas she made most of the meal by herself, and her kreplach were out of this world. This girl, she cooks with love, you can tell. She’s a beauty too. A little shy, but that’s a good thing. She’s not one of those brazen girls who speaks everything what crosses her mind. No, this one, she’s special. You’ll see. Her parents make a good home, and because she is the eldest girl, she has helped her dear mother, Hannaleh, to raise all of the other children. Baruch Hashem, eleven younger children, all healthy! Truly a menschlakite family, I’m proud to say. Did I mention she just finished her Masters degree in Sociology from Columbia University? A smart girl too. Maybe you saw her on campus? Oh, but you’re a few years older, that’s right. She graduated last spring. You’ve been working for the law firm for four years already, no?”

Adam recalled the way Mrs. Goldstein had spoken so highly of Rachel’s parents and their philanthropic activities in the community too. He flushed with pride; though he wasn’t yet their son-in-law, he was eager to be linked to this family who cared about Tikkun olam and who demonstrated priorities in line with his own. Adam turned to the pages that contained the Shema, and proclaimed his faith to the Holy One. He continued with the Amidah, silently praying for continued health for his parents and success in his career. He thoughtfully recited the prayers for those who had passed away and asked for healing for those stricken with illness or pain.

With the morning prayers concluded, Adam unwound his tefillin, and carefully placed them into the small boxes that would protect them until the following day. He snapped the boxes shut and removed his prayer shawl. In the instant, his thoughts shifted back to the events about to unfold.

He again allowed himself to think about the evening, and gave himself permission to imagine how his life would unfurl after this fateful introduction. In his private inner world, he saw his lovely Rachel. She would not meet his direct gaze, but would look down at the place setting, fingering the pink embroidered flower on the muslin tablecloth.

Rather than answer his probes directly, she would politely sip her tea from the cup, casting her eyes downward, demurely. Adam imagined that they felt similarly about a number of topics, so when he fantasized asking about the number of children they hoped to have, he was certain he heard Rachel reply “as many as Hashem will give us”. He was pleased with her sturdiness. Though he knew that many women felt they had to be skinny to be attractive, he was pleased to have learned that his Rachel was zaftig. She had meat on her frame and would not be blown away by a stiff Nor’easter. He was humming as he put on his jacket against the early November wind.

Before Adam put his key in the lock he imagined the dining room of their future home. To his delight, he saw a well-appointed Shabbas table. Platters were filled with a succulent roasted chicken, nearby sat a tureen of cholent. The entire apartment was redolent with the aromas of onions, garlic, and yeast. Two beautiful braided challahs embraced each other at the head of the table, and in the glow of the candles Adam took in Rachel at the head of the table, with five children flocking around her.

Twelve-year-old Sarah, helped her ema sing the blessing, while Leah, Schmuel, Dan, and the baby, Binyamin, smiled in anticipation of the delicious meal, to be eaten in this cozy epicenter of love and belonging. Hearing the older children respond with “Amen”, Adam smiled, wrapped his muffler about his neck, and reached up to touch the silver mezzuzah that graced his front door. He touched his fingers to his lips and repeated, “It’s a good start.”

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Eva Trieger is a freelance writer based in Solana Beach, California. She wrote this short story in 2010.