"Yitgadal veyitkadash shemei rabbah" the chazzan said. "Amen", I answered as I stood in the Synagogue, looking over the separation barrier to get a better look at the young man who was singing the prayers. He looked distracted, his eyes were staring emptily into space. The words that came from his mouth sounded like a statement. A statement that the great name of G-d will be glorified and widened. I agreed. Amein. I felt detached. "God is great," I thought to myself, "and far away."
I usually did not go to Synagogue in the morning. Today, I woke up exceptionally early for a Sunday during summer vacation. I stayed in bed for an extra half an hour looking at the ceiling, enjoying every minute that I did not have to get out of bed and rush to work. This was my last summer vacation. Next year, I would no longer be in college. Next year, I would be working, a real grown-up, and summer would be just like autumn and spring. I would have to wake up, and get to work. This morning, I lay in bed.
After half an hour of doing nothing and entertaining the idea of doing nothing, I put on my long cotton skirt. I only wore it on vacation, because it was too informal to wear to college. I put on a bright blue t-shirt, brushed my teeth. I put my hair up in a messy bun on the side of my head. I looked carefree, I looked like a college girl would look on vacation.
I walked down the stairs of the house our parents rented for the summer. The stairs were made of dark wood. In fact, the entire house was dark wood. The floors were carpeted with deep red rugs that were probably acquired by the owner at some garage sale, the windows creaked when one opened them. All in all, the house had a charming feel to it. I felt like a princess living in some secret castle in the middle of the woods.
I walked into the kitchen and turned on the hot water. I was going to make myself hot chocolate. As I sat down with my piping hot beverage in one hand and the novel I was reading in the other, Sholom came into the kitchen. Sholom was my brother. He was grumpy in the mornings. He never got to sleep late, he had to go to minyan every morning. He was a man. That meant he had male responsibilities to fulfill and he took them seriously. I wondered often if I would be able to hold out had I been born a man. Whenever I would ask him about it, Sholom would point out that I wasn't a man, and that conversations such as this one got me nowhere.
I walked into the kitchen and turned on the hot water. I was going to make myself hot chocolate. As I sat down with my piping hot beverage in one hand and the novel I was reading in the other, Sholom came into the kitchen. Sholom was my brother. He was grumpy in the mornings. He never got to sleep late, he had to go to minyan every morning. He was a man. That meant he had male responsibilities to fulfill and he took them seriously. I wondered often if I would be able to hold out had I been born a man. Whenever I would ask him about it, Sholom would point out that I wasn't a man, and that conversations such as this one got me nowhere.
I looked at him as he poured himself some black coffee. Instead of sitting down next to me, he held his mug and started walking out the door. "Where are you going?" I asked. Sholom turned around. "I am going to Shul," he said, "Want to come?" I did not want to go, but I wanted to be with Sholom, so I said that I wanted to go. I went to Shul and here I was in my long sleeve t-shirt and skirt to the floor agreeing with the fact that G-d's name will be glorified.
When we got back from Synagogue, which was held in a basement of a house similar to our own located on the same road, we ate breakfast. By that time, most of the family was awake. My mother made eggs, she cut fruit, the bread was in the toaster oven we had brought from home, there was the traditional cereal and milk that no child could survive without. We chatted about our night, plans for the day as we ate breakfast and as we cleared the table together.
"I am going to the river with Chaya," I said. That did not surprise anyone. Every day of the past month I would fill a basket with fruit, snacks, bread, cheeses, fish and spreads. Then I would walk down the road to get Chaya, my college friend, from her house. She lived three houses down. Together we would walk through the trees in the forest until there was a clearing with a beautiful river. We would spread out the blanket that she brought, put the food out and use her second blanket to cover ourselves if the weather was chilly. We would sit and talk for hours undisturbed, surrounded by trees water and rocks. We would watch the sun set over the trees and we'd get home by the time it was dark outside.
Today was no different. By the time I came to her house,she was standing outside with her blankets smiling. She joined me and we kept on walking. Chaya looked pretty today, her hair had grown out in the summer and it framed her face in a graceful manner, with curls falling over her shoulders onto her back. I told Chaya often how much I loved her hair. She would smile. I liked seeing Chaya smile. She was such a serious, deep young woman. Sometimes I would think she looked sad. Chaya thought about the world, about religion, about relationships. She was never at peace, she was always questioning, she was never finding answers. She seemed calm only when we were by our river. "I love the water," she would say. That is why I loved being with her near the water so much. I got to see her at her best and calmest. She never went into the water though. I wondered if Chaya knew how to swim, but I never bothered asking. I figured it was too cold to swim anyhow.
By the time we got to the river, it was three in the afternoon. I lay on my back, snacking occasionally. I listened to Chaya, as she told me stories of love, her love for the water. I knew that I would never be able to understand what she meant when she spoke of herself and the water, but Chaya was smart. She was exquisite.
Chaya stopped talking. We just lay there. I felt tired, probably because I woke up earlier that morning. I closed my eyes and slowly drifted off.
Chaya stopped talking. We just lay there. I felt tired, probably because I woke up earlier that morning. I closed my eyes and slowly drifted off.
It took me a moment after opening my eyes to realize where I was. I was by the river. Chaya had been putting rocks in her skirt and pinning it up. "What are you doing?" I asked.
--I want the water,--she said
--Why the rocks? It is cold. Stay here. We are going to go home soon.
Chaya looked at me in a ridiculous way that made me feel stupid. Her entire being was saying, you cannot understand. You never had true love.
I tugged at her skirt, "Chaya, please" I whispered, as the realization of what was happening crept into my mind.
Chaya smiled sadly and said: "You are a good girl, you really are."
She put her feet in the water and started walking. I stood up. "Chaya," Was all I could say. "Chaya." Her name was life, but she was choosing death. My eyes welled up with tears as I watched her walk deeper into the water. She was as calm and composed as she had ever been.
I couldn't save her. I knew I could not. This was what happened is a world where everyone had to fend for themselves, where everyone had to make their own decisions.
I also knew that I could never understand her death because I never understood love the way she did. However, I did know that life without love was better than death with love. Chaya chose death because she wanted to be forever entangled in the embrace of the water that she loved more than life. Chaya was life, but she became death.
I saw her beautiful locks of hair float to the top of the water. They stayed there for a moment or two and then joined my drowning friend.
I also knew that I could never understand her death because I never understood love the way she did. However, I did know that life without love was better than death with love. Chaya chose death because she wanted to be forever entangled in the embrace of the water that she loved more than life. Chaya was life, but she became death.
I saw her beautiful locks of hair float to the top of the water. They stayed there for a moment or two and then joined my drowning friend.
The sun was blazing as it made its descent behind the trees. There were only a few rays of light left. I stood alone in front of the water and raised my head towards God. "Yitgadal Veyitkadash Shemei Rabba?" I asked in a voice that was loud and that was clear. "God, is this the way your name will be sanctified?" A flock of birds was flying over my head, "Amein," they cried. The trees blew in the wind confirming "Amein," they said "it is."
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