FICTION

GARY LICHTENSTEIN

Special to The Jewish News

t happened so gradually
that at first we paid no
attention. But as time
went on my brother's actions
became too awkward to ig-
nore. He wouldn't eat pork; he
wouldn't eat at certain
restaurants; he wouldn't com-
promise. He began to speak
too emphatically about God,
when the subject came up. He
moved to a kosher household
and soon became a leader. In
Israel, on the kibbutz where
the transformation began, his
friends wondered what had
happened to him They felt
somewhat responsible and
asked what they had done to
make him "fanatic."
Then he changed his name
from Marc to Moshe. Finally,
he began dressing differently;
little children would linger
behind their mothers,
twisting their necks and gaz-
ing wide-eyed and silent as he
walked by. He dressed in con-
servative black and white,
and when he took off his coat
the tzitzit hung like stripes.
This is what we saw, and un-
til my grandmother died, it
was all I understood.

I

We had been raised in the
Reform tradition and through
high school I had been heavi-
ly involved in temple ac-
tivities. Yet my involvement
was more due to the fact that
I was a good kid, rather than
a good Jew. For me, Judaism
was an obligatory experience.
Being Jewish meant catching
the bus every Tuesday and
Thursday after school from
fourth through seventh
grades to sit in a too-strict
classroom learning to read a
language that I could not
translate and make letters
that had no meaning. Being
Jewish meant sacrificing
Sunday football games in the
park because of religious
school. Being Jewish meant
attending social action rallies
to make the numbers look
large. Like the words in
Hebrew prayers that I had
learned to sound out but not
translate, the actions I did
satisfied those I strove to
please, but otherwise held no
meaning for me.
My indifference to the
religion stemmed largely
from the fact that I saw ab-
solutely no benefits to being
Jewish. Only in my private
thoughts did I counter with
the constant exhortations
that I, my people, had been
chosen with the cry, "Chosen
for what!" For service, for
sacrifice, for scapegoating —
that much I had been taught.
But I came to expect no joy, no
returns, for the time I put in

being Jewish. Once, I in-
troduced a friend from the
Conservative synagogue to
my religious school principal,
proudly adding, "He's
Jewish." And she said, "What
has it done for you lately?"
Although I never dared
voice my ambivalence to
adults, I knew it was shared
by many of my peers. In fact,
if my temple-going friends
and I had anything in com-
mon, it was our frustration
about being forced to be there.
We saw no point to it. During
one Shabbat service the
youth group was forced to at-
tend, Will Stein nudged me
as I recited the "V'Havtah."
"To love God with all my
heart, with all my soul, with
all my might, . . . when thou
liest down and risest up .. .
that you shall remember and
do all my commandments."
"Do you really believe these
words?" Will asked.
"No," I admitted, hushed.
"Then why do you say
them?"
It was against such a
backdrop of experience that I
interpreted my own brother's
peculiar actions.
Moshe's conversion, or
reversion, became serious
when he decided to pack all
and move to a yeshiva in New
York where he would study to
become a rabbi. Moshe was
stepping into an arena in
which our familiar codes of
reference had no place. In the
yeshiva there would be no
"units" earned. There was no
schedule of classes, no
semesters, grades, not even a
diploma. There were no for-
mal scholarships, and the let-
ter sent from the head rabbi
at the request of my parents
was vague about how the sup-
port would come. But Moshe
was confident, assuring well-
meaning friends and parents
"Baruch HaShem, God will
provide."
Completion of rabbinate
training is more intuitive
than conferred. The line bet-
ween student and teacher
merely becomes less distinct
rather than more as the years
wear on. Moshe would strive
to learn, strive to become ab-
sorbed in the spirit of God,
and when the leaders ac-
cepted him as a colleague,
and when he felt sufficiently
humble, he would perform the
rabbinical rites.
That attainment of
spiritual absorption is the
fulfillment of the goal, but it
was not likely to fulfill the
financial demands of day-to-
day living. In the Orthodox
tradition, the spiritual leader
is not to receive compensation
beyond the rites he performs,
so rabbi-ing becomes a
sideline to some other job,

Understanding Moshe

A story of two brothers
one observant, one secular
and the moment that united them.

which in Moshe's case would
be religious school teacher or
administrator: socially
beneficial but not lucrative.
So he would have to find
and marry a wealthy or am-
bitious woman who would
raise his children and support
him in his studies. Moshe
would contribute to the fami-
ly what material support he
could find along the path to
God, leaving most earthly
concerns to others. No, we did
not understand, and were
hard-pressed to explain to
other family members and
friends what Marc was up to
when they asked.
There had been rabbis in
the family. As my grand-
mother — we called her
"Mama" — grew older, she
repeated more often and with
increased animation the
stories about her mother who
was married to a rabbi and
"God only knows how she fed
us all." She remembered
vividly the dairy stand
downtown, walking there
with her mother in the early
mornings and on Sundays to
unload crates or sell butter
and eggs. Of her father she re-
counted little, except the stuf-
fy meetings on Saturdays
which forced the girls into the
back rooms. Mama always
ended these stories exclaim-
ing, "God only knows how my

mother did it!" Mama had
strived to break her own fami-
ly from the traditional circle
and had accumulated a lot of
wealth in the process. It seem-
ed to all of us that Moshe's
direction was a regression to
outdated values and an im-
practical lifestyle.
With each passing month in
New York, Moshe became in-
creasingly unfamiliar to us,
increasingly committed to his
rituals. The once-in-a-lifetime
family vacation to Hawaii
was made comic by our com-
promises to Moshe's lifestyle.
Had the trip occurred any
later than it did, he probably
would not have accompanied
us. As it was, plane reserva-
tions were complicated as we
tried balancing economic
realities with religious
restrictions. Was there kosher
food available on the flight?
Only if specially ordered. Can
we leave and return on a
weekend but not fly on Friday
evening or Saturday? We had
to consult the almanac to
determine when sunset in
Hawaii and San Francisco oc-
curred. There are no kosher
restaurants or delis in
Hawaii. Moshe packed all his
utensils and some food, bring-
ing sandwiches to restaurants
and praying discreetly. One
early morning, my father
jogged past six field hands

pointing and staring at a lone
Jew, his son, davening in the
middle of a pineapple field.
One year after the trip to
Hawaii, Moshe visited again,
and it was almost impossible
for him. I took him to the
university where I was enroll-
ed in an education program so
that he could get materials
for his teaching at the
yeshiva. But the university's
resources were virtually
useless to him. Any stories
about Dick and Jane were
unacceptable because Dick
and Jane can't do anything
together after they are about
six years old. Any science
materials were unacceptable
because the students would
not learn science: science con-
tradicted God. Constantly
during the visit, Moshe was
confounded when women I in-
troduced him to extended
their hands and he struggled
to decide whether the embar-
rassment of not accepting an
overture of friendship
outweighed the laws against
having any physical contact
with the opposite sex.
Mostly our visit was plea-
sant, except when we discuss-
ed religion. Although patient
in explaining the laws and
restrictions, he was vehement
about his convictions. To try
to argue his basic assump-
tions was inviting impassion-

THE DETROIT JEWISH NEWS

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