Kismet or bust.
“Sure thing.”
“Great! It’ll take twenty minutes, tops. Follow us!”
Of all things to waylay them…and all due to Cantor Joel’s version of a joke on a bumper sticker.
“Maybe you should’ve just offered him some rugelach and he would’ve been on his way.” Avi joked.
“Avi!” Leah admonished, slapping at his knee. “You’re doing a mitzvah. It’s a good thing.”
“Me?How do we know they weren’t askingyou?”
They both stared at each other for a beat, before turning their gaze to the Minyan minivan. The thought must’ve occurred to them at the same time, causing uneasy laughter.
“We have no idea which temple they are leading us to.”
The temple in town where Leah’s dad had presided as cantor absolutely counted women as part of the required quorum of ten worshippers for prayer.
The other temple was still led by his father.
Rabbis had come and gone at Congregation Emeth over the years, but Hazzan Wolfson remained the draw there, the star power. Avi hadn’t stepped foot inside since before Israel.
Two more left turns, and they’d know.Kismet? Or karma?
Leah’s hand found Avi’s knee again; not in a stinging reprimand, but rather a gentle squeeze. They drove in silence.
The massive parking lot of his childhood synagogue contained two other vehicles. A path had been shoveled in the snow, the sidewalk salted with care.
The posse of passengers streamed out. Young, old, short, tall. Kippahs all colors of the rainbow. Umbrellas sprouting. They greeted Avi with handshakes, pats on the back. No one commented on his choice of fur outerwear. Then again, some of these guys were pretty old country, possibly one step removed from donning ashtreimel. One noticed Leah, hanging back.
“Young lady, it’s too cold to stay outside. You are welcome.”
“I, um…it’s just not my custom to reciteKaddishyet…my parents are still alive.”
“It’s all good.” Red Kippah offered her his arm. “We’re even playing a bit loose and early with the prayer time…Minchaduring Hanukkah, with the rabbi out sick with the flu, on top of a polar vortex?” He shrugged his shoulders with a sheepish chuckle. “Being here for Phil is the main thing.”
Her smile lit up the dreary day. “I agree.”
Inside smelled exactly as Avi remembered as a kid. Pine cleaner, polished wood, and just a hint of spice and smoke from last week’s Havdalah service. Or perhaps years of Havdalah, steeped into the carpeting leading up to thebimah.
He steeled himself in preparation for who might be waiting, up on thatbimah. What were the chances of his father not even recognizing him? The longer hair, the tattoos creeping out of his sleeves and collar?
Leah took their wet coats to hang, and Avi followed Red Kippah. Two men eagerly greeted them in the lobby, prayer books in hand. It was easy to distinguish between the bereaved, and the staff member. The latter introduced himself, adding: “I’m the temple president. Hebrew name?”
Avi reached for atallisfrom the wooden rack by the sanctuary door. Muscle memory. There were always spares of the white and blue prayer shawls for visitors and for those who did not possess, or simply forgot to bring, their own.
“Avigdor Meir ben Yosef.”
The words held their own strong memory. Approaching thebimahas a bar mitzvah, being called for variousaliyotover the years, in temples far from here.
The hushed chatter among the group died away. The older men in the group may have remembered him as a boy, for all he knew. The younger men, maybe just had heard the talk. He doubted his celebrity status even factored into it.
Everyone knew who the real rock star was here.
And Avi was on his turf.
Chapter Nineteen
