The Chosen

Chapter 17

Our last year of college began that September. Over lunch one day I told Danny a mild anti-Hasidic story I had heard, and he laughed loudly. Then, without thinking, I mentioned a remark one of the students had made a few days back: 'The tzaddik sits in absolute silence, saying nothing, and all his followers listen attentively,' and the laughter left his lips as suddenly as if he had been slapped, and his face froze.

I realized immediately what I had said, and felt myself go cold.

I muttered a helpless apology.

For a long moment, he said nothing. His eyes seemed glazed, turned inward. Then his face slowly relaxed. He smiled faintly. 'There's more truth to that than you realize,' he murmured. 'You can listen to silence, Reuven. I've begun to realize that you can listen to silence and learn from it. It has a quality and a dimension all it's own. It talks to me somtimes. I feel myself alive in it. It talks. And I can hear it.'

The words came out in a soft singsong. He sounded exactly like his father.

'You don't understand that, do you?' he asked.

'No.'

He nodded. 'I didn't think you would.'

'What do you mean, it talks to you?'

'You have to want to listen to it, and then you can hear it. It has a strange, beautiful texture. It doesn't always talk. Sometimes – sometimes it cries, and you can hear the pain of the world in it. It hurts to listen to it then. But you have to.'

I felt myself go cold again, hearing him talk that way. 'I don't understand that at all.'

He smiled faintly.

'Are you and your father talking these days?' He shook his head.

I didn't understand any of it, but he seemed so somber and strange that I didn't want to talk about it anymore. I changed the subject. 'You ought to get yourself a girl,' I told him. I was dating regularly now on Saturday nights. 'It's a wonderful tonic for a suffering soul.'

He looked at me, his eyes sad. 'My wife has been chosen for me.' he said quietly.

I gaped at him.

'It's an old Hasidic custom, remember?'

'It never occurred to me,' I said, shocked.

He nodded soberly. 'That's another reason it won't be so easy to break out of the trap. It doesn't only involve my own family: I didn't know what to say. There was a long, uncomfortable silence. And we walked together in that silence to Rav Gershenson's shiur.

Danny's brother's bar mitzvah celebration, which I attended on a Monday morning during the third week in October, was a simple and unpretentious affair. The Morning Service began at seven-thirty – early enough to enable Danny and me to attend and not come late to school – and Levi was called to recite the blessing over the Torah. After the service there was a kiddush, consisting of schnapps and some cakes and cookies. Everyone drank l'chaim, to life, then left. Reb Saunders asked me quietly why I wasn't coming over to see him anymore, and I explained that my father and I were studying Talmud together on Shabbat afternoons. He nodded vaguely and walked slowly away, his tall frame somewhat stooped.

Levi Saunders was now tall and thin. He seemed a ghostly imitation of Danny, except that his hair was black and his eyes were dark. The skin on his hands and face was milky white, almost translucent, showing the branching veins. There was something helplessly fragile about him; he looked as if a wind would blow him down. Yet at the same time his dark eyes burned with a kind of inner fire that told of the tenacity with which he clung to life and of his growing awareness of the truth that for the rest of his days his every breath would depend upon the pills he put into his mouth at regular intervals. The eyes told you that he had every intention of holding on to his life, no matter what the pain.

As if to emphasize the tenuousness of Levi Saunders' existence, he became violently ill the day following his bar mitzvah and was taken by ambulance to the Brooklyn Memorial Hospital. Danny called me during supper as soon as the ambulance pulled away from in front of his house, and I could tell from his voice that he was in a panic. There wasn't much I could say to him over the phone, and when I asked him if he wanted me to come over, he said no, his mother was almost hysterical, he would have to stay with her, he had only wanted to let me know. And he hung up.

My father apparently had heard my troubled voice, because he was standing now outside the kitchen, asking me what was wrong.

I told him.

We resumed our supper. I wasn't very hungry now, but I ate anyway to keep Manya happy. My father noticed how disturbed I was, but he said nothing. After the meal, he followed me into my room, sat on my bed while I sat at my desk, and asked me what was wrong, why was I so upset by Levi Saunders' illness, he had been ill before.

It was at that point that I told my father of Danny's plans to go on for a doctorate in psychology and abandon the position of tzaddik he was to inherit one day from Reb Saunders. I also added, feeling that I ought to be completely honest about it now, that Danny was in a panic over his brother's illness because without his brother it might not be possible for him to break away from his father: he did not really want to destroy the dynasty.

My father's face became more and more grim as he listened.

When I was done, he sat for a long time in silence, his eyes grave. 'When did Danny tell you this?' he asked finally.

'The summer I lived in their house.'

'That long ago? He knew already that long ago?'

'Yes.'

'And all this time you did not tell me?'

'It was a secret between us, abba.'

He looked at me grimly. 'Does Danny know what pain this will cause his father?'

'He dreads the day he'll have to tell him. He dreads it for both of them.'

'I knew it would happen,' my father said. 'How could it not happen?' Then he looked at me sharply. 'Reuven, let me understand this. Exactly what is Danny planning to tell Reb Saunders?'

'That he's going on for a doctorate in psychology and doesn't intend to take his place.'

'Is Danny thinking to abandon his Judaism?'

I stared at him. 'I never thought to ask him,' I said faintly.

'His beard, his earlocks, his clothes, his fringes – all this he will retain in graduate school?'

'I don't know, abba. We never talked about it.'

'Reuven, how will Danny become a psychologist while looking like a Hasid?'

I didn't know what to say.

'It is important that Danny know exactly what he will tell his father. He must anticipate what questions will be on Reb Saunders' mind. Talk to Danny. Let him think through exactly what he will tell his father.'

'All this time I never thought to ask him.'

'Danny is now like a person waiting to be let out of jail. He has only one desire. To leave the jail. Despite what may be waiting for him outside. Danny cannot think one minute beyond the moment he will have to tell his father he does not wish to take his place. Do you understand me?'

'Yes.'

'You will talk to him?'

'Of course.'

My father nodded grimly, his face troubled. 'I have not talked to Danny in so long,' he said quietly. He was silent for a moment. Then he smiled faintly. 'It is not so easy to be a friend is it, Reuven?'

'No,' I said.

'Tell me, Danny and Reb Saunders still do not talk?'

I shook my head. Then I told him what Danny had said about silence. 'What does it mean to hear silence, abba?'

That seemed to upset him more than the news about Danny's not becoming a tzaddik. He sat up straight on the bed, his body quivering. 'Hasidim!'I heard him mutter, almost contemptuously. 'Why must they feel the burden of the world is only on their shoulders?', I looked at him, puzzled. I had never heard that tone of contempt in his voice before.

'It is a way of bringing up children,' he said.

'What is?'

'Silence.'

'I don't understand…!

'I cannot explain it. I do not understand it completely myself.

But what I know of it, I dislike. It was practised in Europe by some few Hasidic families.' Then his voice went hard. 'There are better ways to teach a child compassion.'

'I don't…!

He cut me short. 'Reuven, I cannot explain what I do not understand. Danny is being raised by Reb Saunders in a certain way. I do not want to talk about it anymore. It upsets me. You will speak to Danny, yes?'

I nodded.

'Now I have work I must do.' And he went from the room, leaving me as bewildered as I had been before.

I had planned to talk to Danny the next day, but when I saw him he was in such a state of panic over his brother that I didn't dare mention what my father had said. The doctors had diagnosed his brother's illness as some kind of imbalance in the blood chemistry caused by something he had eaten, Danny told me over lunch, looking pale and grim, and blinking his eyes repeatedly. They were trying out some new pills, and his brother would remain in the hospital until they were certain the pills worked. And he would have to be very careful from now on with his diet. Danny was tense and miserable all that day and throughout the week.

Levi Saunders was discharged from the Brooklyn Memorial Hospital the following Wednesday afternoon. I saw Danny in school the next day. We sat in the lunchroom and ate for a while in silence. His brother was fine, he said finally, and everything seemed to have settled down. His mother was in bed with high blood pressure, though. But the doctor said it was caused by her excitement over Levi's illness and all she needed now was to rest. She would be better soon.

He told me quietly that he was planning to write to three universities that day – Harvard, Berkeley, and Columbia – and apply for a fellowship in psychology. I asked him how long he thought he would be able to keep his application a secret.

'I don't know,' he said, his voice a little tight.

'Why don't you tell your father now and get it over with?'

He looked at me, his face grim. 'I don't want explosions with every meal,' he said tightly. 'All I get are either explosions or silence. I've had enough of his explosions.'

Then I told him what my father had said. As I spoke, I could see him become more and more uncomfortable.

'I didn't want you to tell your father,' he muttered angrily.

'My father kept your library visits a secret from me,' I reminded him. 'Don't worry about my father: 'I don't want you to tell anyone else.'

'I won't. What about what my father said? Are you going to remain an Orthodox Jew?'

'Whatever gave you the notion that I had any intention of not remaining an Orthodox Jew?'

'What if your father asks about the beard, the caftan, the- '

'He won't ask me: 'What if he does?'

He pulled nervously at an earlock. 'Can you see me practising psychology and looking like a Hasid?' he asked tightly.

' I hadn't really expected any other answer. Then something occurred to me. 'Won't your father see the mail you get from the graduate schools you've applied to?'

He stared at me. 'I never thought of that,' he said slowly. 'I'll have to intercept the mail: He hesitated, his face rigid. 'I can't. It comes after I leave for school: And his eyes filled with fear.

'I think you ought to have a talk with my father,' I said.

Danny came over to our apartment that night, and I took him into my father's study. My father came quickly around from behind his desk and shook Danny's hand.

'I have not seen you in such a long time,' he said, smiling warmly. 'It is good to see you again, Danny. Please sit down.'

My father did not sit behind the desk. He sat next to us on the kitchen chair he had asked me earlier to bring into the study.

'Do not be angry at Reuven for telling me,' he said quietly to Danny. 'I have had practice with keeping secrets.' Danny smiled nervously.

'You will tell your father on the day of your ordination?' Danny nodded.

'There is a girl involved?'

Danny nodded again, giving me a momentary glance.

'You will refuse to marry this girl?'

'Yes.'

'And your father will have to explain to her parents and to his followers.'

Danny was silent, his face tight.

My father sighed softly. 'It will be a very uncomfortable situation. For you and for your father. You are determined not to take your father's place?'

'Yes,' Danny said.

'Then you must know exactly what you will tell him. Think carefully of what you will say. Think what your father's questions will be. Think what he will be most concerned about after he hears of your decision. Do you understand me, Danny?'

Danny nodded slowly. There was a long silence.

Then my father leaned forward in his chair. 'Danny,' he said softly, 'you can hear silence?'

Danny looked at him, startled. His blue eyes were wide, frightened. He glanced at me. Then he looked again at my father. And, slowly, he nodded his head.

'You are not angry at your father?'

Danny shook his head.

'Do you understand what he is doing?'

Danny hesitated. Then he shook his head again. His eyes were wide and moist.

My father sighed again. 'It will be explained to you,' he said softly. 'Your father will explain it to you. Because he will want you to carry it on with your own children one day.'

Danny blinked his eyes nervously.

'No one can help you with this, Danny. It is between you and your father. But think carefully of what you say to him and of what his questions will be.'

My father came with us to the door of our apartment. I could hear Danny's capped shoes tapping against the outside hallway floor. Then he was gone.

'What is this again about hearing silence, abba?' I asked.

But my father would say nothing. He went into his study and closed the door.

Danny received letters of acceptance from each of the three universities to which he had applied. The letters came in the mail to his home and lay untouched on the vestibule table until he returned from school. He told me about it in early January, a day after the third letter had come. I asked him who usually picked up the mail.

'My father,' he said, looking tense and bewildered. 'Levi's in school when it comes, and my mother doesn't like climbing stairs.'

'Were there return addresses on the envelopes?'

'Of course.'

'Then how can't he know?' I asked him.

'I don't understand it,' he said, his voice edged with panic. 'What is he waiting for? Why doesn't he say something?'

I felt sick with his fear and said nothing.

Danny told me a few days later that his sister was pregnant. She and her husband had been over to the house and had informed his parents. His father had smiled for the first time since Levi's bar mitzvah, Danny said, and his mother had wept with joy, I asked him if his father gave any indication at all of knowing what his plans were.

'No,' he said.

'No indication at all?'

'No, I get nothing from him but silence.'

'Is he silent with Levi, too?'

'No.'

'Was he silent with your sister?'

'No.'

'I don't like your father,' I told him. 'I don't like him at all.'

Danny said nothing. But his eyes blinked his fear.

A few days later, he told me, 'My father asked me why you're not coming over anymore on Shabbat.'

'He talked to you?'

'He didn't talk. That isn't talking.'

'I study Talmud on Shabbat.'

'I know.'.

'I'm not too eager to see him.'

He nodded unhappily.

'Have you decided which university you're going to?'

'Columbia.'

'Why don't you tell him and get it over with?'

'I'm afraid.'

'What difference does it make? If he's going to throw you out of the house, he'll do it no matter when you tell him.'

'I'll have my degree in June. I'll be ordained.'

'You can live with us. No, you can't. You won't eat at our house.'

'I could live with my sister.'

'Yes.'

'I'm afraid. I'm afraid of the explosion. I'm afraid of any time I'll have to tell him. God, I'm afraid.'

My father would say nothing when I talked to him about it. 'It is for Reb Saunders to explain,' he told me quietly. 'I cannot explain what I do not completely understand. I cannot do it with my students, and I cannot do it with my son.'

A few days later, Danny told me that his father had asked again why I wasn't coming over to their house anymore.

'I'll try to get over,' I said.

But I didn't try very hard. I didn't want to see Reb Saunders.

I hated him as much now as I had when he had forced his silence between me and Danny.

The weeks passed and winter melted slowly into spring. Danny was working on an experimental psychology project that had to do with the relationship between reinforcement and rapidity of learning, and I was doing a long paper on the logic of ought statements. Danny pushed himself relentlessly in his work. He grew thin and gaunt, and the angles and bones of his face and hands jutted like sharp peaks from beneath his skin. He stopped talking about the silence between him and his father. He seemed to be shouting down the silence with his work. Only his constantly blinking eyes gave any indication of his mounting terror.

The day before the start of the Passover school vacation period, he told me that his father had asked him once again why I wasn't coming over to their house anymore. Could I possibly come over on Passover? he had wanted to know. He especially wanted to see me the first or second day of Passover.

'I'll try,' I said half heartedly, without the slightest intention of trying at all.

But when I talked to my father that night, he said, with a strange sharpness in his voice, 'You did not tell me Reb Saunders has been asking to see you.'

'He's been asking all along.'

'Reuven, when someone asks to speak to you, you must let him speak to you. You still have not learned that? You did not learn that from what happened between you and Danny?'

'He wants to study Talmud, abba.'

'You are sure?'

'That's all we've ever done when I go over there.'

'You only study Talmud? You have forgotten so quickly?'

I stared at him. 'He wants to talk to me about Danny,' I said, and felt myself turn cold.

'You will go over the first day of the holiday. On Sunday.'

'Why didn't he tell me?'

'Reuven, he did tell you. You have not been listening: 'All these weeks – '

'Listen next time. Listen when someone speaks to you.'

'Maybe I should go over tonight.'

'No. They will be busy preparing for the holiday.'

'I'll go over on Shabbat.'

'Reb Saunders asked you to come on Passover.'

'I told him we study Talmud on Shabbat.'

'You will go on Passover. He has a reason if he asked you to come especially on Passover. And listen next time when someone speaks to you, Reuven.'

He was angry, as angry as he had been in the hospital years ago when I had refused to talk to Danny.

I called Danny and told him I would be over on Sunday.

He sensed something in my voice. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing's wrong. I'll see you on Sunday.'

'Nothing's wrong?' His voice was tight, apprehensive.

'No.'

'Come over around four,' he said. 'My father needs to rest in the early afternoons.'

'Four.'

'Nothing's wrong?'

'I'll see you on Sunday,' I told him.