Christmas for Joshua - A Novel (27 page)

“We prefer that,” Father Donne said with a hint of a smile. “But a woman’s charm is a powerful allure. You’re not the first man to give up the love of Christ for the lust of a woman.”

The irony didn’t escape me—he was accusing me of something similar to what I faulted Debra for. “My religious choice wasn’t driven by love. Or by lust.”

“
There’s no shame. God made us the way we are, weak and prone to sin. But still, He continues to grace us with His fatherly love.”

I felt my face redden. “I do admire the lessons of Jesus as a man, the stories of his compassion and humility.”

“
Those were Godly qualities.”

“
Aren’t all men created in God’s image?” I smiled to soften my argument. My purpose here wasn’t to debate theology, but still, he deserved an explanation. “Falling in love with Rebecca wasn’t the reason I left the church. My faith had dissipated much earlier.”

He gestured with open hands, inviting me to elaborate.

“
As a young man devoted to math and science, the stories of immaculate conception, virginal birth, death, and resurrection, or the Holy Trinity, couldn’t possibly remain believable. For me, the whole thing attained the quality of charming children stories.”

The priest crossed himself and kissed his fingers.

“
I don’t mean any disrespect.”

He nodded. “Please, go on.”

“
It’s kind of simplistic logic, but if Jesus was really the son of God, then the story is self-contradictory. I mean, imagine going to a billionaire and asking him for a donation to save a starving family or to save your church from shutting down, and he throws you a quarter.”

Father Donne chuckled, as if the experience was familiar to him.

“
If Jesus was Lord,” I continued, “with divine powers and a direct link to his father, God Almighty, then he was like an all-powerful billionaire who lived during an era of most terrible suffering, his fellowmen bent under Roman boots, countless innocents being crucified everywhere, children taken away for slavery, widespread starvation, bloodshed, and torture. But despite his supposed divine powers, all Jesus did was to enlighten a blind person and fix a couple of lepers, right?”

“
He did more than that.”

“
Okay, let’s say that he performed a few miracles to help a handful of sufferers, gave some inspiring speeches, kicked over the money changers’ tables. But if he was God, why didn’t he wave his hand and end all that horrific suffering? Why didn’t he bring peace and brotherhood to the whole world, as Isaiah had predicted that the real Messiah would do?”

His eyes turned to a crucifix on the wall.

“
And besides,” I continued, unable to stop the flood of words, “the whole thing about Jesus dying for our sins makes no sense. A real God, by definition, never dies, does he? And a real God doesn’t really suffer, does he? He’s God, for God’s sake! So if he can’t suffer, how could he suffer for our sins? And if he can’t die, how can he return to life? How could there be a second coming if there wasn’t a going?”

“
You’re taking a very…technical view.”

“
Think about it, okay? Being God, Jesus could have clicked his finger and vaporize all those Romans. Therefore all his mythological suffering and dying was his choice, right? He chose to let them nail him on the cross. He chose to let himself be killed, rise to life, die again, and so on. How can we poor mortals identify with this kind of volunteer victimhood? Do we have such a choice? Can we choose whether to suffer or not to suffer? To die or not to die?” Out of breath, I shrugged and sat back, surprised at my own outburst.

Father Donne’s mouth opened, but then it closed without a word.

“
I’m sorry,” I said, my voice much lower, controlled, “but there was no way for me to believe Christianity’s illogical storyline. I saw only two options: Either Jesus had been a divine, all-powerful God who therefore could not really die, which meant that his crucifixion had been a sham and he had never
died for our sins
, or Jesus had been a mortal man—a wonderful person, for sure, much admirable, like Mahatma Gandhi and Anne Frank, a person with great dignity in the face of oppression and cruelty, a person whose life and death is an inspiration to every one of us, to be kind, charitable, and…human.”

The last word, for some reason, jolted Father Donne, who shifted sharply in his seat. “For someone who claims to have no faith in His divinity, you seem to have quite a passion for our Lord Jesus Christ.”

“
As a myth—”

“
It appears that He is quite real to you, and the gospels provide answers for all your doubts, if you only open your heart to accept the truth.”

“
Please.” I held my hand up. “I respect your faith, and I’m familiar with the theories, which our priest spent many hours discussing with me. But these convoluted explanations only reinforced my opinion that Jesus was just a protagonist in an inspiring fable.”

“
Then let me ask you a question: Does Moses get the same mocking treatment from you? Or Samuel? Or Isaiah, for that matter?”

Keeping a straight face, I managed not to say what I thought, that Moses and Samuel and all the other Jewish prophets had not claimed to be God’s divine sons but served him reluctantly as human messengers delivering His word.

“
Well?”

“
I’m no theologian,” I said. “These were just my own ruminations as a young man, long before I met my wife. Even if technically I was still a Christian , my faith was gone, and as I learned about her faith and heritage, I discovered a more common-sense framework for worship.”

He seemed surprised. “What does common sense have to do with it?”

“
Judaism is logical. We believe in a sole and intangible almighty, a force for goodness and charity. Yet despite His all-powerfulness, God allows us to choose good or bad and suffer the consequences for our choices. As a Jew, I see God as a positive presence that I can personally relate to, communicate with, and not only in the synagogue, but wherever I am, directly, without mediators and sacraments and holy ghosts. And Reform Judaism in particular fits my feeling of tolerance and flexibility, of focusing on substance rather than on minute technicalities and anachronistic rituals. I love it. I really do.”

“
Judaism is the basis for our faith too,” Father Donne said. “Have you considered joining Jews for Jesus?”

I laughed. “Jews for Jesus makes as much sense as Jews for Jihad.”

“
Why do you say that?”

“
Because the main point of Judaism is the faith in a single God, Adonai, the divine creator who is everywhere, all the time, intangible and without the crude physicality of idols and the fantasy of ghosts.”

“
But Jews believe in the coming of the Messiah!”

“
True. We wait for God to send us a human leader, born to normal parents, flesh and blood. Our Messiah will be a mortal man, a man like every other man, only that God will give him the gift of leadership and inspiration to liberate us from the Diaspora and lead us back to the land of our ancestors. Our Messiah will not be the product of a hocus pocus pregnancy or the instigator of a failed insurgency that gets him nailed to a cross. Our Messiah will bring salvation to the world through faith in God, rather than superstitions, illusions, and inquisitions.”

“Okay.” He sat forward, his elbows on his desk, his hands open, facing me like two stop signs. “I understand. But still, you’ve come here today.”

“My life as a Jew has been good…until a few days ago.”

He watched me as I suddenly struggled for the right words.

“It’s been hard.” I swallowed, determined to keep my composure. “Last Sunday, my daughter married a young man from a very religious family, and the way they treated me threw my whole world into terrible doubts.”

His intertwined fingers under his chin, Father Donne waited for me to continue.

“What happened didn’t make me doubt the Jewish faith itself. But I’ve come to doubt my place among Jews. It’s about belonging, about being accepted.” I took a deep breath, then another. “Being Jewish is my religion. It’s who I am now. But the people around me? Have they accepted me as a Jew?” I looked up at the ceiling to fight off tears. “I’m not sure anymore.”

“So you want to test them?”

It took me a moment to realize that he must have seen the truck and crew from
Lights4U
and drew his own conclusions. “Yes,” I said. “Exactly. I want to challenge their tolerance. Which is why I’m here.”

He nodded. “Go on.”

“Tonight we’re having a dinner party to celebrate my daughter’s marriage.” I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “Since I’m paying for it, I’ve decided that it’s going to be more than just another Jewish feast, more than just another
nosh
. Rather, it’s going to be an interfaith celebration of my dual traditions.”

“
Do you play the guitar?”

Surprised by the question, I shook my head.

“
I used to, many years ago.” He gestured at the corner of his office, where a guitar in a soft case leaned on an umbrella stand. “The first thing my teacher told me was not to tighten the strings too much, or they would pop.”

The image was potent, and I could almost hear the sound of it happening. “It’s a risk worth taking,” I said. “The true friends, those who love and accept me, will celebrate with me. And those who refuse? They’re not true friends, and I will have to accept that painful fact.”

His forehead creased. “It’s a brave experiment.”

“It’s a celebration, but as the host, I’ve decided to part with tradition, to have a different kind of a celebration, and I’d like to invite you and the members of your church to this event at the synagogue.”

“
Event?”

“
Please join us tonight.” I cleared my throat. “It will be the first-ever
Christmas Nosh.
”

Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!

Back in the synagogue, I unlocked the office and used the phone to call home. There was no answer, so I tried Rebecca’s mobile. She picked up after three rings. “Hello?”

“May I speak with Paul Bunyan?”

“
Excuse me?”

I whistled the Monty Python tune for “The Lumberjack Song.”

After a moment, Rebecca recognized the tune and chortled. She sang a couple of lines: “
I’m a lumberjack and I’m okay…
”

“Good memory,” I said.

“What are you doing at the synagogue?” She must have seen the caller ID on her phone.

“I stopped by to check on the caterer and do some repentance.”

“Good. And?”

“Mission accomplished.” I watched through the window as Pinky unloaded the artificial tree from the truck. “It’s going to be a great dinner. Where are you now?”

“We’re at Nordstrom’s. Debra’s in the fitting room. We found beautiful dresses with long sleeves that she can wear to classes during the week.”

“And Mordechai?”

“
He’s at Starbucks, studying for an exam.” She was quiet for a moment. “Sorry about your tree…and the coffee table. It’s been such a rollercoaster, and seeing Debra so upset, I’m just...on edge.”

“
It’s my fault too. I’ve let the patients and their surgeries take over my life, like an escape, head in the sand. I should have shared my feelings with you better, including how much I’ve missed Christmas all these years—”

“
Again with the Christmas?”

“
It’s part of me. It’s who I am. I want you to accept it, share it with me.”

“
Is this your midlife crisis or something? You’re off your rocker, you know?”

“
Because it’s got nothing to do with Christmas or with your childhood or with your true self. You’ve gone meshugah over what happened at the wedding. That’s all!”

“
It was a shame,” Rebecca went on, “cruel and unfair. That old rabbi shouldn’t have done that. But you must get over it. Enough already! What happened, happened. It’s in the past. We have to concentrate on the future, or we’re going to lose our daughter.”

“
We won’t.”

“
Good!”

“
And I promise you one thing.” I watched Pinky use a cart to wheel the Christmas tree toward the entrance of the synagogue. “I’ll do a much better job communicating my feelings from now on.”
Starting tonight
, I thought, my anger mixed with giddiness at the prospect of my unfolding Christmas Nosh.

“
We should go on vacation,” she said, “just you and me.”

“
A kosher vacation?”

“
Not nice!” Her tone told me she was smiling now.

“
We can go to Jerusalem. I hear they’re offering specials on study retreats at black-hat yeshivas.”

She laughed. “By the way, Nina called. As expected, no one can come on Sunday. I told Debra that you took away the tree because the staff isn’t coming for the Christmas brunch.”

“
How convenient.”

“
You’re not bringing it back home, are you?”