Sapphic Voices General Fiction

Their Wisdom When It Comes

Ghosts don’t have to be bad, he says. They don’t have to have a negative energy.

Rabbi Howard said that last night. At Rosh Hashanah dinner. Rabbi Howard who is Rabbi Mark’s friend. Rabbi Mark who is my mom’s husband.

Rabbi Howard who I hadn’t admired or respected even a shred until that moment. Because he officiated my mom’s wedding and while my mom stood flanked Missy and me, the matron and maid of honor, Rabbi Howard, who was officiating the event, flirted with Missy throughout the service. His eyebrows raised and his gaze cast itself more often than not toward Missy.

And she and I just looked at each other and giggled. And I have no idea what either he or any of the other officiating rabbi cronies said that day because Missy and I just giggled and lamented about our aching feet. “These guys are such fucking assholes,” she whispered before the exchange of the vows.

And so I had no respect for Rabbi Howard. Rabbi Howard who arrived for dinner last night, last night for Rosh Hashanah dinner, even though he said he was only coming for dessert.

And before talk of the evening inevitably shifted, as it always does, to Holocaust memories and shandas and anti-semitism and the ultra-inevitable anti-Arab rhetoric, anti-Arab rhetoric that ironically follows the lamentations of anti-semitism, Rabbi Howard surprised me. Surprised me with truly spiritual – spiritual and not religious – discussions with me and Charlean about spirits and ghosts and energies.

“I was walking by the ocean,” he began, “and I felt something. I felt the ions,” he continued. “And they say that happens from the moonlight but then I walked again during the day and I felt it again.”

And he continued about a trip to Salem and a haunted house, and he did not gawk in his usual way when I told of my own formerly haunted apartment, or of my belief in spirits and angels and maybe even hauntings or ghosts.

“I don’t tell people about it because I’m sure they’d think I was odd,” he confesses. And I do think he is odd but not for that. And I find it odd that a Rabbi is not allowed to believe in spirits and I find it even odder that I wouldn’t expect a rabbi to have such beliefs.

Earlier in the night, the group was talking about another rabbi’s sermon. About poverty and how it wasn’t terribly spiritual and that it didn’t fit the occasion of Rosh Hashanah. That they were looking for more spiritual guidance and how ironic it was to preach to an audience in Andover, in a synagogue where membership dues cost more than some people spend on clothing or food, how to preach to an audience like that about poverty.

And to me the irony was real too. The irony that they didn’t get it. That smart caring people didn’t think it spiritual to think about poverty during a time of renewal and reflection.

I stayed silent for a long time.

The naïve liberal lesbian – the one who shaved her head just to piss off her mother and still refuses to eat meat to convince her mom it isn’t a phase and the one who taught in Lawrence instead of Andover just because she thought she was too good for Andover and because she has some grand ideals of saving the world.

She stayed silent for a long time.

“I think it is the responsibility of those with more wealth to consider and care for those in need,” I offered.

And that’s all I said.

And I don’t know how they felt but it looked like shame. And shock. That I didn’t say more. That I wasn’t looking for a debate.

Because what could be more spiritual than remembering other spirits in the world? Than remembering that our bodies and our wealth and our surroundings are haphazard? Than listening to the voices and wisdom of spirits suggesting, hoping, begging that we do more? Not to put up a fight or change or save the world. But to listen. And to offer. And to receive.

And I wonder if that will be me. If they started out different and if age and time and experience does that.

I bought books with my own money to donate to my school’s lending library. Because none of the titles reflected the cultural, ethnic or linguistic heritages of our families. And I wanted to change that. Not to change the world but to change that. Because then maybe families will read more. And that’s my job. To get kids reading.

And I was gone for 2 days. 2 days to reflect and renew at a time of a new year and a new beginning. And I came back and a book was stolen. One of the two I had bought.

And I hope someone just really wanted it. And maybe will return it. And if not will treasure and love it.

And I was angry and jaded and bitter. And I’ve only been there a month. And I wonder if that will be me. The angry and bitter one. The jaded one. The apathetic one. Who does not recognize or listen to spirits.

Or receive their wisdom when it comes.

If you have enjoyed Lani Radack's "Their Wisdom When It Comes", then please be certain to e-mail her at  radacklani[at]hotmail.com  and thank her for posting this Story.

Click here for a list of all of Lani Radack's  Stories and Poetry at  Sapphic Voices Authoresses.

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