Faye Kellerman - The Ritual Bath

“I’m not afraid of living on my own. I don’t live in the lap of luxury here, so struggling and working hard aren’t things I’m afraid of. But I know as soon as I pack my bags and step off these grounds, I’m going to get swallowed up by that woman you just met.”

She started to cry.

Decker knew it wasn’t just her parents. It was this morning and the events of the past month. It was the culmination of everything. He’d seen it lots of times, victims at the breaking point. He put his arm around her heaving shoulders and, much to his surprise, she snuggled in closer.

“You want to know my opinion?” he said. “I think any woman who can knee-drop her attacker couldn’t be swallowed up by anybody.”

She laughed weakly and leaned her head against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat; the slow, steady rhythm had a hypnotic, calming effect on her nerves. Bringing her arm over his chest, she embraced him. She felt her own body being enfolded by his arms, his fingers playing against her spine. He removed the kerchief from her head, loosened a few hairpins, and a thick black wave of hair cascaded down her shoulders and back.

“How far do you want to take this?” he asked softly.

“Not very.”

He cupped her chin, lifted her face, and locked eyes.

“Don’t you find this frustrating?”

“Of course I find it frustrating. But sex isn’t the quick and easy solution.”

“You could have fooled me.”

He kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair.

“If I get objective about the whole situation, I have to admit it’s kind of nice. I feel like I’m back in high school. In the olden days, you used to have to beg for everything .”

He grinned and put his palms together.

“Please, please, I swear I’ll be gentle.”

She slapped him playfully and pulled away.

Decker straightened up.

“Worked about as well on you as it did on the girls in high school.”

“Maybe it’s time to change your technique.”

She cleared her throat and tried to sound casual.

“By the way, what did you think of my parents.”

“They seemed caring. Very protective. But, then, you were attacked this morning… They were much more modern than I’d have imagined. You didn’t grow up yeshiva religious, did you?”

“We were modern Orthodox. Which is to say I grew up with a strong Jewish identity. My mother was far less strict with the rules than my father. That led to a lot of fights. So in keeping with Freudian psychology, my oldest brother-the doctor -married a girl much less religious than he, and I married a boy much more religious than I. We all marry our parents, don’t we?”

Decker reflected. His former wife, his mother, his biological mother. Maybe it was programmed in the genes.

“On the other hand,” she continued, “my middle brother-I’m the youngest-was a lost soul. My parents didn’t know what to do with him, so he was shipped off to Israel. The Chasidim got to him, and now he’s at a Satmar yeshiva, the most religious of the three of us.”

“Two out of three ended up in a yeshiva. That’s an interesting track record.”

“Only my brother’s Chasidish. That’s the kind of Jew they depict in The Chosen and Fiddler on the Roof , the ones with the long black coats and the mink hats. This yeshiva is Misnagid, a totally different philosophy from the Chasidic yeshivas. You want to see a man emit smoke from his nostrils, call Rav Aaron a Chasid.”

“Is that the ultimate ethnic put-down?”

“For Rav Aaron. Misnagdim and Chasidim are like the Hatfields and the McCoys. Never the twain shall meet.” She thought. “It’s not that bad, but the Chasidim think the Misnagdim lack human emotion, and the Misnagdim think the Chasidim are a bunch of ignoramuses.

“Rav Aaron was born in a small village but went to yeshiva in Minsk-a major city in Lithuania. He’s a Litvak through and through, and Litvaks pride themselves on being very urbane and intellectual. That’s why he had a field day with Yitzchak. Rav Aaron couldn’t get over my husband’s raw gray matter, his ability to learn and retain all that was taught to him. His ability to reason .

“Chasidism, on the other hand, gained popularity in the small villages. Its followers, back then, were generally less knowledgeable about Torah and the outside world. So the Chasidim appeased their constituency by saying Judaism is primarily in the heart, not in the brain.”

She looked at him.

“To you and the rest of the world, we must look like a bunch of crazy Jews.”

His face grew serious.

“Rina, I wish you wouldn’t lump me and billions of other people into one gigantic category. I’m more than just a gentile.”

She touched his cheek, but quickly pulled her hand away.

“Of course you are. I’m sorry. I get chauvinistic. I’m very proud to be a Jew.”

“I can see that.”

“You know, your daughter is considered Jewish, don’t you?”

“Yes. And she considers herself Jewish. About five years ago she liked what she saw in the religion, and that was fine with me. She made up her own mind. No one crammed it down her throat.”

He saw the look on her face and knew he said the wrong thing.

“I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”

“It’s okay,” she said coolly. “I’m ready to give a statement.”

“Don’t sulk. I think it’s great that she’s Jewish. Some of my best friends are Jewish.”

She laughed.

“It’s nice to see you smile.”

“Yes, I do that every once in a while.”

She folded her hands in her lap.

“I’m really not a fanatic, Peter. There are other yeshivas far more restrictive. We’ve got radios, the kollel families have TVs, we can subscribe to secular newspapers and magazines. Some of the yeshiva boys are enrolled at UCLA and Cal Tech. We’re considered comparatively liberal.”

Decker said nothing.

“One of the men from here even had the audacity to take me to the movies.”

“You don’t see movies?” Decker asked.

“It’s considered nahrishkeit -foolishness. I think the one we saw was with Steve Martin.”

“How did you like it?”

“The movie was okay, but the boy I was with…” Rina rolled her eyes. “What a weirdo! He wouldn’t dare touch me, of course, but he threw me a lot of lecherous looks. It was when I first started dating, a year after Yitzy died. I was eager to go out. A couple of rotten dates and I went back into hibernation.”

“What was so weird about him?”

“He asked me too many personal questions. Things like did I still go to the mikvah even though I was a widow? Or was I going to stop wearing my wedding ring? Or uncover my hair. I kept my hair covered for a long time afterward. Now I only cover it when I leave the yeshiva. Or if I know I’m going to see an outsider…or you…”

“What else did he ask you?” Decker prodded.

“Did I ever eat nonkosher food? Did I ever smoke dope? Those questions may not sound so strange to you, but they’re highly irregular coming from a yeshiva bocher .”

“Go on.”

“That was all, really.”

“Guy’s still here?”

“Yeah, he’s married now. Learns in the kollel . I think his wife straightened him out a bit.”

“What’s his name?”

She looked at him, suspiciously. “He’s not the rapist.”

“I didn’t say he was. I just asked for his name.”

She didn’t answer, and Decker dropped it.

“So your dates just didn’t work out, huh?”

“Disasters. I might have started dating too soon after.”

“Or maybe you’re just fishing in the wrong pond.”

She sighed. “There are a lot of other Jewish communities. Bigger communities with lots of men. I’m just not ready to face the mating rituals again.”