leans over and whispers to her gruffly. "I know it though. Poor guy. Poor guy. I've been thinking about him a lot these days too."
Despite herself Rivkah is startled.
"You've been thinking a lot about the Kotzker Rebbe?"
"You'd better believe it. He wasn't so stupid. He had his reasons for everything. And they were good reasons, too. And I'll smoke all I want, just like he did."
Rivkah starts to walk away.
"Now you're gonna turn your back on me just like they do?"
"I'm not turning my back on you."
"Then stay here and listen. The Kotzker Rebbe was my kind of man. I'll smoke like he did, and if they smell it downstairs, why should I care? Their votes could have made all the difference to me!"
Rivkah feels hollow inside.
"And did one of them vote for me? No, they did not." His eyes glass over for a moment then.
"Votes or not," Rivkah cries out in real pain then, "Sabbath is Sabbath. Stop smoking. Please."
"Why should I? I hate them. They hate me."
"It's not that they hate you!"
"They broke my heart," he says softly.
"I'm sorry."
"They'll break your heart too, if you let them. Just like an old kitchen plate."
"Hearts can't get broken so easily."
"Oh no? Just wait and see."
Henry's sadness is too strong. It overpowers everything. And Rivkah can feel it encircle the room and enfold the two of them as they sit there together upstairs alone. Downstairs, right at this very moment, in the grandmother's apartment, she can hear the front door open and close to welcome the precious Sabbath guests.
Rivkah wishes her mother were here with them now, but every Friday night Molly goes to sleep early and Henry is left here alone to read about the Kotzker Rebbe, and develops strange ideas. But, religious or not, Henry is expected to come down and join the family on Friday nights. Before the election at least he did that.
"Come on, daddy. We'll go down together now. You'll have some dinner. It won't be so bad."
Through the floor of their apartment Rivkah hears the guests start to sing. The Sabbath songs rise up and surround them.
"They're not my songs," he murmurs.
"They're everyone's songs. They're mine, and I want to sing them."
All Jews are commanded to sing together on the Sabbath. No one may be excluded from the Shabbos singing and no one may exclude himself. Whatever happened during the week between them, the singing washes it all away.
"Forgive them, daddy," Rivkah commands him now.
But Henry's fists form tight. "Give me one good reason!"
"You never need a reason to forgive."
Reb Bershky taught Rivkah that it is the Sabbath itself which brings forgiveness. Without the Sabbath no one could ever find the power to forgive.
But Henry cannot forgive anybody. Will not. If Rivkah stays a little longer he will start to tell her all the people he cannot forgive. Refuses to forgive.
Now the songs from downstairs rise up more strongly. They are songs welcoming the Sabbath in.
"Let them sing their guts out. What do I care?" Henry reaches for another cigarette.
"Stop it!"
"What good does all their singing do? They couldn't give me even one vote!"
Henry stands up and goes to the window then to look outside. The small streets are dark, with Shabbos candles shining in each window making odd shadows on the pavements below.
"The Jewish people have been ripped apart, Bekkie." His voice is somber. "Believe me. It's happened to us all."
Next from downstairs come the love songs of Shabbos. The greatest mitzvah of all is love on the Shabbos, between a husband and wife. Then the spirit of God comes to join them and all the world becomes as one.
"I'm going downstairs." Rivkah goes to the door. "It is forbidden for us to stay up here alone."
"Oh yeah?" Henry walks close behind her to the door and turns the latch quickly shut. "You're staying up here with me."
Rivkah is frightened. "There are guests waiting." She reels back
Despite herself Rivkah is startled.
"You've been thinking a lot about the Kotzker Rebbe?"
"You'd better believe it. He wasn't so stupid. He had his reasons for everything. And they were good reasons, too. And I'll smoke all I want, just like he did."
Rivkah starts to walk away.
"Now you're gonna turn your back on me just like they do?"
"I'm not turning my back on you."
"Then stay here and listen. The Kotzker Rebbe was my kind of man. I'll smoke like he did, and if they smell it downstairs, why should I care? Their votes could have made all the difference to me!"
Rivkah feels hollow inside.
"And did one of them vote for me? No, they did not." His eyes glass over for a moment then.
"Votes or not," Rivkah cries out in real pain then, "Sabbath is Sabbath. Stop smoking. Please."
"Why should I? I hate them. They hate me."
"It's not that they hate you!"
"They broke my heart," he says softly.
"I'm sorry."
"They'll break your heart too, if you let them. Just like an old kitchen plate."
"Hearts can't get broken so easily."
"Oh no? Just wait and see."
Henry's sadness is too strong. It overpowers everything. And Rivkah can feel it encircle the room and enfold the two of them as they sit there together upstairs alone. Downstairs, right at this very moment, in the grandmother's apartment, she can hear the front door open and close to welcome the precious Sabbath guests.
Rivkah wishes her mother were here with them now, but every Friday night Molly goes to sleep early and Henry is left here alone to read about the Kotzker Rebbe, and develops strange ideas. But, religious or not, Henry is expected to come down and join the family on Friday nights. Before the election at least he did that.
"Come on, daddy. We'll go down together now. You'll have some dinner. It won't be so bad."
Through the floor of their apartment Rivkah hears the guests start to sing. The Sabbath songs rise up and surround them.
"They're not my songs," he murmurs.
"They're everyone's songs. They're mine, and I want to sing them."
All Jews are commanded to sing together on the Sabbath. No one may be excluded from the Shabbos singing and no one may exclude himself. Whatever happened during the week between them, the singing washes it all away.
"Forgive them, daddy," Rivkah commands him now.
But Henry's fists form tight. "Give me one good reason!"
"You never need a reason to forgive."
Reb Bershky taught Rivkah that it is the Sabbath itself which brings forgiveness. Without the Sabbath no one could ever find the power to forgive.
But Henry cannot forgive anybody. Will not. If Rivkah stays a little longer he will start to tell her all the people he cannot forgive. Refuses to forgive.
Now the songs from downstairs rise up more strongly. They are songs welcoming the Sabbath in.
"Let them sing their guts out. What do I care?" Henry reaches for another cigarette.
"Stop it!"
"What good does all their singing do? They couldn't give me even one vote!"
Henry stands up and goes to the window then to look outside. The small streets are dark, with Shabbos candles shining in each window making odd shadows on the pavements below.
"The Jewish people have been ripped apart, Bekkie." His voice is somber. "Believe me. It's happened to us all."
Next from downstairs come the love songs of Shabbos. The greatest mitzvah of all is love on the Shabbos, between a husband and wife. Then the spirit of God comes to join them and all the world becomes as one.
"I'm going downstairs." Rivkah goes to the door. "It is forbidden for us to stay up here alone."
"Oh yeah?" Henry walks close behind her to the door and turns the latch quickly shut. "You're staying up here with me."
Rivkah is frightened. "There are guests waiting." She reels back
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