The Mystics of Mile End by Sigal Samuel

Author:Sigal Samuel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-08-03T16:00:00+00:00

At yeshiva we started learning about the Resurrection of the Dead that’s supposed to happen when the Messiah comes, which my teacher says could be any day now. Which made me think, hey, maybe I shouldn’t give all Dad’s clothes away! Because what will he wear when he gets resurrected? But then we got to the part in the Talmud where it says the dead will be resurrected wearing their clothes. So I asked, what do you mean, the clothes they died in? The rabbi said yes. A picture popped into my head then of Dad wearing his jogging clothes, that sweaty T-shirt and gray gym shorts for all eternity, and I burst out laughing. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy. My classmates all take this so literally, you have no idea. As if Dad is just going to magically reappear out of the blue one day, like a zombie? It’s weird. Although, on the other hand, I guess maybe it’s not any weirder than him just disappearing out of the blue one day. Right?

P.S. Normally I’d talk to Mr. Glassman about this kind of thing but Mrs. Glassman just had another stroke and now the nurse says she’s in something called a “persistent vegetative state,” which is another thing I forgot to tell you tonight.

P.P.S. Something you forgot to tell me tonight is “happy birthday.”

I hit Reply. Then I hit Discard Draft. On the clock radio, one minute, then two, then three ticked by. I reached under the bed and retrieved the letter I’d supposedly sent to Lev weeks ago at Jenny’s urging. Really, all I’d managed to do since then was fold the Tree of Life sketch into a paper crane. Dear—, it said. I grabbed a pen and completed the salutation.

Dear Alex,

Remember that day we sat in front of the dishwasher and you taught me to listen for the patterns in the chaos, like SETI scientists do? Remember how I had you feel my pulse and you couldn’t believe it because I’d gotten my heartbeat to mimic the pattern in the dishwasher noise, all its whirs and clicks, its 0s and 1s? I never told you how I did it—never had the words to thank you—but now—

I know you weren’t at my bat mitzvah but if you had been you would’ve heard it in my voice. How I let my heart fall into sync with the rhythms of the Hebrew words, and then with the rhythms of the hearts of all the people in the audience, and then once I did that—once I was in—all the noise fell away and I was able to speak to all of them (well, all except one) so that they’d really hear me. It was terrifying, tying my heartbeat to theirs, feeling all of that emotion pour through me. But I did it anyway, and do you want to know how?

There’s a trick, a very simple trick that I learned that day in front of the dishwasher but later made myself forget.

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