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March 21, 2005
Seraphic Snapshots
After Shabbos, Karen and I go to the L'chaim for one of Ariel's best friends. As we are driving, Karen says to me, "What do you think the kallah will look like?"
"Um, well, she'll definitely be of the female variety."
"I think she'll be tall, blond and very pretty."
Karen has radar for this sort of thing. She has also noticed that married couples frequently look like brother and sister. I think that some men marry women who look like their mothers. In any case, some powerful, mysterious force is hard at work when we decide to love, when we choose our mates.
Karen and I arrive at the L'chaim and sure enough, Karen got it right: Ariel's high school friend is standing beside a lovely, statuesque young woman: tall, blond, thin as a sheaf of wheat, and very pretty. She's got the look of Boro Park royalty. How does Karen predict these things with such accuracy? With apologies to the Women's Studies Departments at our universities, I think it's female intuition. Ask a guy what a girl will look like and he'll grope for a coherent thought and then usually blurt out: "Like Pam Anderson... I hope."
Anyway, as we are introduced, I search her eyes, I'm looking for that special spark of goodness that this young man needs. And yes, there it is; I glimpse a level of generosity; perhaps it's the way she meets my gaze head-on; she does not look past my shoulder to see what's going on in the rest of the room. I'm able to relax. Ariel was incredibly fond of this friend. They had a special relationship during and after school. When Ariel was home for the last year of his life, this friend spent many long afternoons with Ariel, talking, learning, laughing. This particular young man loves movies. Often he'd pick up my Emmy and ask me to take his picture. I have several snapshots of this young man, clutching the Emmy and acknowledging an invisible audience with a huge, appreciative smile.
"How do you write a movie?" he asked me on more than one ocassion.
"Slowly and tortuously," I would respond with a smile and he would let loose with that booming, generous laugh; the laugh that never failed to cheer Ariel up.
Karen and I only stay at he L'chiam for about three minutes. Make no mistake about it, there is an emotional toll being paid. Except for one young man, every single bochur from Ariel's high school class at Yeshiva Gedolah of Los Angeles is married. Sadly, one of them is even divorced. Several infants have been given Ariel as a middle name. I keep pictures of these children on my computer and look at them every few days.
Karen and I drive home shrouded in a heavy silence. In the middle of the night, unable to sleep, I roll out of bed and go downstairs. I slip into Ariel's room. I open his closet, caress his favorite blue suit. I slip my foot into his Shabbos shoe. It's eerie, but I imagine that his shoe still feels warm, as if he has only just pried them off. I sink to the edge of his bed and hold my head in my hands. I wonder: did it really happen. Did I once have a son, an amazing child who rebuilt my universe? Did I have a son who lived and then died? Is this really my life?
Posted by Robert J. Avrech at March 21, 2005 11:17 PM
Comments
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1. No profanity.2. No Israel bashing. We debate, we discuss, we are respectful. You know what Israel bashing is. The world is full of it. Seraphic Secret is one of the few places in the world that will not tolerate this form of anti-Semitism. That's it. Break either of these rules and you will be banned.