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June 10, 2005

The Rabbi's Seraphic Daughter

In which the author, a nine-year old dork, catches sight of the new girl in school and is instantly smitten. Thus begins a love, an obsession, that defines the writer's life.

How I Married Karen—Chapter 1

She crosses my vision like a moon, nothing seems to touch her.

The new girl has thick black hair; dark, penetrating eyes that seem to look right through you. She has just transferred from Yeshiva Ohel Moshe to Yeshiva Flatbush. Her father is a rabbi in Bensonhurst.

Her name is Karen Singer.

And my life has just become something unrecognizable.

My life has just shifted in ways I cannot quite understand or imagine. I am irrevocably changed. This girl has touched something so deep inside me that I feel as if I'm looking at myself, at my life, from a yawning abyss.

I am frightened. I am experiencing feelings so powerful, so unfamiliar that I no longer recognize my central self.

She wears a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar; a sharply pleated skirt that gently sways with each step.

During recess, I gaze at Karen and I'm abruptly aware of her startling beauty; a mesmerizing, hypnotic visage that is utterly compelling yet at the same time completely alienating.

Karen retreats to a corner of the school yard, she holds a lace handkerchief to her lips.

I am only nine-years-old; such a young child is not capable of being in love — but I am. I am in love with Karen Singer, the Rabbi's beautiful daughter. I look at Karen and my heart is beating in my chest like a trapped bird. In her eyes, there is a ferocious intelligence; there is also a sense of something held back, for this is a girl who withholds her central core. Is it ever possible to know what this lovely girl is thinking?

She wears black flats and her ankles are slim, smooth as an egg shell.

I am a short and awkward little dork and for the entire year I watch Karen every chance I get. I watch the way she places her hand over her heart and solemnly recites the Pledge of Allegiance. I love the way her lips move, the way she hunches over and plays with her split ends when she's bored during assemblies.

To this day, over forty years later, I become a helpless little boy when Karen wears a white blouse, a pleated skirt and black flats.

Years later, screening an Audrey Hepburn film, I flashback to Karen and her elementary school outfits and oh my gosh, Karen is the Jewish Audrey Hepburn.

Audrey Hepburn in Sabrina, 1954

The popular girls hesitate to allow Karen into their tight-knit group. It's obvious that these girls are threatened by Karen's beauty, by the quiet manner in which she's able to command respect. But finally, the popular group relents, allow Karen into their clique. Yet I notice that Karen is less than enthusiastic when she's with these alpha girls. Her smile and laugh are subdued.

Alone at night, unable to sleep, I think about her, Karen, the new girl.

I have started to fail one math test after another and my teachers have assured me that these F's will go down on my “permanent record.” I imagine this permanent record as being stapled to my chest for the rest of my life.

Karen Singer. I say her name when I'm alone. I have visions where we are holding hands. Between the spaces of my heart beats, I tell her that I love her. But my fertile imagination never quite allows her to tell me that she loves me. Some visions are beyond imagination.

I know the truth. I am a dumb and funny looking kid. The kind of kid who never gets what he wants. Besides, I'm in the dumb class and if you're in the dumb class, you are doomed to failure. This is what my teachers tell me. This is the reason the principal and founder of Flatbush Yeshiva, Mr. Joel Braverman, beats me up in the hallway. Because I am stupid.

However, I do have dreams. Two dreams, to be precise. Both of them kind of insane.

1) I love movies. I have just discovered that somebody actually writes these movies. I like writing. I like movies. I want to write movies.

2) I love Karen Singer, and I want to marry her.

I am also keenly aware that I am a 9-year-old loser. And I am resigned to a life of diminished expectations.

Next installment: Dancing with Karen at an 8th grade pizza party.

Karen adds: Harking back to the infamous entry of yesterday. Robert suffered intolerable abuse, both physical and mental, from a man who was revered as a pioneer in Jewish education, and based on people's comments, many teachers were still in the Dark Ages. I experienced another side of Mr. Braverman, which was his "benevolence". This favoritism was misguided and caused harm, (although not comparable to Robert's) as well, and shows how clueless educators were of children's psyches. He singled me out for good. Can you believe that this hurt? As Robert writes, I was the new girl in town. From across the divide, from a poorer school, less advanced, less Zionistic with less fluent Hebrew skills. I spoke Ashkenaz, not Sephard. I was admitted into the A minus class. As the year advanced, I proved my mettle (studying like a fiend and praying everynight to get Aleph plus plus) and I was judged A class material. Mr. Braverman was informed. He came into the class for his visits and told me, in front of the whole class of my new friends, "You have to go to the A class, you don't belong here anymore." I felt like a traitor. I had finally made new friends, been accepted and now he wanted me to leave these kids behind! I refused over and over again. Now that I think of it, that took a lot of guts for a 9-year-old kid. I stayed the course, making a deal to stay in the class at least until the end of the year. In September, I had to brave a new set of girls, break into a new clique, sort out the rivalries of the ten year old queen bees, and enter the A class.

As for Robert's image of me, that is the Rashomon effect. That delicate handkerchief was a way I could hide the little upchucks of vomit caused by the anxiety of being in a new school. I remember stuffing one into the inkwells they had in the old fashioned desks. Anything to mask my fear. No one knew how scared I was. No one knew how hard I studied. No one knew that I had skipped several chapters in Chumash when I transferred Yeshivas and always had to cover for them. Thus are the secrets of the A class over achievers. If Robert only knew.

Posted by Robert J. Avrech at June 10, 2005 08:05 AM

Comments

Seraphic Secret is private property, that's right, it's an extension of our home, and as such, Karen and I have instituted two Seraphic Rules and we ask commentors to act respectfully.

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.

Posted by: Randi at June 10, 2005 09:42 AM

Posted by: EV at July 28, 2005 08:26 PM

Posted by: robert Avrech at July 28, 2005 10:05 PM

Posted by: pierre at November 10, 2005 12:15 PM

Posted by: MathSuXxXx at July 1, 2007 03:53 AM

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