Larry and Kate Read online

  “Hold on,” I said. “You’ve got this all wrong. I’m the Jew here, okay?”

  He gave me an impatient look. The smile was like an old memory. He mumbled that Judaism is matrilineal. “If your grandma isn’t Jewish,” he said, “then your ma isn’t Jewish. And if your ma isn’t Jewish…”

  For the first time in years I was speechless. I didn’t know whether to knock the guy out or what. How could he say that?

  And Kate was buying it.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “If I’m not Jewish then Kate here is about as Jewish as a ham sandwich on Yom Kippur.”

  Not the best way to put it, I know, but I was barely holding it together.

  Kate asked whether I remembered her grandmother, Sarah, the one who fled Hungary before the war. Kate had mentioned her before. Well, it turns out that Kate’s grandma remembered lighting Hanukkah candles as a child in Budapest.

  I said, “What?”

  Kate explained it again slowly as though I were a child or stupid.

  Then I said, “This is bullshit.” I took Kate by the hand and practically frog-marched her back to the hotel. The whole way there I ranted. Who did he think he was and what did he know! I didn’t need any lectures on religion from that jerk. How could he say that to me? The nerve!

  I complained through our hotel dinner too. Kate nodded and tried to console me, but mostly she was quiet. She had a lot on her mind too.

  ***

  When I woke up the next morning I felt better. I didn’t need anyone to tell me who I am and who I’m not. To hell with Smelly Eli and his self-righteous ideas!

  I turned over to share my revelation with Kate but her side of the bed was empty. A note lay on her pillow. She needed some time alone. She’d be in touch.

  I didn’t know what to do with that. I lay in bed for an hour trying to figure it out. I wanted to head for the Old City and find her. And if I got hold of Eli, I’d break his chicken neck. But that wouldn’t win Kate back. I had to give her some space.

  Then I thought: forget it. I’d carry on regardless. Keep to the plan. The Jewish market. The Holocaust Museum. But what was the point? I had built that itinerary for Kate.

  Okay. I’d go to the beach instead. I could also do with some time to myself. But by the time the cab reached Tel Aviv, I wasn’t in the mood for sun and sea. I wandered around Dizengoff Street and bleak downtown alleys that were crowded with dirty, peeling apartment blocks.

  A premonition weighed me down. This wasn’t a timeout. Kate was breaking up with me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  Kate sent a text message late that afternoon. She wanted to meet for coffee. Coffee! Like strangers. She sat there with her hair tied back and a serious, solemn face. She stared at her coffee mug and avoided my eyes.

  It was nothing personal, she said. It was something she needed to do for herself.

  I tried to reason with her. What about her job? Her apartment?

  Kate had answers for everything.

  “Don’t be crazy,” I told her. “It’s like a cult. Rediscovery, my ass. It’s brainwashing. They don’t even think I’m Jewish. Come on, Kate.”

  But Kate just gave me that sad look.

  “Ever since our flight to Eilat,” she said, “I’ve been thinking about my roots. I sent my mom a message and asked her to speak to grandma about what she remembered of her childhood. She only got back to me yesterday.”

  Goddamn text messages! I had known something was up. But it was too late. Kate was determined. No rational argument would budge her.

  So I said, “What about us?”

  Kate didn’t know. Maybe in the future. Right then, she couldn’t say.

  And that was that.

  She came over to the King David to pick up her stuff. She paid me out for her share of the expenses, although at first I refused to take her money.

  On the flight back to LAX, alone and still a little punch-drunk, I couldn’t sleep. I thumbed through the photos on my camera: Kate floating on the Dead Sea; Kate’s smiling face covered in mud; the desert view from the top of Masada; Kate and I standing side-by-side, our backs to the Wailing Wall.

  I pulled the mezuzah out of my travel bag. I caressed the rough Jerusalem stone. I turned it over and opened the back. The mezuzah was empty. No scroll. Nada.

  I don’t know why but that pissed me off more than anything. All the tension of that week merged into one choking ball of pain. Tears slipped from my eyes.

  Those bastards, I thought. How could they sell me one without a scroll?

  ***

  Hi there,

  Thanks for reading “Larry and Kate.” If you enjoyed the story, please take a moment to write a review.

  Want to read more? Try my novel, A Love and Beyond, a "Da Vinci Code" mystery in Jerusalem. ("A mysterious crime. A ruthless secret society. And a desperate bachelor...").

  British bachelor Dave Schwarz stumbles upon the mystical secret to a woman's heart, deep within the ancient City of David. Far from ending his dating woes, the discovery draws him into a web of mysterious crimes, archaeological puzzles, and dark forces eager to trigger the End of Days.

  Visit me at dansofer.com to stay in touch.

  Have a great day!

  ~Dan Sofer