CHAPTER 9
THE morning of Yom Kippur, Daniel and Liyah meet at the L stop on Division. Last night, Liyah had made them late (even by JST) to Kol Nidre, the single most attended Jewish service, and they were relegated to the folding chairs set up in the back of the shul to accommodate the overflow. The makeshift pews were not spaced appropriately for Daniel’s legs, and Liyah kept having to stifle laughter as he tried to fit himself in diagonally. A consultation with Google Maps revealed that he had a shorter walk to her stop than she did to his, so they adjusted accordingly.
Liyah feels out of sorts sitting on the train in fancy clothing, the silk bag with her bat mitzvah tallis on her lap. It’s also quite strange to be next to Daniel like this in the daylight. She’s accustomed to a quiet car, Daniel’s face yellowed by the plastic overlay on the harsh overhead lights. This morning, it’s full and bright and noisy in a way that doesn’t sit well given that she skipped food and coffee in observance of the fast. She hardly says anything the whole way there. He doesn’t seem to be in a chatty mood, either, and she hopes there’s a shared understanding that no eating means no lengthy conversations. Besides, as Neen loves pointing out, Liyah’s natural snark edges toward outright rudeness when she’s hungry.
When they push open the doors to the synagogue foyer, a few pairs of eyes flicker their way. Liyah looks at Daniel, and he raises his eyebrows at her, amused. They stop to put on their tallisim and kippot (Liyah brought several bobby pins to affix her kippah to the crown of her head, otherwise she’d spend the services picking it up off the floor) before heading toward the doors to the main sanctuary. A greeter stands by a table with stacks of machzorim. He hands one of the prayer books to an elderly woman and points her to the door.
When Daniel and Liyah approach, he eyes them curiously. “Are you two in the right place?” he asks.
Liyah swallows, taking the man’s question about as well as a punch to the gut. This is not your first rodeo, she reminds herself. Despite her empty stomach, she’s ready to vomit.
Daniel must feel her tense up because he reaches for her hand. “Oh, this isn’t the Baptist church’s Yom Kippur service?” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood. But Liyah is already fuming.
The greeter belatedly clocks their religious garb and starts to apologize. Liyah doesn’t hear a single word he says. She takes a deep breath to make sure that her voice is low and level so no bystanders can overhear.
“I hope you add ‘I have sinned against you with racism’ to your vidui this year, you brainless prick.” She yanks two of the machzorim directly off the table. She wants to say more, but Daniel squeezes her hand and pulls her away before she gets the chance.
He doesn’t let go until they’re tucked away in a hallway that must lead to the rabbi’s and cantor’s offices. Her skin tingles at the loss of touch, but then his hands are on her shoulders and he’s looking into her eyes. He takes exaggeratedly deep breaths as if she’s meant to follow, and when she does, she realizes that she was hyperventilating.
“I. Am. So. Mad,” she bites out.
“I see that,” Daniel whispers. Now his hands are running up and down her upper arms. It’s soothing. And immensely irritating. He’s so calm. She’s falling apart, and he’s perfectly serene, unruffled.
“This doesn’t get to you?” she manages.
He swallows. “It does. Maybe not quite as much, but you’re right, that guy was a brainless dick.” His irises flick back and forth, as if he’s checking each of her eyes individually for signs of an impending explosion. “Are you doing a little bit better?”
Her pulse no longer feels fast enough for her heart to give out, so she nods. “Prick.”
He moves back an inch. His breath no longer fans over Liyah’s cheeks. “What?”
“I said prick, not dick. Blame Siobhan.” Liyah smiles, and Daniel’s entire body seems to relax. “Did you cheat and have breakfast?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “I haven’t eaten since five yesterday, same as you.”
“Then why do you seem so … fine? And how were you patient enough to figure out how to calm me down?”
“I’m plenty hungry, I just have willpower.” She frowns, and he chuckles. “My sister Kayla’s a therapist, but even before that she was good at this kind of thing. She taught me some tricks of the trade.”
Liyah sighs. “Ah, well. Tell her I say thanks.”
“Do you want to go back in?” Daniel asks.
Liyah can tell he means it. She has the option to stay or go. Because this is not the first time someone has said this to him, just like it’s not the first time for her. She wonders if he ever talks to his father about it, and how he reacts. Her mother has never been great at fielding her and Avi’s experiences with white-assimilated Jews. They’ll repeat one of several common invalidations, and her mom freezes up completely, tears welling. As if Liyah communicating the reality of her experience is a personal attack.
The first time in her adult life that she walked into a Jewish space without her very short, very Ashkenazi-looking mother to contextualize her existence was Rosh Hashanah her sophomore year of college. It took one step in the door for someone to tell her she must be lost. She turned on her heels and left the Northwestern University Hillel, stewing in her dorm room for the next two days. It was the only year of her life she didn’t observe the High Holidays. She told her mother, and they fought so badly that they didn’t speak directly until winter break. And the thing is, as much as she wishes her mom could have better understood the pain that led to her making that choice, not observing didn’t feel right, either. Like it was letting them win. Like it was saying, you’re right, I don’t belong, even though Liyah is Jewish to her very core. Even though her Blackness and her Jewishness are inextricably linked because she’s never been one without the other.
She takes another deep breath and nods. “Ready.”
“Okay.” He drops his hands from her shoulders. “I can’t believe you told that guy to repent.”
“He deserved it!” Liyah protests.
Daniel shakes his head. “I’m not judging, I’m admiring. You’re quick on your feet.”
She follows him back to the foyer, where the offending greeter waves them into the sanctuary, avoiding eye contact. Fortunately, they caught the L early enough that Liyah’s meltdown hasn’t cost them good seats. They snag a spot toward an aisle (for optimal sneaking out) and Daniel makes an audible phew when he fits his legs into the row. Liyah bites her lip to avoid laughing. Yom Kippur isn’t really a laughing holiday, and she certainly doesn’t need to draw any more attention to herself.
When the services make it to Al Cheyt, the part of vidui where the English translation of each confession begins “We have sinned against you with,” they keep making eye contact. Just when Liyah thinks she’s got ahold of herself, Daniel winks, and she has to cover her snort with a cough. The woman to her left shifts away slightly. Well, at least I was convincing, she thinks.
The rest of the morning goes by smoothly, if very slowly. Liyah can’t remember the last time that she enjoyed shul this much. Even when the rabbi drags her sermon on a little too long, she doesn’t get agitated. Instead, she nudges Daniel and whispers, “Since she can’t have any water today, you’d think it would be in her best interest to wrap it up before she makes herself hoarse.” He keeps his face as still as possible and rubs his lips together, but she can see the laughter in his eyes.
At the end of the Torah service, Liyah’s patience wears thin, even with Daniel by her side. The rabbi announces that it’s time for Yizkor, and Liyah enthusiastically shoves her tallis back in its bag and gets ready to go. Daniel steps back to allow her to pass.
“You go first,” she says impatiently.
He shakes his head. “I’m gonna stay for a bit.”
“It’s Yizkor, you don’t—”
Oh. Oh. You don’t traditionally stay for the memorial service unless you’ve lost a parent, sibling, or spouse, which means …
“I’ll be right outside,” Liyah says gently, pushing past the bruising shame of her thoughtlessness.
She walks to the foyer, kicking herself. She’d tried to correct him, to rush him out. God, even for her, this is bad. Throngs of other lucky people who don’t qualify for Yizkor mill about. Liyah wishes tradition didn’t require her to leave Daniel behind. He’s so young. Everyone else is likely too absorbed in their own mourning to worry about him, but she’s never been to Yizkor, so she can’t be sure. Thankfully, the movement of dispersing congregants disguises her anxious pacing.
The next half hour is the slowest of the day. The crowd mostly dissipates, and Liyah is forced to switch from pacing to picking at her fingernails. When Daniel emerges from the sanctuary, her cuticles are destroyed and his eyes are rimmed red.
“THE WAY I see it, you’ve got four options,” Liyah says as they exit the building.
Daniel expected that she would greet him with a hug or ask how he was feeling. Maybe he should have expected this, though. It’s much more Liyah. The breeze and fresh air are the closest second to the drink of water he really needs. He rolls up his sleeves. She doesn’t go on, and he realizes that she’s waiting for his signal. “What are the options?”
Liyah takes a deep breath. “One: we can talk about it. Two: you can tell me what you want to do for the rest of the day, and we’ll go do just that. I won’t break my fast early, but if that’s what you need, I’ll sit there and try not to glare while you eat.” He searches her face. It seems she means it. “Three: you can come along with me to do what I usually do on Yom Kippur. And finally, four: say ‘Liyah, fuck off’ and I’ll leave you to your own devices.”
Daniel tries to smile. He’s not sure he does a good job of it. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“I promise I won’t be offended if you choose option four.” She elbows him. Daniel wants to grab her hand, but she hasn’t offered it, and he worries it would be unwelcome. “So, which’ll it be?”
He could talk about his dad. About thumb wrestling during High Holiday services well into his teenage years, his mom discreetly kicking his dad’s shins, desperate to get them to stop. Maybe he should; he knows that’s what Kayla would do. But he barely made it through his first Yizkor and he doesn’t think he has the energy. “Let’s do the third one.”
Liyah nods enthusiastically. “Excellent choice.” It makes him smile, even though she probably would have said it regardless of what he picked. She fishes around in her tallis bag and extends her arm as if to hand him something, but there’s nothing between her fingers. “Since you didn’t choose option one, I’m giving you this ticket. It’s good for one ‘I want to talk about it’ at a later date.”
Daniel takes the imaginary token and tucks it into the pocket of his slacks. “So, what are we doing?”
“We’re going to go home, where we will watch a depressing documentary about something wrong with the world. I know it’s technically no electronics today but please remember that I’ve watched you eat bacon.”
He laughs. “You’ve seen me use my phone already.”
She nods. “Right, and I’ve seen you use your phone already, so don’t say anything about how my traditions are against the rules.”
“I think it makes a lot of sense. It’s in the spirit of reflection,” he says, looking straight ahead. Even so, he feels Liyah’s gaze on the side of his face.
“Exactly!” she says. “Please tell my mother that.”
After a train change and some walking, they approach an old redbrick building that looks like it was built immediately after the Great Chicago Fire. Liyah’s apartment is on the second floor, and it’s cozy and colorful and very lived-in. There are three large windows in the living room, mostly obstructed by enormous houseplants in mismatched pots. Daniel follows her in removing shoes at the door and unceremoniously flopping down on the couch. It’s green—no surprise there—but it’s darker than the color she usually wears and made of velvet. The cushions are soft but supportive and it even has a chaise attachment long enough for him to stretch his legs.
“This is an excellent sofa.”
“It’d better be for what a pain in the ass it was to get up that staircase,” she replies.
He strokes one of the throw pillows. It’s charcoal gray, furry, and impossibly soft. “I like this, too.”
Liyah makes a noise of disgust. “Of course you do.”
“You don’t like your own pillows?”
“It’s my ‘roommate’”—she makes air quotes with her fingers—“Lara’s. Or Laura? You know what, I’m pretty sure it’s Lara.”
“And where is this fabled roommate?” Daniel asks.
“At her boyfriend’s, where she actually lives.” Liyah points to the only closed door in the apartment. “That’s hers. It looks like a Michaels store caught a stomach bug and vomited it into existence. I keep it sectioned off so that it doesn’t infect the rest of the place.”
“Except for the throw pillows.” Daniel smiles.
Liyah frowns. “Yes, except for the throw pillows. Are you more in the mood for climate crisis or the prison industrial complex?” She points the clicker at the screen.
“Each fun in its own right, but today is a climate crisis kind of day, don’t you think?”
She hums in agreement. “Climate crisis it is.” She puts the movie on and promptly curls up in the fetal position, her head on one of the throw pillows. She’s several inches away from him, but her curly hair fans out, spilling over onto his lap.
They watch in total silence, their empty stomachs having prematurely depleted their daily word stores. When the film finishes, Daniel twists his torso, using the back of the couch as leverage to crack his back. Liyah flinches at the noise.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “So, what’s next on the agenda for Liyah Cohen-Jackson’s Yom Kippur?”
She smiles. “It’s the most important part: the afternoon nap.” Liyah stands up, smooths out her skirt, and pads her way to the bedroom. Daniel supposes he’s meant to follow. She lies down on top of her comforter and pulls the throw blanket up to her shoulders. “No outside clothes in the bed,” she explains.
Daniel nods. As much as he loves the CTA, he wouldn’t want pants that had touched a train seat on his sheets, either. “Do you mind?” he asks, motioning to his dress shirt. Liyah shakes her head, so he unbuttons it the rest of the way and removes it, along with his belt. In a thin T-shirt and with his slacks riding low on his hips, he climbs onto the most inviting bed he’s ever seen. Maybe it’s the fasting-induced lethargy, but it seems like he and Liyah have identical taste in furniture. His head hits the pillow, and he sighs. Lovely.
“Glad you like it,” Liyah whispers, and it’s the last thing either of them say before dozing off.
Daniel wakes up to Liyah rubbing his forearm. He blinks a few times, dazed. It seems to him that no time has passed, but the angle of the light seeping through his—not his, Liyah’s—bedroom window says otherwise.
“You gotta wake up, we’re gonna be late for Mincha.”
“I don’t know if I want to go back for the afternoon and evening services. I mean, I usually do, but…” Daniel’s tongue tastes of sleep and his throat is dry on account of not having had any water since yesterday, and his voice comes out low and gravelly even after his attempts to clear his throat. “Is that okay?”
Liyah nods. Without thinking, he reaches for her hand. Her entire body stills. He’s about to withdraw it and apologize, but she laces her fingers through his. “Yeah, that’s okay.” A pause. She holds eye contact so long that it’s almost unnerving, like she’s seeing right into the depths of him. Even though the blinds cast a strip of sunlight across her eyes, her irises are so black that it’s impossible to distinguish them from her pupils. “What do you want to do with the last hour and a half?”
He wants to stay in bed, exactly like this. But he knows that’s the wrong answer. “Got anything to read?”
Liyah jumps up and strides toward the living room, motioning for him to follow. He regrets saying something before remembering that her couch is equally comfortable. She thumbs through the wide bookcase that’s under her TV and extracts two thin hardcovers. “Is poetry okay? It’s about all I have the attention span for.” Daniel nods. “These are by Edward Hirsch.”
“Jewish?”
“Yep. And a Chicagoan. Thought it would be fitting.” She holds up one of the books. “This one is an extended eulogy for his child. So, depending on the type of person you are, it’s either perfect or the worst possible thing.”
He considers. “I’ll read that one.” She nods and extends it toward him. When he takes it, she curls up the way she had during the documentary and cracks the spine on her own.
Daniel hasn’t read poetry since his last high school English class. Ten pages in, he can’t imagine why he’d given it up. He reads hungrily, forgetting the world around him. For a while, he thinks he might cry, but the tears never come. Instead, he wells up with so much emotion that he’s frozen in place. The great sorrow, the great love on each page is staggering and familiar. And yet, beautiful. What a feat, to turn so much pain into so much beauty. Daniel is filled with simultaneous envy and empathy.
He doesn’t return to reality until he reaches the final phrase. The book snaps shut, and both he and Liyah startle at the sound. She waits for him to speak first for the second time today. “Can I borrow this for a little bit?” he asks.
“You can keep it if you like, I’ve already read it five times.”
“Thank you.” Daniel rubs the back of his head. Back in this world, he can feel his stomach rumble. “How much time left?”
“Negative five minutes.”
He sits up straight. “What? And you haven’t eaten yet?”
“I had to let you finish! Go pour us cups of water and I’ll get the bagels toasting.” He does as she asks, and she rummages through her freezer. “Pumpernickel, everything, or poppy?”
“Pumpernickel.”
“Good choice. Brownstein’s makes the best pumpernickel bagels in all of Chicago.”
Daniel hands her a glass of water and waits for her to take a sip before he gulps his down and goes to refill it. “Have you checked?” he jokes.
“Actually, yes.”
“Really?”
“It took a few months of careful research, but it was well worth it.”
Daniel laughs and shakes his head. Of course she did. She fixes them both bagels with a healthy dose of shmear and lox. Apparently too hungry to make the four-foot trip to the table, Liyah takes an enormous bite as soon as she’s handed one of the bagels off to Daniel. He’s starving, but he waits and watches Liyah. Her eyelids flutter shut as she chews, her entire face relaxing, the corners of her lips turning upward, and a sound somewhat like yum escapes her mouth.
Worth the wait. When he finally tastes his bagel, he has to restrain himself from demolishing it in two bites. He may not have been privy to her studies, but he believes Liyah’s review. It’s the best damn bagel he’s ever eaten.
SSC #7 MEETING NOTES
Secretary: Liyah
• Work
• Liyah wants everyone to understand how exciting it is that they have a prepubescent Homo erectus • skeleton
• Seriously! Do these people not understand how rare they are?
• Siobhan’s working on the website, which is better than the newsletter
• She respectfully requests that we all look at the web page to ooh and aah
• (I’m kidding, it looks so good!)
• Dating
• Liyah would like to note both vocally and in writing that talking about this every week is like an extended root canal
• Group dating app profile workshop for Siobhan
• Jordan and Daniel graciously wait while Liyah embarrasses Siobhan, taking a hundred pictures of her holding an Alex special cocktail
• (What do you want from me? She looks great!)
• Rule addition: 8. Daniel and Jordan may not talk about any sports team’s chances prior to the start of the season. This includes all Chicago teams. Liyah will engage in basketball talk after the season starts, but it must be limited for Siobhan’s sake.
SSC #8 MEETING NOTES
Secretary: Daniel
• Forgot to take notes during work section. Sorry
• Liyah said, “You should be.”
• Alex joined us for an illicit round on his break
• Would like to say that he and Marc with a c • are exclusive. Everyone cheered
• Liyah only made fun of Daniel once tonight. It was for being late due to “JST,” when very clearly it was due to L train delay
• When asked if she would like an award, she said yes
• No rule additions