*deep breath* Okay...

Dec 27, 2005 00:50

This is sort of a...well, test. I had this idea the other day, and I want to know if anyone would want to read it. (I don't even know how far it'll go myself, it was just a thought) Please, read and tell me if you would read it if I continued. I'm...going to be putting a lot of myself in this, as this topic is a little 'close to home' as they say. But yeah...read and tell me what you think. I realize this is the Prologue and there really isn't much 'Higher Ground' in it, but if I continue that will change in the next chapter. So...yeah, be honest.

Title: L'Chaim (To Life)
Rating: not sure yet...PG?
Summary: A troubled Orthodox Jewish boy is sent to Horizon when his family has no other options to deal with him. Set, I guess, within the series...alternate universe sort of thing.



L’Chaim (To Life)

Prologue

“I’m afraid we don’t have many options here,” said Rabbi Benyamin. He was sitting back in his chair looking piercingly at the boy on the opposite sofa, sitting slightly away from his parents. “They are the only school of its kind willing to even entertain the possibility of catering to his…unique needs.”
“So he will be getting kosher food and Torah education?” asked Mr. Mendel. The boy looked uncertainly at his parents, and then to the Rabbi, who nodded.
“Yes,” he said allaying his fears, “I have spoken briefly with the headmaster, and he has agreed that such need will be met. There is still a lot of ironing out to do with the details, however.” His glance rested again on the boy, who seemed more afraid than anything else. He sighed. These situations were hard enough without such complications as basic as food. He noticed the boy was more unsettled at the mention of his education, and wondered at it. He levelled his penetrating yet warm gaze at the boy. Sixteen is far too young for these sorts of problems, he thought, he’s still a child!
“Chaim,” he said warmly, catching the boy’s attention and holding it. “Do you wish to continue our ways? To eat kosher and pray and learn Torah?” He looked about to speak, but then looked to his parents and closed his mouth again. He nodded and crossed his arms across his stomach. Seeing the problem, the Rabbi sighed and stood.
“Mr. and Mrs. Mendel, would you please step outside?” He gestured to the door and opened it for them. The parents stood, but hesitantly. “I would like to talk to Chaim alone for a moment.” Mrs. Mendel’s hands shook holding her purse.
“But he needs me,” she protested. Mr. Mendel put a hand on his wife’s to calm her.
“Please, Lynn,” he said, “we should give him some room.” As he ushered them out the door, he could hear Mrs. Mendel continue her protests.
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” she said as they left the room, “he’s always been such a happy boy…”
The door closed.

“Chaim?” The boy had been toying absently with one corner of his jacket, and looked up as the Rabbi pulled his chair closer and sat opposite him. His hands started slightly when he heard his name, but he didn’t look up. He couldn’t bear to look into his eyes and see the disappointment in them. This was the man who had taught him Hebrew, who had seen him Bar Mitzvahed. How could he look at him? He was too ashamed.
“Chaim, please look at me,” the older man’s soft voice pleaded. It wasn’t a command, it was a request. From a friend. He looked up.
“Do you want to go to this school?” he asked. It was a simple yes or no question, but he found he couldn’t say either. Instead he shrugged and nodded.
“No, I want to hear you say it,” he prodded gently. “I want you to decide for yourself, for your own future. We can arrange for you to get Jewish education up there, but that’s only if you want it. I need to know what you want to do to help yourself.” Chaim began toying with the corner of his jacket again, more roughly.
“Why can’t I stay here?” he asked.
“You know why,” he said, “the judge ordered that you get some help. It’s either that or an institution. I know you don’t want that,” he said. “You need to go somewhere you can…find yourself again. You need help that we can’t give you here. From what I’ve heard this school is the perfect place for you, but we won’t send you if you don’t want to go.” A wry grin broke out on the boy’s face.

“Like I have a choice,” he said, “It’s either that or some hospital? That’s not a choice.”
“It is,” the Rabbi replied, keeping his voice level. “There are other places, but those places will be much more difficult for an observant Jew. The school is being very kind in accommodating you.”
“So it really isn’t a choice,” Chaim repeated. “Because they’re being nice to me, I have to go.”
“Nobody is forcing you to go. You need to choose. The real choice is, do you wish to continue your religious practices or not.”
Chaim sat and thought for a long moment. The room was so silent he could hear the motor running in the wall clock by the door. Rabbi Benyamin waited patiently, respectfully not looking at him so he would not feel pressured, for which he was grateful. He knew he could say anything to him, of all the Rabbis he knew, he was the most ‘easy-going’. There have been a few times when he had wondered which of them was the teenager and which was the teacher. Right now he was very serious - as serious as he’d ever seen him. He had never seen him look so worried before.
He knew if he said ‘no’, there would be a big commotion with his parents, but Rabbi Benyamin would understand and respect him for it. He almost did say it, but he knew much of the deciding factors would be shock value. That was part of his problem, his parents were too sensitive, to easily offended. He had just one day decided not to be their perfect son anymore, he wanted to see what would happen if he did something unexpected for a change.
But there was still a part of him…that wanted to make them happy. And it was that part of him that said yes.
“Okay,” the Rabbi nodded. “I’ll contact Horizon, and tell them they’ll have a new student by the end of the week.”

That feeling in the pit of his stomach…it was hard to place. Fear was a big part of it, and worry, he most likely got from his mother. There was something else there though, not bad, but still unfamiliar. It was what told him that this decision was a good one, that for once, he was doing something good for himself. It was the most wonderful feeling he’d ever had in his life.

Enthusiasm.
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