L'Chaim Chapter Two: The Games We Play
Chapter Two: The Games We Play
‘Sometimes we put up walls... Not necessarily to keep people out, but rather to see who will care enough to knock them down...’
-unknown
Early the next morning Rabbi Kirsh returned with four younger men, all similarly dressed. A few of the Cliffhangers were lounging in the living room at the time and began whispering among themselves, watching the men parade into the kitchen.
“There are more of them,” Shelby commented quietly. Daisy turned in her seat just enough to watch them go.
“All black,” she said, “cool.”
“Yo, I ain’t wearing that,” Auggie protested. “An’ I bet they’ll make us do it too, to learn tolerance or something.” Just as he finished his thought, Peter came out of his office looking to round them up for their morning session. He glanced around the room with a big smile on his face, rubbing his hands together as if very pleased with something. He saw his kids sitting around on the sofas and motioned them to their feet.
“Come on,” he said cheerfully. Everyone looked at each other in apprehension.
“Where are we going?” asked Shelby. Peter’s smile brightened.
“We’re going to learn a little about tolerance!” he announced. Shelby, Daisy and Ezra all looked at Auggie with something akin to fright as the class filed down the hall behind Peter.
To their immense relief, rather than trying on new clothes they gathered in the usual classroom set aside for the morning group sessions with Peter and Sophie.
The room was designed to be comfortable; there were abstract paintings on the wood walls, a fireplace in one corner, which was usually lit in winter, a scenic view out the window, shelves lined with books, and each chair in the circle was different, adding to the eclectic atmosphere.
“So,” Peter began, sitting in his usual chair as everyone else got settled. “As I’m sure you’ve all learned from our resident detective,” Peter continued, winking covertly at Ezra, “our new student is a religious Jew. Does anyone have any questions or comments on this topic?” He looked around at the room, waiting for someone to speak.
The first hour after breakfast every morning was set aside for these group talks. It was a time to say anything they wanted; to air out and solve grievances, to talk about something that may be bothering them, to announce accomplishments, anything. It was officially called ‘talk therapy’, wherein by talking about anything an everything, the student will often get to the root of whatever problem they’re having on their own. Those listening are often compelled to relate what’s being said to themselves, and this may even reveal something about them they didn’t even know. Usually they had a good discussion going, and even a few arguments. Other times, like today, they could sit in complete silence and be perfectly comfortable with it.
“Anyone?” Sophie prodded. The students seemed to be looking from one to the other, as if trying to decide whether they should say what is on their minds or not. “Remember, you can say anything in here, and anything said in this room stays in this room.” After another awkward silence, Kat spoke up.
“When will he get here?” she asked. All eyes in the room turned towards her, making her slightly uncomfortable.
“Tomorrow, if all goes well,” Peter answered. There were a few scattered murmurs, but then they went quiet again.
“So…” Auggie broke the silence again, “what are those guys doing? The ones in black, that look like they’re going to a funeral or something…” Juliette started to laugh, but then covered it up with her hand when she saw no one else found it funny.
“They are going to be here all day cleaning the kitchen,” Peter told him, “so that Chaim can eat the food here.”
“Chaim?” said Shelby, “that’s his name?”
“Woah, what do you mean ‘cleaning’?” asked Scott, who sat cross-legged on his favorite over-stuffed armchair directly across from Peter. “Are they saying the kitchen’s dirty or something?”
“No,” Peter said with a chuckle, “there’s nothing wrong with the kitchen, it’s just that some of the food we have here he’s not allowed to eat.”
“Like us with caffeine and sugar?” Daisy asked bitterly, picking at the inseam of one leg of her jeans. She too sat cross-legged, on a cushion on the floor. They had repeatedly offered her a chair, and she had consistently refused.
“Sort of,” Peter replied, “but their ‘diet’, I guess you could call it, is one of the things they believe was set for them by God in their scriptures, and its only one of the things we’re all going to have to get used to.”
“The Torah,” Juliette offered proudly, “that’s what they call the Bible. It says they can’t eat pork,” she began counting on her fingers, “they can’t eat shellfish or seafood, and they can’t eat milk and meat mixed together.”
“How did you know that?” Sophie asked, pleasantly surprised.
“I had a friend who was Jewish,” she said. “She couldn’t eat at our house except for drinks and stuff, so I always went over to her house. One time she did come over, but she brought her own food.” Peter nodded to her and she smiled brightly.
“Does anyone else know anything about Kosher or Jewish custom?” he asked the room, but Scott seemed still stuck on the kitchen issue.
“So what are they doing to it?” he asked, confusing a lot of people who had moved on to the other topic. “Cleaning everything?” After remembering what he was talking about, Peter nodded to him.
“They’re cleaning, yes, but we’re also getting new dishes, pots, everything. We’re even getting a new stove this afternoon,” he told him. There was a round of admiring murmurs and whistling.
“All this for one kid?” Shelby argued, “that seems a little excessive, doesn’t it?”
“And who’s going to pay for it?” asked Ezra. “New everything has got to be expensive.”
“Well,” Peter said in his ‘not saying much more on this’ tone of voice, “let’s just say that he’s a very special kid to a lot of people.”
“His family’s loaded,” Daisy commented with a sure nod. Others nodded with her.
“All that aside,” Peter said, looking at Daisy in a way that implied that that particular discussion was over, “are there any other questions? It is a major cultural shift for all of you.”
“You too,” Auggie said. Peter nodded.
“Yes, Sophie and I have had a few surprises already,” he said, thinking back to their talk with the Rabbi the other day. He too was wondering what they were doing to his kitchen, but in all honesty, it could use a good scrubbing. He had half a mind to send the kids in there to help them, but the Rabbi had insisted on doing it all himself. At least it meant that they would have a stove that works now. Half of the elements worked only sometimes, and the oven itself would often be either too hot or too cold. The Rabbi had seemed pleased when he’d told him this: ‘Then it’s a double mitzvah!’ he’d said. Peter hadn’t thought at the time to ask what exactly a ‘mitzvah’ was, but he assumed it was something good.
“I just have one question,” Auggie said grabbing his attention. He had a look of grim determination on his face, like he usually did when he asked for something even when he knew the answer would be unfavorable. Peter frowned at him in uncertainty. “We don’t have to dress like them, do we?” the teen asked seriously, “I just don’t do that look…” Peter laughed.
“No, of course not!” he assured him. Daisy chuckled softly beside him.
“Then it’s all good with me,” Auggie said in relief, looking around at everyone else with a smile. Peter did also, but saw that not everyone in the room was smiling. He didn’t expect everyone to welcome Chaim with open arms; they never did with any new kid. There was always that period of uncertainty whenever someone new joined their group. This time it was heightened that much more with the double uncertainty of him being a very different kid than what they were used too. ‘They’ll come around,’ he thought to himself, ‘they always do.’
That evening there was a pleasant surprise for students and staff alike. For the entire day, no one had been allowed in the kitchen, and even Peter had been summarily ejected from the room when he’d wanted to get a snack. A cold lunch had been provided by the caterer the Rabbi had hired for the day, and everyone grumbled as they ate off paper plates. Morale regarding their new arrival had never been lower. When it came time for supper, however, that opinion performed a complete 180.
The cafeteria was softly lit with candles on each table, to which Peter frowned immediately - he could imagine the hazards all those open flames could become with this many…troubled children. Nevertheless, he chose to trust the kids’ manners this time and enjoy the atmosphere resolving, however, to make sure it never happened again. The kids, for their part, were totally blown away.
Each table was set with the new dishes and flatware, real cloth napkins and heaping baskets of warm fresh bread rolls which, everyone could smell for themselves, had been baked in their very own kitchen. The entire room was silent, save for the awed gasps of students around the room. Never in the history of the school had the room been so quiet, yet at the same time so full. Everyone, as if on instinct, seated themselves extremely politely, and a few (including most of the Cliffhangers) had even lain out their napkins across their laps like in a fancy restaurant. Peter and Sophie sat together with the Cliffhangers, everyone looking around themselves in open awe. Even Daisy could find no witty comments to make about the surroundings.
The kitchen door swung open, and out came Rabbi Kirsh.
“Welcome, students and staff of Mount Horizon. In appreciation for your endless patience with us today, we would like to treat you all with dinner.” The room erupted with applause, cheers and laughter. Even Peter and Sophie seemed excited. Soon a procession of servers came out of the kitchen with trays laden with food. They were served the universal favorite of teenagers everywhere - Lasagna, with Caesar salad and fresh garlic bread. As the dinner began, very few words were exchanged as the students did what students do best.
“This tastes so much better because I didn’t make it,” said Daisy happily.
“No,” Peter commented, “It tastes so good because they have a professional Chef in there replacing all you kids.” Several forks clattered onto dishes and mouths hung open.
“Chef?”
“We never have to cook again?”
“You mean, like a real Chef?”
“We never have to cook again?!?”
“When Chaim gets here,” said Shelby, summing up the feeling of the entire table, “I’m going to kiss him.” Peter cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows. Sophie tried and failed to muffle her laughter.
If their first night with their new cook was wonderful, their first morning was absolutely disastrous.
“What do you mean there’s no bacon?” Scott complained loudly. The entire room had heard him and, while they shared his complaint, watched in silence as he faced off with the kitchen staff.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” the new girl said. She was in her mid-twenties, dressed in a long-sleeved top and long skirt, with a rather pleasant demeanor. She really didn’t deserve the brunt of Scott’s wrath, but there was nothing for it.
“She called him sir,” Ezra chuckled casually to Daisy, picking up something from one of the heavily laden trays on the buffet.
“Why can’t I have bacon?” Scott continued his tirade, ignoring Ezra completely. “And what is this?” he asked, pointing at something pink and unfamiliar on the center tray. It was artfully bordered with cucumber slices and balls of cream cheese, and was accompanied with an overflowing basket of bagels and other breads.
“Lox and cream cheese,” the woman answered politely, setting down another two large trays, these of assorted fresh fruit. This was greatly appreciated by all, as fresh fruit was hard to come by up there in the winter. As usual, the small quantity of strawberries was the first to disappear. Scott grimaced, but Juliette had heard the commotion and come to the rescue.
“It’s salmon, Scott,” she said craftily. She knew of his deep love of the pink fish, and was quite surprised he didn’t know about the smoked variety. The hostility melted from his face, and he stabbed a piece with his fork. After a bite and an approving nod, the crisis was averted.
“But I still want to know why I can’t have bacon,” he muttered mutinously. The woman smiled.
“It’s not kosher, I’m sure they’ve told you that.”
“You mean-” he was about to explode again, and the woman just nodded. “Never?”
“Not until Chaim graduates,” she said sympathetically. Scott nodded in disdain.
“Yeah, if I don’t kill him first,” he said in frustration. The woman softened her expression.
“Any of you can come by whenever you want for a snack; I’m still getting the kitchen organized, but I would be happy to make you something throughout the day. And if any of you have favorite foods, let me know.” Scott squinted at her.
“Bacon,” he said challengingly. She rolled her eyes, as did Ezra.
“You’re the Chef, aren’t you?” he said, making it almost sound like an accusation. She smiled again.
“Guilty,” she said happily. “How very observant of you. You must be Ezra.” At his confused look, she chuckled. “I was briefed on all of you before I started. I’ve heard that your group in particular is quite notorious for sneaking snacks from the kitchen at night.” There was a humorous glint in her eye. “You know I’ll have to lock the kitchen…” Ezra blushed, Juliette cleared her throat and turned away to hide her blushing cheeks, and Shelby shuffled her feet uncomfortably.
“What’s your name?” Ezra asked.
“Eli-Sheva,” she said, “but you can call me Eli.”
While the students were finishing up breakfast, Mr. and Mrs. Mendel arrived with Chaim. Peter was outside on the porch steps waiting for them when they drove up. When the car stopped he stepped forward to greet them.
“Mr. and Mrs. Mendel?” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “Welcome to Mount Horizon.” He noticed that Mr. Mendel dressed in a similar manner to Rabbi Kirsh, and his wife wore a long dark skirt and a hat that completely covered her hair. She smiled politely at him and he smiled back. “Is Chaim…?” Mr. Mendel turned back to the car and sighed. Chaim was still sitting defiantly inside. He walked over and opened the door, crouching to speak softly with his son. At last Chaim unbuckled himself and stood.
If his parents or his Rabbi had shaped his perception of what to expect from an Orthodox Jew, he was caught completely off guard. He had expected a smartly dressed young boy, not…
Aside from the vacant and tired expression that was common among depressives, nothing about his appearance was what he had expected. Where his parents were reserved he was loud, where they were modest he was brash, where they were clean he was dyed, pierced and tattooed. Peter had to take a moment to get his bearings before greeting him and shaking his hand.
“Welcome to Horizon, Chaim,” he said warmly. The boy shrugged non-committaly and took his hand back. His father looked at him.
“Chaim,” he said softly, almost carefully, “please, be polite to your host.” Chaim shrugged slightly, looking uncomfortable in his own skin.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, not looking up. Peter stared at him until he did look up, smiling in satisfaction when he did. He really was a handsome boy under all that sadness and hair dye.
“Your welcome,” he said pleasantly. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll get you acclimated.” The small family followed him into the lodge, and Roger came out to bring in the boy’s belongings.
After showing Chaim and his parents around the empty lodge (as the students were now in classes), Peter took him up to the Cliffhanger boys’ dorm. “You’ll be in the Cliffhanger group,” he explained as Roger tossed the bags onto the empty bed. “They are kids of about 16 to 17 years old, and everyone here has similar problems.”
“What did they do?” Chaim spoke for the first time.
“We don’t discuss another student’s medical history with anyone,” Peter explained, “that information is kept confidential. If they choose to share with you, that’s another thing, but only if they choose.”
His parents looked around the dorm, satisfied that their son’s needs will be well taken care of. After assurances from Peter that he will have the best of care, they left their son to him. He noticed curiously that the boy hugged his father and not his mother. After Roger showed them out, he turned to Chaim, who had begun scuffing the floor with the toe of his shoe. Since the dorms were empty, Peter figured there was no reason not to go through the screening right here.
“Okay,” he said, “let’s get you cleaned up.” Chaim gave him a look that said exactly what he thought of the other man, reminding him sharply of when Scott was first brought here. “You’re going to wash that out of your hair,” he began sternly, pointing to the flame-red tips of his spiked dark hair, “and all those earrings and other piercings come out too. And I’ll have to search your belongings.”
“You can’t make me,” he challenged darkly. How many times had he heard those words from how many teenagers?
“I assure you, I can,” he replied evenly. After a momentary battle of wills, Peter broke eye contact and led the boy into the bathroom. “Come on,” he prodded when he refused to follow. With a long-suffering sigh, he finally did.
An hour later, once he had regained the approximate appearance of a ‘normal’ teenager, Peter led him back to where his bags waited for their inspection. He noted with a nod that Rabbi Kirsh waited with them for the two to return. Peter had asked that he be present for the search.
“Chaim,” the Rabbi acknowledged with a nod. Chaim slowed his progress slightly, unsure about his presence. He stood finally, a distance away from both men.
“I have to search now for forbidden items,” he explained needlessly to both of them, opening the large duffle bag. Chaim seemed about to protest, but shut his mouth when the Rabbi gave him a stern look. Peter didn’t enjoy being so harsh with the boy, but at his stage it was the only thing that would work.
Most of what he found were clothes, toiletries and the like. Peter searched every pocket, every nook, cranny and lining of everything the boy had brought with him. In the end he confiscated a CD player and case full of CDs (to Chaim’s vehement protests), a lighter he’d found in a pair of rolled up socks, a travel bottle full of aspirin, and a small stash of candy. The other smaller bag was full of religious items his parents had insisted he bring: a prayer book and prayer shawl, called ‘Talis’, several odd looking undershirts called ‘Tzitzis’, a Torah and small assortment of religious books, and two small boxes attached to leather straps, neatly wrapped and tucked into their own bag.
“What are these?” Peter asked.
“Those are Tefillin,” the Rabbi told him, “these small boxes contain rolled up parchments of scriptures inside small compartments. They are used in our daily prayer services.” Peter examined the boxes carefully, turning them over in his hands.
“How do they open?” he asked casually. They had spoken earlier about the need to search Chaim when he arrived, and the Rabbi had agreed that it was necessary, but he was starting to become nervous.
“We don’t open them,” he said. “Sometimes we must have them examined to see that the parchments inside are in good condition, but…” the Rabbi trailed off when he heard one of the little boxes pop open in Peter’s hands. As he’d been talking, the other man had been working to pry them apart. Rabbi Kirsh was incensed - he was about to lecture about proper respect for Religious items when his tongue stilled in his mouth.
From inside one of the four small compartments, Peter pulled a small bag of white powder.
He held it up, and looked at Chaim, who cursed loudly and turned away.
“Chaim,” the Rabbi’s voice sounded hurt and angry. “What have you done?” The boy, at least, looked repentant, but said nothing. He looked to the floor and again scuffed his feet with curious intent. “To use Tefillin…made to contain words of Torah…how could you do such a thing? What could possibly make you do this?” Chaim looked close to tears in his embarrassment.
“I’m sorry…” he said weakly.
“Sorry?” Rabbi Kirsh echoed. “It’s too late for that! Tefillin is for prayer, for communication with Hashem, not for…your…habit!” He gently rewrapped the Tefillin and placed them back in their bag, closing it up. “You do not deserve the honor of wearing these,” he said. Chaim was really crying now, trying desperately to hide it, but the tears bounced down his cheeks.
“How will I Daven?” he asked desperately, his voice shaking.
“For now, you pray your own words,” he answered, “He will hear you. As for these,” he said, hefting the bag he held, “you will have to earn them back!”
‘Sometimes we put up walls... Not necessarily to keep people out, but rather to see who will care enough to knock them down...’
-unknown
Early the next morning Rabbi Kirsh returned with four younger men, all similarly dressed. A few of the Cliffhangers were lounging in the living room at the time and began whispering among themselves, watching the men parade into the kitchen.
“There are more of them,” Shelby commented quietly. Daisy turned in her seat just enough to watch them go.
“All black,” she said, “cool.”
“Yo, I ain’t wearing that,” Auggie protested. “An’ I bet they’ll make us do it too, to learn tolerance or something.” Just as he finished his thought, Peter came out of his office looking to round them up for their morning session. He glanced around the room with a big smile on his face, rubbing his hands together as if very pleased with something. He saw his kids sitting around on the sofas and motioned them to their feet.
“Come on,” he said cheerfully. Everyone looked at each other in apprehension.
“Where are we going?” asked Shelby. Peter’s smile brightened.
“We’re going to learn a little about tolerance!” he announced. Shelby, Daisy and Ezra all looked at Auggie with something akin to fright as the class filed down the hall behind Peter.
To their immense relief, rather than trying on new clothes they gathered in the usual classroom set aside for the morning group sessions with Peter and Sophie.
The room was designed to be comfortable; there were abstract paintings on the wood walls, a fireplace in one corner, which was usually lit in winter, a scenic view out the window, shelves lined with books, and each chair in the circle was different, adding to the eclectic atmosphere.
“So,” Peter began, sitting in his usual chair as everyone else got settled. “As I’m sure you’ve all learned from our resident detective,” Peter continued, winking covertly at Ezra, “our new student is a religious Jew. Does anyone have any questions or comments on this topic?” He looked around at the room, waiting for someone to speak.
The first hour after breakfast every morning was set aside for these group talks. It was a time to say anything they wanted; to air out and solve grievances, to talk about something that may be bothering them, to announce accomplishments, anything. It was officially called ‘talk therapy’, wherein by talking about anything an everything, the student will often get to the root of whatever problem they’re having on their own. Those listening are often compelled to relate what’s being said to themselves, and this may even reveal something about them they didn’t even know. Usually they had a good discussion going, and even a few arguments. Other times, like today, they could sit in complete silence and be perfectly comfortable with it.
“Anyone?” Sophie prodded. The students seemed to be looking from one to the other, as if trying to decide whether they should say what is on their minds or not. “Remember, you can say anything in here, and anything said in this room stays in this room.” After another awkward silence, Kat spoke up.
“When will he get here?” she asked. All eyes in the room turned towards her, making her slightly uncomfortable.
“Tomorrow, if all goes well,” Peter answered. There were a few scattered murmurs, but then they went quiet again.
“So…” Auggie broke the silence again, “what are those guys doing? The ones in black, that look like they’re going to a funeral or something…” Juliette started to laugh, but then covered it up with her hand when she saw no one else found it funny.
“They are going to be here all day cleaning the kitchen,” Peter told him, “so that Chaim can eat the food here.”
“Chaim?” said Shelby, “that’s his name?”
“Woah, what do you mean ‘cleaning’?” asked Scott, who sat cross-legged on his favorite over-stuffed armchair directly across from Peter. “Are they saying the kitchen’s dirty or something?”
“No,” Peter said with a chuckle, “there’s nothing wrong with the kitchen, it’s just that some of the food we have here he’s not allowed to eat.”
“Like us with caffeine and sugar?” Daisy asked bitterly, picking at the inseam of one leg of her jeans. She too sat cross-legged, on a cushion on the floor. They had repeatedly offered her a chair, and she had consistently refused.
“Sort of,” Peter replied, “but their ‘diet’, I guess you could call it, is one of the things they believe was set for them by God in their scriptures, and its only one of the things we’re all going to have to get used to.”
“The Torah,” Juliette offered proudly, “that’s what they call the Bible. It says they can’t eat pork,” she began counting on her fingers, “they can’t eat shellfish or seafood, and they can’t eat milk and meat mixed together.”
“How did you know that?” Sophie asked, pleasantly surprised.
“I had a friend who was Jewish,” she said. “She couldn’t eat at our house except for drinks and stuff, so I always went over to her house. One time she did come over, but she brought her own food.” Peter nodded to her and she smiled brightly.
“Does anyone else know anything about Kosher or Jewish custom?” he asked the room, but Scott seemed still stuck on the kitchen issue.
“So what are they doing to it?” he asked, confusing a lot of people who had moved on to the other topic. “Cleaning everything?” After remembering what he was talking about, Peter nodded to him.
“They’re cleaning, yes, but we’re also getting new dishes, pots, everything. We’re even getting a new stove this afternoon,” he told him. There was a round of admiring murmurs and whistling.
“All this for one kid?” Shelby argued, “that seems a little excessive, doesn’t it?”
“And who’s going to pay for it?” asked Ezra. “New everything has got to be expensive.”
“Well,” Peter said in his ‘not saying much more on this’ tone of voice, “let’s just say that he’s a very special kid to a lot of people.”
“His family’s loaded,” Daisy commented with a sure nod. Others nodded with her.
“All that aside,” Peter said, looking at Daisy in a way that implied that that particular discussion was over, “are there any other questions? It is a major cultural shift for all of you.”
“You too,” Auggie said. Peter nodded.
“Yes, Sophie and I have had a few surprises already,” he said, thinking back to their talk with the Rabbi the other day. He too was wondering what they were doing to his kitchen, but in all honesty, it could use a good scrubbing. He had half a mind to send the kids in there to help them, but the Rabbi had insisted on doing it all himself. At least it meant that they would have a stove that works now. Half of the elements worked only sometimes, and the oven itself would often be either too hot or too cold. The Rabbi had seemed pleased when he’d told him this: ‘Then it’s a double mitzvah!’ he’d said. Peter hadn’t thought at the time to ask what exactly a ‘mitzvah’ was, but he assumed it was something good.
“I just have one question,” Auggie said grabbing his attention. He had a look of grim determination on his face, like he usually did when he asked for something even when he knew the answer would be unfavorable. Peter frowned at him in uncertainty. “We don’t have to dress like them, do we?” the teen asked seriously, “I just don’t do that look…” Peter laughed.
“No, of course not!” he assured him. Daisy chuckled softly beside him.
“Then it’s all good with me,” Auggie said in relief, looking around at everyone else with a smile. Peter did also, but saw that not everyone in the room was smiling. He didn’t expect everyone to welcome Chaim with open arms; they never did with any new kid. There was always that period of uncertainty whenever someone new joined their group. This time it was heightened that much more with the double uncertainty of him being a very different kid than what they were used too. ‘They’ll come around,’ he thought to himself, ‘they always do.’
That evening there was a pleasant surprise for students and staff alike. For the entire day, no one had been allowed in the kitchen, and even Peter had been summarily ejected from the room when he’d wanted to get a snack. A cold lunch had been provided by the caterer the Rabbi had hired for the day, and everyone grumbled as they ate off paper plates. Morale regarding their new arrival had never been lower. When it came time for supper, however, that opinion performed a complete 180.
The cafeteria was softly lit with candles on each table, to which Peter frowned immediately - he could imagine the hazards all those open flames could become with this many…troubled children. Nevertheless, he chose to trust the kids’ manners this time and enjoy the atmosphere resolving, however, to make sure it never happened again. The kids, for their part, were totally blown away.
Each table was set with the new dishes and flatware, real cloth napkins and heaping baskets of warm fresh bread rolls which, everyone could smell for themselves, had been baked in their very own kitchen. The entire room was silent, save for the awed gasps of students around the room. Never in the history of the school had the room been so quiet, yet at the same time so full. Everyone, as if on instinct, seated themselves extremely politely, and a few (including most of the Cliffhangers) had even lain out their napkins across their laps like in a fancy restaurant. Peter and Sophie sat together with the Cliffhangers, everyone looking around themselves in open awe. Even Daisy could find no witty comments to make about the surroundings.
The kitchen door swung open, and out came Rabbi Kirsh.
“Welcome, students and staff of Mount Horizon. In appreciation for your endless patience with us today, we would like to treat you all with dinner.” The room erupted with applause, cheers and laughter. Even Peter and Sophie seemed excited. Soon a procession of servers came out of the kitchen with trays laden with food. They were served the universal favorite of teenagers everywhere - Lasagna, with Caesar salad and fresh garlic bread. As the dinner began, very few words were exchanged as the students did what students do best.
“This tastes so much better because I didn’t make it,” said Daisy happily.
“No,” Peter commented, “It tastes so good because they have a professional Chef in there replacing all you kids.” Several forks clattered onto dishes and mouths hung open.
“Chef?”
“We never have to cook again?”
“You mean, like a real Chef?”
“We never have to cook again?!?”
“When Chaim gets here,” said Shelby, summing up the feeling of the entire table, “I’m going to kiss him.” Peter cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows. Sophie tried and failed to muffle her laughter.
If their first night with their new cook was wonderful, their first morning was absolutely disastrous.
“What do you mean there’s no bacon?” Scott complained loudly. The entire room had heard him and, while they shared his complaint, watched in silence as he faced off with the kitchen staff.
“I’m very sorry, sir,” the new girl said. She was in her mid-twenties, dressed in a long-sleeved top and long skirt, with a rather pleasant demeanor. She really didn’t deserve the brunt of Scott’s wrath, but there was nothing for it.
“She called him sir,” Ezra chuckled casually to Daisy, picking up something from one of the heavily laden trays on the buffet.
“Why can’t I have bacon?” Scott continued his tirade, ignoring Ezra completely. “And what is this?” he asked, pointing at something pink and unfamiliar on the center tray. It was artfully bordered with cucumber slices and balls of cream cheese, and was accompanied with an overflowing basket of bagels and other breads.
“Lox and cream cheese,” the woman answered politely, setting down another two large trays, these of assorted fresh fruit. This was greatly appreciated by all, as fresh fruit was hard to come by up there in the winter. As usual, the small quantity of strawberries was the first to disappear. Scott grimaced, but Juliette had heard the commotion and come to the rescue.
“It’s salmon, Scott,” she said craftily. She knew of his deep love of the pink fish, and was quite surprised he didn’t know about the smoked variety. The hostility melted from his face, and he stabbed a piece with his fork. After a bite and an approving nod, the crisis was averted.
“But I still want to know why I can’t have bacon,” he muttered mutinously. The woman smiled.
“It’s not kosher, I’m sure they’ve told you that.”
“You mean-” he was about to explode again, and the woman just nodded. “Never?”
“Not until Chaim graduates,” she said sympathetically. Scott nodded in disdain.
“Yeah, if I don’t kill him first,” he said in frustration. The woman softened her expression.
“Any of you can come by whenever you want for a snack; I’m still getting the kitchen organized, but I would be happy to make you something throughout the day. And if any of you have favorite foods, let me know.” Scott squinted at her.
“Bacon,” he said challengingly. She rolled her eyes, as did Ezra.
“You’re the Chef, aren’t you?” he said, making it almost sound like an accusation. She smiled again.
“Guilty,” she said happily. “How very observant of you. You must be Ezra.” At his confused look, she chuckled. “I was briefed on all of you before I started. I’ve heard that your group in particular is quite notorious for sneaking snacks from the kitchen at night.” There was a humorous glint in her eye. “You know I’ll have to lock the kitchen…” Ezra blushed, Juliette cleared her throat and turned away to hide her blushing cheeks, and Shelby shuffled her feet uncomfortably.
“What’s your name?” Ezra asked.
“Eli-Sheva,” she said, “but you can call me Eli.”
While the students were finishing up breakfast, Mr. and Mrs. Mendel arrived with Chaim. Peter was outside on the porch steps waiting for them when they drove up. When the car stopped he stepped forward to greet them.
“Mr. and Mrs. Mendel?” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “Welcome to Mount Horizon.” He noticed that Mr. Mendel dressed in a similar manner to Rabbi Kirsh, and his wife wore a long dark skirt and a hat that completely covered her hair. She smiled politely at him and he smiled back. “Is Chaim…?” Mr. Mendel turned back to the car and sighed. Chaim was still sitting defiantly inside. He walked over and opened the door, crouching to speak softly with his son. At last Chaim unbuckled himself and stood.
If his parents or his Rabbi had shaped his perception of what to expect from an Orthodox Jew, he was caught completely off guard. He had expected a smartly dressed young boy, not…
Aside from the vacant and tired expression that was common among depressives, nothing about his appearance was what he had expected. Where his parents were reserved he was loud, where they were modest he was brash, where they were clean he was dyed, pierced and tattooed. Peter had to take a moment to get his bearings before greeting him and shaking his hand.
“Welcome to Horizon, Chaim,” he said warmly. The boy shrugged non-committaly and took his hand back. His father looked at him.
“Chaim,” he said softly, almost carefully, “please, be polite to your host.” Chaim shrugged slightly, looking uncomfortable in his own skin.
“Thank you,” he mumbled, not looking up. Peter stared at him until he did look up, smiling in satisfaction when he did. He really was a handsome boy under all that sadness and hair dye.
“Your welcome,” he said pleasantly. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll get you acclimated.” The small family followed him into the lodge, and Roger came out to bring in the boy’s belongings.
After showing Chaim and his parents around the empty lodge (as the students were now in classes), Peter took him up to the Cliffhanger boys’ dorm. “You’ll be in the Cliffhanger group,” he explained as Roger tossed the bags onto the empty bed. “They are kids of about 16 to 17 years old, and everyone here has similar problems.”
“What did they do?” Chaim spoke for the first time.
“We don’t discuss another student’s medical history with anyone,” Peter explained, “that information is kept confidential. If they choose to share with you, that’s another thing, but only if they choose.”
His parents looked around the dorm, satisfied that their son’s needs will be well taken care of. After assurances from Peter that he will have the best of care, they left their son to him. He noticed curiously that the boy hugged his father and not his mother. After Roger showed them out, he turned to Chaim, who had begun scuffing the floor with the toe of his shoe. Since the dorms were empty, Peter figured there was no reason not to go through the screening right here.
“Okay,” he said, “let’s get you cleaned up.” Chaim gave him a look that said exactly what he thought of the other man, reminding him sharply of when Scott was first brought here. “You’re going to wash that out of your hair,” he began sternly, pointing to the flame-red tips of his spiked dark hair, “and all those earrings and other piercings come out too. And I’ll have to search your belongings.”
“You can’t make me,” he challenged darkly. How many times had he heard those words from how many teenagers?
“I assure you, I can,” he replied evenly. After a momentary battle of wills, Peter broke eye contact and led the boy into the bathroom. “Come on,” he prodded when he refused to follow. With a long-suffering sigh, he finally did.
An hour later, once he had regained the approximate appearance of a ‘normal’ teenager, Peter led him back to where his bags waited for their inspection. He noted with a nod that Rabbi Kirsh waited with them for the two to return. Peter had asked that he be present for the search.
“Chaim,” the Rabbi acknowledged with a nod. Chaim slowed his progress slightly, unsure about his presence. He stood finally, a distance away from both men.
“I have to search now for forbidden items,” he explained needlessly to both of them, opening the large duffle bag. Chaim seemed about to protest, but shut his mouth when the Rabbi gave him a stern look. Peter didn’t enjoy being so harsh with the boy, but at his stage it was the only thing that would work.
Most of what he found were clothes, toiletries and the like. Peter searched every pocket, every nook, cranny and lining of everything the boy had brought with him. In the end he confiscated a CD player and case full of CDs (to Chaim’s vehement protests), a lighter he’d found in a pair of rolled up socks, a travel bottle full of aspirin, and a small stash of candy. The other smaller bag was full of religious items his parents had insisted he bring: a prayer book and prayer shawl, called ‘Talis’, several odd looking undershirts called ‘Tzitzis’, a Torah and small assortment of religious books, and two small boxes attached to leather straps, neatly wrapped and tucked into their own bag.
“What are these?” Peter asked.
“Those are Tefillin,” the Rabbi told him, “these small boxes contain rolled up parchments of scriptures inside small compartments. They are used in our daily prayer services.” Peter examined the boxes carefully, turning them over in his hands.
“How do they open?” he asked casually. They had spoken earlier about the need to search Chaim when he arrived, and the Rabbi had agreed that it was necessary, but he was starting to become nervous.
“We don’t open them,” he said. “Sometimes we must have them examined to see that the parchments inside are in good condition, but…” the Rabbi trailed off when he heard one of the little boxes pop open in Peter’s hands. As he’d been talking, the other man had been working to pry them apart. Rabbi Kirsh was incensed - he was about to lecture about proper respect for Religious items when his tongue stilled in his mouth.
From inside one of the four small compartments, Peter pulled a small bag of white powder.
He held it up, and looked at Chaim, who cursed loudly and turned away.
“Chaim,” the Rabbi’s voice sounded hurt and angry. “What have you done?” The boy, at least, looked repentant, but said nothing. He looked to the floor and again scuffed his feet with curious intent. “To use Tefillin…made to contain words of Torah…how could you do such a thing? What could possibly make you do this?” Chaim looked close to tears in his embarrassment.
“I’m sorry…” he said weakly.
“Sorry?” Rabbi Kirsh echoed. “It’s too late for that! Tefillin is for prayer, for communication with Hashem, not for…your…habit!” He gently rewrapped the Tefillin and placed them back in their bag, closing it up. “You do not deserve the honor of wearing these,” he said. Chaim was really crying now, trying desperately to hide it, but the tears bounced down his cheeks.
“How will I Daven?” he asked desperately, his voice shaking.
“For now, you pray your own words,” he answered, “He will hear you. As for these,” he said, hefting the bag he held, “you will have to earn them back!”