Tag Archives: judiasm

Marty’s Half Dozen Chapter 5: The Bigger They Are… by Jill

Ralph had done it. His warning had been haunting me for over a week now. When someone says something that you know or fear deep down is true, their words infect you. “He’s angry.”

I’d never seen Marty angry for a micro second. But he had this thing about him. My father was a full on Orthodox Jew when he was growing up in Brooklyn. He was so Jewish that his parents sent him to a Yeshiva in Israel when he was 18. And my dad used to tell me about these Rabbis that, within 2 minutes of talking to you would know your fears and dreams and strengths and insecurities. Their level of sensitivity and insight, only surpassed by their wisdom, allowed them to instantly see into a person’s soul.

I knew Marty had this. Night after night random strangers would sit next to him and with in minutes they’d completely open up, pouring out their deepest problems and darkest secrets. Without missing a beat, Marty would pay them a compliment would light them up like a 5 year old getting the best Christmas gift of his childhood. I loved to watch him do it. Marty, giving someone the reassurance or compassion or whatever it was that person needed…like a psychologist with a cheat sheet. But always in the back of my mind, I wondered, what if he wanted to do the opposite. How easily he could decimate someone. 

Ralph didn’t mean angry like yelling at someone who cuts you off in traffic or even a bad temper.He meant the type of anger that’s vindictive and out of control. And that’s what terrified me. I had opened up to Marty so much. Where with most people, mere minutes gave Marty all he needed to bolster them, with me he had enough ammunition for an arsenal. I felt dangerously vulnerable. 

Every night since then, I prayed that Marty wouldn’t come in to Wild Child Wings. And for the week I was lucky. Until Thursday night. He had such a smile on his face. I hopped he would sit down in a booth where Jess could serve him. Or maybe next to Carolyn or Eddie as they debated the Republican agenda. 

But instead he walked right over to me, smacked the bar counter and asked,

“Jill, tonight I’m doing a full dozen! What’s Gus offering on the specials?”  

The golf ball in my throat thwarted my efforts to play it cool. There was no way I’d was going to get out the nightly wings specials, so I coughed. Then I coughed again. Then decided to go with it.

“Are you okay?”

I squinted and smiled and let out two more suppressed coughs, then held up my finger to signal “one moment” and walked into the bathroom hallway to get a hold myself. But what then? What was I going to do? Quit? It took me 6 months to get this job. Then another 3 months to learn all the ins and outs so I wasn’t a deer in the headlights every night.

I leaned against the wall and sank down to my knees. I wanted to be so much stronger than I was. The whole reason I moved to New York was to toughen up. I left with my tail between my legs, a failure, more lost than when I got there. But here I finally felt like I had done it. Found my voice, doing something I was good at and actually enjoyed. And one man, who I can’t stand up to, takes that all away…makes me realize that everything I had built was all an illusion. And he didn’t even have to try to take it from me. But then, I felt a warm hand on my shoulder.

Jill…I think it’s time you told me what your problem is with me.”

 To be continued…

Leave a comment

Posted by on October 1, 2013 in By Jill, Marty's Half Dozen, Restaurants


Tags: , , , , , ,

The day of atonement by Jill

I just survived Yom Kippur, the Jewish  day of atonement.  I’ve never been religious but Aunt Rebecca and Uncle Aaron insisted on going. Well they didn’t insist so much as they guilted. It’s been great staying with them for no rent, but it makes it hard to say no to anything.  They seemed disappointed my mother for never made me go to temple and so Aunt Rebecca has taken it on as a personal duty to inspire me in the ways of “G-d.”

The overbearing Jewish guilt paired with the lack of alcohol hasn’t been a pleasant combination. With no friends to drive and no bars within walking distance of the New Rochelle residence, I’ve been sol. The beginning of any move is difficult. Being robbed of ones coping mechanism is damn near impossible. While I was in the city looking for a job, I’ve considered picking up a small bottle of Evan Williams. And even as cheap as it is, I’m in survival mode until I find a job.

Back to Yom Kippur. As we sat in the Synagogue 30 minutes early (to get good seats) the Rabbi, a thin neurotic woman (the female version of Woody Allen) asked us if we’d like to read or hold the Torah or whatever. Uncle Aaron volunteered me saying “it would be a good way for some of the Jewish boys to notice me.” Yes. Every Jewish boy is looking for a skinny, bored, and barely Jewish girl holding a Torah.

I was handed a slip of paper which told me when to present

myself. But it seemed like I would be spared as the Rabbi railroaded past my page number on by a few prayers. Just as I was sure of my salvation, the Rabbi stopped mid Kaddish to apologize for robbing me of my sacred right and invented another moment for me to hold the sacred scrolls.

Poised and on display, the Torah is much heavier than one would think. I was once told that they cost $10,000 as they are hand written. Bearing my cross (sorry for the metaphor) I considered the possibility that what I was holding was more than an overpriced relic. I pretended the scrolls were every bit as holy as an orthodox Hassidim might esteem them to be. I pondered what I was bearing in my arms, struggling to support, might be a direct telephone to “G-d.” At that moment my heart started to pound and I got very angry. If He or She or Whatever did exist, and was watching out for me, why had He/She/It been so silent? Why for all the times I did breakdown and pray was I ignored? Why do I have epilepsy?  Why am I so alone?  And at that moment I wanted to throw the Torah on the ground and storm out.

Then the Rabbi thanked me. I laid the Torah down as carefully as a mother would her ill infant and sat down. Uncle Aaron patted my thigh and said “Good job, kid.”

–(Insert clever signature here)

P.S. Check out good ol’ Cyanide and Happiness. Makes me smile.

Leave a comment

Posted by on October 10, 2011 in By Jill


Tags: , , ,