Every Thursday, Daniel walked the four blocks to Jacob’s narrow townhouse, crossing the small square of lawn in two steps. And every time, without fail, Jacob managed to open the front door seconds before Daniel knocked, as if he had been watching for him at the window. Once inside, Daniel would follow Jacob to the dining room table in the self-contained front of the house. There, under the light of two old brass lamps and the tutelage of the frustratingly focused Jacob, Daniel practiced the Hebrew alphabet, learned the musical notes of trope required to sing his Torah portion, and eventually learned the portion itself.
The fights with his mother before these lessons always ended the same way, with Daniel near tears, angry and embarrassed, his mother calmly listing off the reasons he had to go: “Not only is Jacob cheaper than the tutors at the shul, but he’s not an incorrigible gossip like those other men are! And tell me, if you don’t learn your Torah portion, who will? What kind of bar mitzvah would that be? May twenty-fifth is sooner than you think. Imagine it, standing in front of all those people, and not knowing what to do!”
And so, every Thursday, Daniel was forced to spend a slow half hour across the table from Jacob, who would very patiently and calmly have him repeat each line and each prayer until he got it perfect. By the time he was satisfied and they moved on, Daniel would be squirming against the hard wooden...
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