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THERE IS NOTHING of my husband that I can touch or talk to now. If I could talk to him I’d say, “What happened between here and there, Avi? Did your trusting nature finally let you down?” Tuesday night we had gone to Philadelphia International together, Avi, me and our fifteen year old Chaya. She is already a beauty, dark eyes, skinny long legs. At the gate my husband said, “Give us a kiss, Bebe sweetheart. I’m going to miss you.” Then he wanted to know what I wanted from India and I said I wanted him to not eat the salads or drink the water. Avi also told Chaya he’d miss her. She was standing next to me, texting somebody – God knows who. “Uh-huh, I’ll miss you, too, Poppa.” Miss Popular extended her cheek for a kiss. Then my daughter read a new text and said under her breath, “… bitch.”
~ ~ ~
I AM ON the kitchen phone with the Hyatt Regency in Kolkata. There is a nine hour time difference between Philly and India. It’s one-fifteen in the morning here. The woman who is speaking to me sounds very British. But I do not know if she is a British woman or an Indian with a British accent, not that it matters.
“… Rabbi?”
“I’m still here,” I say.
“Dr. Wolff isn’t answering the phone.”
I tell her I know Dr. Wolff isn’t answering the phone. I have been calling Dr. Wolff for two days.
“This isn’t how he normally acts,” I say. I am very worried about Avi. But worrying for me is personal and many times I do not share my worries with strangers. But Avi being on another continent breaks my rule. “This is a man who calls me first thing,” I say. “He gets to his room, he picks up a phone. That’s what he does, that’s my husband.”
“You’re a lucky woman, Rabbi.”
“… not so much lately.”
I am sitting at the gray Formica kitchen table next to the window. Everything is shadows and moonlight. The window is half open and the air is damp and smells of wet grass from an evening rain. While I sit and talk I am drinking a glass of chardonnay and eating Wheat Chips from a paper bowl. I realize I need to lose thirty or so pounds but I am anxious about the man I have counted on and loved for seventeen years and I have convinced myself that Wheat Chips are healthy because of the word “wheat.”
“Have you seen him?” I say.
“Not personally, no. I just came on duty. But his key is missing from his box, so he has his key. That’s always a good sign.”
“Well, have him call me.”
“Of course. I’m sure things will be fine.”
Easy for you, I think.
~ ~ ~
AVI AND I met at the Yeshiva in New York, too many years ago. What we have started calling the “good old days.” He’s a geologist, a handsome man, tall, slender, dark hair that’s thinning on top. Our daughter has his features, the female version of him. I’ve not said this to many people but I have always thought my husband was too nice looking for a fat little thing like me. It’s true. As a single woman, my family would tell potential suitors that I was small and zaftig but had a pretty face. I remember what I’d said to Avi when he first started talking about love.
“Why me?” I said. “You can do better than me.”
“Because you’re funny. You make everybody feel comfortable, Bebe. You’ve got no idea about your wonderful nature.” Then he smiled and his cheeks became all flushed. “I feel good when I am with you. It’s a very selfish thing. And it’s not just feeling good, either. It’s feeling … I don’t know … valuable.”
My husband is the sort of individual most of us say uh-huh, uh-huh to and pray he doesn’t give us a quiz. His specialty is hydrology. Water. Give the man a glass of water and he will tell you more than you would ever want to know about it, the chemistry, its location and distribution routes, the resource possibilities and so on. This is a passion I do not understand. I’m a water drinker but I do not contemplate water.
~ ~ ~
THREE WEEKS AGO the Pakistani government approached the World Bank to once again mediate the 1960 Indus Water Treaty between India and Pakistan. This is the main reason India and Pakistan run to their borders with nuclear weapons. Do not let the news people tell you different. It’s all about the water, everything water can do, everything the lack of water can cause. The 1960 Indus Water Treaty equally divided the six rivers that flow into Pakistan through northern India. Or this is how my Avi explained it to me. The treaty declared the Indus, Chenab and Jhelum rivers now belong to Pakistan. The other three, the Sutlej, the Beas and the Ravi rivers, belong to India.
Pakistan and India know whoever controls water controls agriculture. Whoever controls agriculture controls a country’s survival. These are not primitive people. Next time you go into a hospital, look around. Count the Pakistani and Indian physicians who are treating you and keeping you alive. What Pakistanis do not know is what India may or may not be doing to the water before it gets to Pakistan. Are the Indians using it, diverting it?
The Pakistanis suspect everything.
This is also about religion. Do not think it is not about religion, do not be naïve. It’s about how different religions challenge each other’s faiths and get each other angry. Avi and I agree on that one, too. Islamic Pakistan thinks working with Hindu India is working with infidels. Hindu India thinks Islamic Pakistan needs to relax and step up to the twenty-first century. Both parties get how religious traditions are influenced by our neighbors. I agree with Avi, there are a couple issues here. But the one that interests me is the struggle to respect another person’s faith without diminishing one’s own faith.
Politics is not just local, it’s personal.
THERE IS NOTHING of my husband that I can touch or talk to now. If I could talk to him I’d say, “What happened between here and there, Avi? Did your trusting nature finally let you down?” Tuesday night we had gone to Philadelphia International together, Avi, me and our fifteen year old Chaya. She is already a beauty, dark eyes, skinny long legs. At the gate my husband said, “Give us a kiss, Bebe sweetheart. I’m going to miss you.” Then he wanted to know what I wanted from India and I said I wanted him to not eat the salads or drink the water. Avi also told Chaya he’d miss her. She was standing next to me, texting somebody – God knows who. “Uh-huh, I’ll miss you, too, Poppa.” Miss Popular extended her cheek for a kiss. Then my daughter read a new text and said under her breath, “… bitch.”
~ ~ ~
I AM ON the kitchen phone with the Hyatt Regency in Kolkata. There is a nine hour time difference between Philly and India. It’s one-fifteen in the morning here. The woman who is speaking to me sounds very British. But I do not know if she is a British woman or an Indian with a British accent, not that it matters.
“… Rabbi?”
“I’m still here,” I say.
“Dr. Wolff isn’t answering the phone.”
I tell her I know Dr. Wolff isn’t answering the phone. I have been calling Dr. Wolff for two days.
“This isn’t how he normally acts,” I say. I am very worried about Avi. But worrying for me is personal and many times I do not share my worries with strangers. But Avi being on another continent breaks my rule. “This is a man who calls me first thing,” I say. “He gets to his room, he picks up a phone. That’s what he does, that’s my husband.”
“You’re a lucky woman, Rabbi.”
“… not so much lately.”
I am sitting at the gray Formica kitchen table next to the window. Everything is shadows and moonlight. The window is half open and the air is damp and smells of wet grass from an evening rain. While I sit and talk I am drinking a glass of chardonnay and eating Wheat Chips from a paper bowl. I realize I need to lose thirty or so pounds but I am anxious about the man I have counted on and loved for seventeen years and I have convinced myself that Wheat Chips are healthy because of the word “wheat.”
“Have you seen him?” I say.
“Not personally, no. I just came on duty. But his key is missing from his box, so he has his key. That’s always a good sign.”
“Well, have him call me.”
“Of course. I’m sure things will be fine.”
Easy for you, I think.
~ ~ ~
AVI AND I met at the Yeshiva in New York, too many years ago. What we have started calling the “good old days.” He’s a geologist, a handsome man, tall, slender, dark hair that’s thinning on top. Our daughter has his features, the female version of him. I’ve not said this to many people but I have always thought my husband was too nice looking for a fat little thing like me. It’s true. As a single woman, my family would tell potential suitors that I was small and zaftig but had a pretty face. I remember what I’d said to Avi when he first started talking about love.
“Why me?” I said. “You can do better than me.”
“Because you’re funny. You make everybody feel comfortable, Bebe. You’ve got no idea about your wonderful nature.” Then he smiled and his cheeks became all flushed. “I feel good when I am with you. It’s a very selfish thing. And it’s not just feeling good, either. It’s feeling … I don’t know … valuable.”
My husband is the sort of individual most of us say uh-huh, uh-huh to and pray he doesn’t give us a quiz. His specialty is hydrology. Water. Give the man a glass of water and he will tell you more than you would ever want to know about it, the chemistry, its location and distribution routes, the resource possibilities and so on. This is a passion I do not understand. I’m a water drinker but I do not contemplate water.
~ ~ ~
THREE WEEKS AGO the Pakistani government approached the World Bank to once again mediate the 1960 Indus Water Treaty between India and Pakistan. This is the main reason India and Pakistan run to their borders with nuclear weapons. Do not let the news people tell you different. It’s all about the water, everything water can do, everything the lack of water can cause. The 1960 Indus Water Treaty equally divided the six rivers that flow into Pakistan through northern India. Or this is how my Avi explained it to me. The treaty declared the Indus, Chenab and Jhelum rivers now belong to Pakistan. The other three, the Sutlej, the Beas and the Ravi rivers, belong to India.
Pakistan and India know whoever controls water controls agriculture. Whoever controls agriculture controls a country’s survival. These are not primitive people. Next time you go into a hospital, look around. Count the Pakistani and Indian physicians who are treating you and keeping you alive. What Pakistanis do not know is what India may or may not be doing to the water before it gets to Pakistan. Are the Indians using it, diverting it?
The Pakistanis suspect everything.
This is also about religion. Do not think it is not about religion, do not be naïve. It’s about how different religions challenge each other’s faiths and get each other angry. Avi and I agree on that one, too. Islamic Pakistan thinks working with Hindu India is working with infidels. Hindu India thinks Islamic Pakistan needs to relax and step up to the twenty-first century. Both parties get how religious traditions are influenced by our neighbors. I agree with Avi, there are a couple issues here. But the one that interests me is the struggle to respect another person’s faith without diminishing one’s own faith.
Politics is not just local, it’s personal. |
