“They had a rabbi there, her name was Mira, and she’d come visit my classroom occasionally. She’d heard I was new, from out of town. One day, she asked why I never came to services.” Ethan couldn’t stop the words tumbling from his mouth. If Naomi had given him a sign that she didn’t care about his history, a subtle, polite nod, maybe then he could have brought himself to heel, but she didn’t.
“I think I’d been there three months before I finally went. I showed up full of anger and fear and pain, and it was different than what I remembered. Saying the Kaddish in shul instead of at home somehow made me feel closer to my dad, so I kept going.”
Tension released from his chest. Ethan spent so much time listening, sometimes he forgot how much he missed being heard.
“The more I went to services, half because I didn’t have anything else to do, the more I realized that all the things I loved about physics, the questioning and the interconnectivity and the practice of it, the testing and the iterations and the debate, they were magnified when I practiced. The language came back to me, then the rituals, until I wasn’t alone in my grief any longer.”
“And so you decided to become a rabbi?”
“No, actually,” Ethan said. “I just wanted to study. I’m a career academic. The rabbinate was just another excuse to go back to school at first. Besides, I was worried about my mom. So I applied here in L.A. Got in. Substitute taught while I did my course. I never really expected to get my own synagogue. There are more applicants than positions.But after I graduated, Beth Elohim started interviewing. Most people said it was a lost cause. Attendance has been on a steady decline for over a decade. The location is tricky, with two other, well-funded synagogues within walking distance.”
“But you took it anyway.” She didn’t sound disparaging. If anything, she sounded glad.
“I took it anyway,” he said. “I figured my path to becoming a rabbi was nontraditional—why not adopt a nontraditional approach to building a congregation? I’d found my place in an unlikely ecosystem once. Why not again?”
“I get that.” Naomi nodded. “I thought I’d never trust anyone after what happened to me in high school, but then I came out here and I found my people. I got to build my own community, and then when Shameless happened, I got to give them a home. Your shul and my start-up, they look drastically different on the outside, but in a funny way they serve a similar purpose. We built the spaces we needed.”
“Sounds like a common value to me,” he said, bringing the conversation full circle to matchmaking, his whole heart in his throat. The words hung in the air, accompanied only by the hum of the air conditioner.
“I’ll make sure to addcommunity-orientedto my scouting list.” Naomi turned away from him, uncapping the marker again, and he felt the loss all the way to his bones.
“Thank you.” Ethan got up and met her at the board, reaching out and wrapping his hand around her wrist, pausing her list making. “For listening. I mean.”
“Don’t mention it.” She stared down at his hand. “You know, I don’t think you’re as innocent as you’d like me to believe.”
“I never claimed innocence.” He stepped back and away, guilty.
“You don’t have to say it, it’s written all over you.” She waved a hand in the general direction of his face. “Those long-lashed eyes, the tousledcurls, that eager ‘can I help you, ma’am?’ expression. You’re a trap, Ethan Cohen.”
“What sort of trap?” That description sounded like a compliment, and he was desperate for her to keep going.
“A good-natured one. I bet women fall in love with you every day,” she said, more to herself than to him. “They come to your office and you listen to them, and we all know getting a man to listen is an accomplishment in and of itself. Then you probably share a story, something equal parts relatable and inspirational, and they want to pay attention, but at the same time they can’t stop themselves from watching the way your mouth moves.”
Her tone was completely matter-of-fact, but her breathing was a little ragged.
“It’s so easy to imagine those lips running across their skin. Your teeth against their neck.”
Ethan was pretty sure he was choking. He coughed, trying to bring reluctant air into his lungs. “I don’t... I would never.” He’d thought he’d done a better job of hiding his attraction to her—and worse, his longing—but if she thought he was entertaining women in his office like that, she obviously felt he was some kind of indecent seducer.
“Oh, I know. That’s the fantasy. Making the good rabbi lose his concentration. His control. Creating a craving so undeniable, propriety is forgotten.” She pressed her tongue against her teeth. “But you probably wouldn’t want a woman like that anyway.”
“I’m not sure that what I want matters that much.”
Not anymore. Therein lay the problem. What mattered most was finding someone who didn’t see his occupation, his religion, as a burden. He could only hope that one day love and his religion wouldn’t be mutually exclusive.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you. Nothing about my life has followed a plan. I’ve landed in situations and been surprised off my ass and tried to make the best of them.”
“So,” Naomi said, “the question at the center of my efforts then becomes, can I find someone who surprises you?”
No, he wanted to say.The question is, can you find someone I want more than I want you?
Naomi had a list of people who deserved to find love, but Ethan was too afraid to ask if her name was on it.
Chapter Fifteen
ETHAN WAS INthe middle of reassuring a nervous thirteen-year-old that she would not in fact forget her entire Torah portion in the next twelve hours when Ira, one of his favorite members of the board of directors, hurried over to interject.
“We’re running out of seltzer,” Ira explained, with the kind of gravity one might employ to express a matter of global importance.