Ethan hated it. He wanted to start yelling. He never yelled.
“Her mother is a gentile,” Jonathan said, his voice a bit lower now, perhaps in sympathy. “Cynthia Palmer. A Quaker from Woburn, Massachusetts.”
Ethan shook his head. “What are you talking about?” Naomi had never commented on her religious background specifically. She hardly talked about her parents, and he... he hadn’t really asked. “What did you do, get a background check on her?”
Jonathan’s silence was his answer.
“That’s so completely out of line.” An emergency meeting. He’d planned this, to catch Ethan unawares, to present evidence of what he saw as Naomi’s betrayal.
The calculation of it all made another wave of nausea wash over him.
“Was that the best you could do? Her mother’s not Jewish?” He raked his gaze over the board director like coals. “We’re a Reformsynagogue, in case you’ve forgotten. If her father is Jewish and she identifies as a Jew, then she is.”
Jonathan pursed his lips like he’d swallowed a spider. “No one here is sure she does identify as a Jew.”
“I can’t believe this.” Ethan began to pace. “Did you ask her?”
“It’s too late,” Jonathan said. “The board has voted six to five that you must terminate any shul-affiliated programming associated with Ms. Grant. And, privately, I think you ought to seriously consider your personal relationship with her as well.”
“The board has no authority over my personal life.” Was it possible to clench your jaw so hard you dislocated it?
Jonathan was standing now, with his desk still between them like a barrier. “The board has the right to ensure that your behavior is ethical and moral and sets a good example for the congregation. If you don’t agree to end your attachment with Ms. Grant, we’ll need to discuss whether you’re still fit to hold your position as rabbi of Beth Elohim.”
A dangerous silence followed. Ethan’s own breathing was so loud in his ears.
Jonathan reached for his arm, and he was too numb to pull away. “Ethan, surely this dalliance isn’t worth the dark shadow it’s casting over your career?”
A sinking started in Ethan’s chest and pulled through his whole body, until he realized he might have to bend over just to stay standing.
This was wrong. That much was so, so clear to him. Like a bell tolling. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
But the fight was draining out of him through all the invisible fissures their words had carved across the surface of his skin. Naive questions pressed against his lips.What do you hope this will accomplish? What about everything we’ve built? Where would you tell me to go, if not here?
He was too young for this, and also somehow too old.
Ethan didn’t consider himself a huge worrier. Because it was always the stuff you couldn’t predict that took you out at the knees anyway.
He’d been sitting in his car in the parking lot of the grocery store when his phone had started ringing. It could have been any other afternoon. The sun had been hot on his face through the window, a Beach Boys song playing on the radio. His mom’s number had flashed across the screen, but then when he’d answered, it hadn’t been his mom.
“Ethan, Dad’s sick.”
No, she hadn’t saidDad. She’d said—he swallowed hard—“Daddy’s sick.”
Daddy, like Leah hadn’t said since she was a little kid.
“Ethan?” Ira had tears in the corners of his eyes.
He felt like lying down on the ground. Like telling them that if they wanted him to leave, they’d have to forcibly remove him.
Moses and Abraham had been turned away too. Blasphemed. At least he was in good company.
He’d never thought about failing when he took this job, even though most people probably expected him to end up here or somewhere like it.
Ethan closed his eyes, because he couldn’t look at them a second longer. “I’ve heard enough.”
“We can give you a week to wrap up your affairs with the woman,” Jonathan was saying, but his voice was far away. “We don’t want to cause either party any more pain than necessary.”
Ethan opened his eyes. “I don’t need a week.”