Yeah, out in the streets--no privacy
In my own bedroom--no privacy
On the telephone--no privacy
In the back of my car--no privacy
I can't get no
I can't give me no
I can't give me no privacy
"Privacy" by Sammy Hagar
The
next ordinance to reign over the household was perhaps the most
difficult to follow. The events which led to this most evil decree are
hazy at best. My grandfather suffered a severe hear attack when I was
13. His doctors told my mother and aunt that he didn't look good and
his condition was failing. Some hassidic Jew advised my mother to find
a pair of tefillin -- also called
phylacteries. They're are a pair of black leather boxes containing
scrolls of parchment inscribed with Hebrew biblical verses. The
hand-tefillin is worn by male Jews over the age of 13, and it's wrapped
around the arm, hand and fingers, while the head-tefillin, is placed
above the forehead. They serve as a "sign" and "remembrance" that God
brought the children of Israel, his people, out of Egypt. Jewish law
requires that they are worn during weekday morning prayer services and
not on the Sabbath. While worn, a man cannot be in the direct presence
of women, and he must not have lascivious thoughts. It's almost a type
of enforced meditation to seek the creator and connect with his historically-altering
actions. Namely, thanks for saving the Jews from 400 years of slavery.
My grandfather had such a pair of tefillin which he took with him when
he escaped Nazi Germany. He'd gone from being hooked up to plastic
tubes from ICU machines to black leather straps within 42 hours. The
doctors were stunned. My mother and aunt decided to give back to God
and keep the Sabbath. As with kashruth, there are myriad laws,
commentaries, loopholes and regulations to be observed. There are
volumes of debates, essays, writings and teachings about the Sabbath. A
person could read every single book written about the topic and still
be unsure about what it means and how it is kept. In my house, however,
the extreme always applied. We did not drive to synagogue or anywhere
else for that matter, TV was banned, turning on and off lights (this
included the bulb in the fridge, too, it had to be unscrewed), cooking,
cleaning, laundry, polishing of any kind, listening to the radio,
talking on the phone, carrying things outdoors, and the worst part of
it all -- writing was forbidden. Any action which was associated with
work or the six other days of the week were outlawed. Cooking was only
permissible by using a certain metal tray on top of a stove and the
item could not be lifted on or off that tray unless it was being
reheated for immediate consumption. Even tearing pieces of paper towel
and toiler paper were forbidden in certain circles unless performed
with a shenui or "change." This was a loophole. It meant that if you
tore it with your left hand or in a different manner from which you
would normally tear it, it was allowed. The reasoning here is that a
person is being mindful of their actions, and not doing something by
rote. It would be associated with actions performed on the weekday.
The
worst was not being able to write. Kenwtood had to come up with games
to keep herself occupied. We took what little was left in the fridge
and created dishes which were to be judged by each other. Lacey
typically won these contests. She made various sauces and dressings to
dip vegetable slices in, and we always delighted in her efforts. We
read for hours on end, avoided my mother as much as possible and rarely
went outside. My Uncle Melvin said, "If you aren't driving the kids to
temple anymore, they won't have a life." He came to our rescue when he
could. But nothing changed. We were still forced to keep the Sabbath
according to my mother's extremist terms. There was no arguing, no
compromising. Our cousins lived a good 20 minutes away by car so
wecouldn't see them either. From sundown on Friday to sunset on
Saturday, Mom was our warden. After I announced that I would be engaged
to Jeremy, my house became even more tense. One Sabbath I really
angered my mother by telling her our union was imminent. Bored as we
were, this conversation seemed to spice things up. "You are too young,
I don't like his family." She wasn't wrong on these counts, but she
pushed me into his arms by forcing relgion down my throat. For years, I
left the house wearing long skirts with pants rolled up underneath so
the cuffs wouldn't show. I couldn't dress how I pleased. Wearing makeup
was forbidden, too. Any freedom I had was earned by lying, sneaking
around, and by becoming myself to everyone in my sphere, except my
mother. I smoked my first cigarette at 18, my first joint at 19 and by
the time I was 20 I had finally broke the Sabbath and not felt guilty
or like I might be struck by the hand of a unseen force, but I was
frightened my mother would find out and my double life would be
exposed.
So
one Sabbath afternoon during a heated discussion about my future plans
with Jeremy, my mother became enraged since I tried tuning her out.
"You're not even in college yet, his family isn't like us." "Uh, yeah
they aren't crazy." "What did you say to me? How dare you talk to your
mother that way! How dare you." "You're not being rational Mom and I
can't talk to you when you act this way." "I am the only one with a
brain my head trying to prevent you from making a big mistake." All of
a sudden I caught my brother's form in the hallway and he winked at me.
I knew he and Lacey were up to something. I decided to provoke my
mother even more. "I will marry him and there's nothing you can do
about it." "Oh yes there is you ungreatful, insolent child!" "Leave me
alone," I barked. "Too bad," she said, primed for a fight and a
subsequent victory. She was standing outside my bedroom door. I tried
to shut it, but she pulled the door handle on the other side. Pulled it
hard. She barged into my room and began walking toward me, yelling at
me the entire time. "You are one piece of work. You think this man will
be there for you, that he's the right one for you that school comes
second? You're too young to have any idea what marriage is. You're
nothing, a teenager is all." She was so close to my face she was
baiting me, I nearly felt spittle on my cheek, and I didn't know how to
stop her. At the same time, I heard giggling from outside my bedroom
window which was to my left, so I peered over my mother's shoulder and
thought I caught a glimpse of a blanket. I blinked. My mother became
even more aggravated. "Look at me when I am talking to you! Look at me
you ingrate!" She lunged at me I stepped back, she tripped and
recovered, found her bearings and yelled, "Look at what you did!" She
was charging at me, and I took both my hands and put them on her
shoulders and pushed my weight into her and she stumbled. It was the
fifth time in my life that I tried defending myself against her rage.
This time I wouldn't stand for her antics. I used all my might to shove
her out the door and slammed it shut. She banged on it furiously. "You
are a real insolent child. You are nothing! Open this door! Open it!"
My hands were shaking, tears rolled down my face. I heard some distand
laughter coming from outside my window again.
I
pushed the sil upward and there was brother dangling from a blanket
held by my sister. He was laughing because he'd made it outside and
practically down the front of the house. I noticed our across the
street neighbor was watching. What a bunch of loons we appeared to be.
James looked at me and said, "Thanks, you helped me escape. It worked."
I smiled in their victory as nutty as it seemed, my mother still
pounding away at my bedroom door slinging insults. Through my anxious
haze I realized I had won. I helped derail her from my siblings,
protecting them from her wrath and from embarrassing them in front of
the neighbors. There were too many times when I couldn't protect them
but this time I had. It also wouldn't be the first time one of us
pulled ridiculous stunts out of boredoom, frustation, fear, and a need
for freedom. My sister actually ran away for a spell. She returned
after a few hours, but she had been ballsy enough to be gone so long my
mother was actually worried. But when she returned, she endured my
mother's anxiety and turmoil tenfold. It would be not be the last time
my sister sought to escape from her imprisonment.
During
my first year of college in Manhattan, I shared a room with three other
girls. One was very materialistic and beautiful. She had a boyfriend
who put up with her semantics and ball-busting ways. But we did not get
along. I wasn't sure what we fought about but one night it became
nasty. Our verbal sparring turned physical and the next thing I knew
she was hitting me, yelling at me, and then I was slapping her back. I
still can't remember what it was about. It shocked me. I never laid a
hand on another human being in defense or out of anger after that
incident. She and I became friends and she ended up marring her
boyfriend and then divorcing him years later.