Hanukkah Gifts

Chapter 1: Day 1 Jared was bored and hungry. It was too early for dinner, yet too late to head back to his office at the TV studio. He had already dropped off the massive cardboard box full of branded gifts to the pre-school up on the fifth floor of the Jewish Community Center, and now his nose was following the amazing smells of fried food that wafted up from the kosher restaurant below. Jared walked down a flight of stairs and took a seat at the small, round table. “Happy Hanukkah,” said the older server dispassionately as he wiped his messy hands on the black apron he wore over a white button-down shirt. “We’re closing in twenty minutes. Whaddya want?” “I dunno,” said Jared. “What’s good?” “It’s all good!” said the gentleman defensively. “The falafel’s good. The soup is good. The fish is good—it’s all good. Whaddya want?” Jared did not even look at the menu, but instead returned a pleading gaze through his horn-rimmed glasses, asking the server, “What smells so good? That’s what I want.” “That’s the falafel—best in New York. You wanna falafel?” The older man softened and became a fraction less impatient, as if he was dealing with a slow child. Jared nodded. “One falafel, please. Is that kosher?” he suddenly wondered out loud. He had never tasted a kosher falafel before. “Yeah, it’s kosher. We’re the JCC! Why, did you want it with bacon or something?” asked the server sarcastically, failing to laugh at his own bad joke, then spun around and went into the kitchen. Jared took out his phone. He clicked through the forty-two new emails in his inbox—all from the office and all from people who automatically hit “Reply All” without thinking. “Delete,” Jared whispered at his phone, swiping the red X on the screen. Then he composed a new e-mail, tapping furiously with one thumb… Dear Simone, Just wanted to let you know that I delivered the branded presents and cookies to UWS JCC. Pre-school is grateful, sends thanks and holiday wishes. Asked if there’s any way we can get 4-year-old class in for a live taping of Peachy’s Nest? 30 students max + 3 teachers. Made no promises but said we’d let them know by the end of the year. Headed home now, because Hanukkah. See you tomorrow. J Jared loved how Jewish holidays could serve as a blanket excuse to pretty much get him out of anything. His boss, Simone, was Latina and Catholic and clueless when it came to anything Jewish. The year before, when he found out that his favorite band Luminate had just flown in from Australia and was playing an impromptu daytime acoustic show in Hoboken, Jared had invented a Jewish holiday just so he could get the day off work. “It’s Menukha Day,” he’d told Simone, accenting the guttural “kh” sound. She’d sent him home apologetically and assigned his workload to an intern. “One kosher falafel,” announced the server, laying a large white plate in front of Jared. The food looked exactly the way it smelled—big and delicious and fresh. “You want anything else?” asked the server. “We close in five minutes.” Jared shook his head and grabbed the falafel with both hands, bringing it to his mouth. It was so big, he could barely bite it, and when he finally did, warm streams of tahini dribbled down his chin. He chewed slowly—God, this is yummy. He had skipped lunch during the shoot because he was too busy running errands around the TV studio. Now he relished the food, cramming it into his mouth with eager bites, chewing, tasting, then swallowing every crumb with satisfaction. The falafel was gone in less than three minutes and he wondered if there was still time to get another before the kitchen closed. Then he felt guilty—oh, God, I should not have eaten that! Jared was proud of his figure. He was only five-nine, and made it to the gym only about two or three times a week, but he kept slim, with a thirty-two-inch waist that looked superb in the colored leather belts he wore to work. That was his signature in the office—a different colored belt every day. Today he was wearing a shiny red leather belt over grey slacks. He looked good, and that made him feel good. What was that falafel? Like five hundred calories? More like seven hundred with all that pita and tahini. Damn it. With his latte and croissant for breakfast, he was already at twelve hundred calories. No more food today, Jared told himself, standing and brushing crumbs off his clothes. Water and celery until tomorrow! He would take the stairs. Stairs burned more calories than the elevator, right? Jared leapt down the stairs two at a time, his backpack bouncing on his shoulders. Then he heard the yelling—manly shouts and loud echoes, interspersed with the squeak of rubber shoes on wood. He took a detour on the second floor, opening a door that led onto a balcony overlooking the basketball court. Jared counted ten young men, all red-faced and aggressive, moving up and down the court like fast and sweaty monkeys. The orange ball skid and bounced and whizzed through the air, slapping the players on their hands before swishing through the rope basket. One man scored, tossing an easy layup from below and tipping the ball into the basket. His teammates cheered and high-fived him, then ran to the other end of the court. Two minutes later, the same man grabbed the ball and shot again, this time from the foul line, and made another basket. More cheers. Jared had always found basketball pretty boring and stupid, but now he was pulled into the excitement, amazed by the skills of this one player and the fast action of the game. The player looked young, probably around Jared’s age, but way taller. Not fair. He’s gotta be over six feet at least. He wore gray, knee-length nylon shorts and a black T-shirt, with a small blue yarmulke clipped over his wavy, ink-black hair. Despite the messy heat of the game, the basketball player was handsome. Jared found himself focusing on the young athlete, waiting for him to leap up and make a basket, in hopes that he just might expose a bit of his midriff. It happened in a split second, as the manly body stretched to its full length, and the T-shirt lifted in the air, showing a flash of white skin with light curls of black body hair. So hot. I can’t believe I’m perving over some Conservative basketball player. It was only Monday night; nothing really interesting was happening at any of the gay bars in midtown anyway. Not a good night to go looking for a hookup. Besides, he had to be at work at six A.M. the next morning. The crew started shooting at eight. As Jared imagined away any chance of getting s*x that night, he failed to notice the basketball game had ended abruptly. All the guys were high-fiving and shaking hands, then packing their things on the sidelines and heading to the men’s locker room. Only when Jared looked up from his reverie and across the gymnasium did he notice the best basketball player staring at him. Startled, Jared grinned and shot him a thumbs-up, as if to say, “Good game.” The player nodded with an embarrassed smile, then turned away, disappearing behind the steel door. Dork! Jared Greenfield, you are such a dork. A thumbs-up? Why? He berated himself for his action, then left the balcony, heading down the stairs and into the lobby of the JCC, where a hundred people seemed to be putting their coats on or taking them off. Jared pushed through the crowd, only to hear someone calling his name. “Jared!” cried a woman from across the hall. “Is that you, Jared?” It was Barbara from set design, her dyed red hair piled on top of her head, wearing a soft, pea-green coat that reached to her knees. What was she doing here? “Hey,” said Jared, accepting Barbara’s big hug with a nonchalant shrug. “Happy Hanukkah!” she almost yelled into his ear as she squeezed him. He inhaled the strong scent of her perfume. “Pink Dragon?” asked Jared with a knowing smile. “Damn, you are good,” cried Barbara. “How the hell did you know that?” “Well,” began Jared, “you’re practically swimming in the stuff, and then I basically spend my Saturday afternoons sniffing cologne at Bergdorf’s.” “Is it too much?” Barbara suddenly seemed self-conscious. “I just did a quick spray on the sidewalk before coming in.” “Na, you’re fine. Give it a few minutes to cool down.” “I’m here to see my nephew’s play,” she said. “With the pre-school—they’re acting out the story of Hanukkah. And I’m bringing that guy I met online. You know, the lawyer?” “Which makes it how many dates?” asked Jared, pretending to be interested, but scanning the room for his basketball hunk. “Technically, it’s our fourth,” said Barbara. “So tonight’s when it happens!” said Jared, giving her a mini high-five. The two work friends chatted for a good ten minutes, but every time Barbara spoke, Jared’s eyes darted to the stairs, then to the front door. “I’m gonna go grab our seats,” said Barbara. “You know you’re welcome to join us if you’re not doing anything. Samuel won’t mind.” “No way I’m gonna third wheel your fourth date. And I’m headed home anyway. Got to get an early start tomorrow. Don’t stay up too late tonight, you hear!” he teased his work colleague, then gave her a quick goodbye hug. Light snow floated down from the dark, Manhattan sky, and he walked two blocks with his head bowed, his hands shoved deeply into his coat pockets. The idea of the long commute home depressed him a little—he did not want to spend thirty minutes on the subway. He just wanted to be home, in his sweats and on the couch, watching stupid reality TV. He ran down the corrugated stairs of the 72nd Street Station and tapped his metro card on the scanner, opening the clunky metal gates. An express train whizzed past, sending out the loud clatter of steel wheels on tracks. Jared leaned against the tiled wall and fumbled with his headphones, leaning his head right, then left to push the plugs into his ears. That’s when he saw him—the basketball player from the JCC, hair still damp, but now dressed in black: handsome black suit, black leather shoes, long black coat, and a black kippah. The man was clean-shaven with sharp features. He looked even younger and thinner than he had on the basketball court, with a swoop of hair that angled across his broad forehead. Why do religious guys always seem so sexy? thought Jared as the 2-train roared into the station, the brakes whining as it halted against the platform. The metal doors shot open and the crowds filtered out. Then Jared followed the player inside one of the cars, sitting across from him but pretending to listen to his music while staring at him out of the corner of his eye. Does this count as stalking? “Hey,” the stranger’s mouth was speaking to him, his eyes locked on Jared. “Yeah?” Jared pretended to be startled, removing his headphones from his ears. “Oh, hey! That was you playing basketball?” Did that sound nonchalant enough? “That was me,” said the man in black, leaning forward as the train picked up speed. “You watched us play?”“ “I heard all the shouting and came in to see what was going on,” explained Jared. “Gosh, you’re good. You were making every basket!” “Do you play at all?” asked the man, dismissing the compliment and raising his thin black eyebrows. Jared let out a laugh. “No way. Can’t even dribble a ball, you know? Failed gym in school and all that. Also, in case you didn’t notice, I’m super short.” “No, you’re not. Height doesn’t matter—it’s all about how you shoot.” “How many times have I heard that?” joked Jared, looking for any signs that this clean-cut conservative guy had picked up on the s****l innuendo. If he did, he made no signs. “My name is Shai,” said the man, reaching out a long arm and shaking Jared’s hand. “Shay? I’m Jared. Nice to meet you.” “Shy,” corrected Shai. “S-H-A-I. Pronounced shy.” “Nice to meet you, Shai,” said Jared, pronouncing the name correctly this time. “Nice to meet you, too,” he said, pushing back into his seat. More and more commuters piled into the car, and finally Jared jumped across the aisle, squeezing in next to Shai. The train jolted and their hips pressed together until Shai moved over a bit. “So you play for a team?” asked Jared matter-of-factly. “No. Tonight was just a pick-up game. We get together once a week—some friends and cousins of mine.” “Sounds cool. Then you live around here? Upper West Side?” asked Jared, realizing it sounded a little nosy. Shai shook his head. “Brooklyn.” Jared smiled, sitting up and adjusting his glasses. “Me, too! I’m headed there now. Where you at?” “My family lives in Borough Park,” said Shai in a quiet voice. “That’s where I grew up actually.” Borough Park, thought Jared. That’s where all the Hasids lived—all the super Orthodox families. Just how Conservative is this dude? How would he react if he knew he was talking to a homo? “And I’m in Greenpoint,” said Jared. “But I grew up in Jersey.” “Jersey’s nice,” said Shai blankly, letting his eyes wander around the car. “You kiddin’ me?” asked Jared, smashing away all formalities. “Jersey’s a shithole—I left as fast as I could!” “Could you please not curse?” asked Shai, stifling an anxious smirk. Jared could tell he was uncomfortable. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. My big New York mouth—you have to forgive me. I don’t really ever hang out with anybody religious.” “No?” asked Shai, swiveling toward Jared and turning both his knees. For a split second, Jared admired the cut of his suit. He could see Shai’s long thigh muscles under the black cotton fabric. Then his eyes went right back to Shai’s thoughtful face. “No, I mean I’m a really bad Jew, okay?” Jared whispered loudly to his new friend, talking with both his hands in the air, counting off sins on his fingers. “Like, I swear all the time, I eat bacon on the Sabbath, and then do a bunch of other forbidden stuff, if you know what I mean.” Jared thought back to the last weekend, when he hooked up with a guy he met in his spinning class. Better not mention that. “Also, I couldn’t read a lick of Hebrew even if you paid me.” Shai laughed at the rapid confession. “So what do you think makes a good Jew?” asked Shai philosophically. “Oh, you know. Someone like you—wears the whole thing, does the whole thing, follows all the laws, candles and prayers at Sabbath, keeps kosher. You keep kosher, right?” “I do. But you do know it’s not just about what you wear and eat. I mean, are you even proud that you’re Jewish?” “That’s a f*****g loaded question,” said Jared. “Oh, my God, I said f*****g, didn’t I? Oh, my God, I just said God, too. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Shai pretended to cover his ears with both his hands. “Yeah, I’m proud to be Jewish—of course. Being Jewish is cool, and it’s Hanukkah today, so, yay for Hanukkah!” Jared tried to be cute, but he just felt stupid. “Do you even know what Hanukkah is about?” asked Shai, teasing Jared a little more. “Like, the original story?” “Festival of lights. Oil in the temple, lamps keep burning for eight days—yeah, yeah, I know it.” “Okay. Just checking. Seems like you passed pre-school, at least.” Jared would have normally switched trains at Times Square, but he stayed on the 2, shoved against Shai, riding down the entire length of Manhattan. In all his life, Jared had never really hung out with anybody this conservative. He was fascinated, but curious, too. What was this guy’s life like? “So you’re Orthodox?” blurted Jared. “Modern Orthodox,” corrected Shai. “So that means you can use electricity and s**t,” said Jared, immediately apologizing once more by covering his mouth with his hand. “Yes, we can use electricity,” said Shai and laughed. “I can even play basketball, and would you believe it? I even went to college, and I have a Master’s degree in Computer Science.” Shai was throwing the sarcasm right back at Jared. “That would have been tough without any electricity,” joked Jared. Shai chuckled. “What do you do?” he asked, shifting the attention away from himself and his beliefs. “I’m a producer,” answered Jared, pleased to talk about himself for a second. “In television. I work on a kids’ show.” “Which one?” “Peachy’s Nest. Ever heard of it?” Shai broke into laughter. “Ever heard of it? My nieces and nephews watch it every day! They are crazy about that show.” “You mean you guys can watch TV?” asked Jared sarcastically. Shai gently hit him on the shoulder. “Yeah, we watch TV. But only the good stuff, and Peachy’s Nest is nice and clean. If only they knew the producer was a potty mouth in real life!” “I know. I’m a terrible person. Also, I’m not like the producer of the show. I’m an associate producer, which means I just run around and do sh—stuff—for people.” “How big is the nest in real life?” asked Shai, almost shouting his question as the train rumbled through the tunnel. “Like, could I fit in there?” “Yeah, I think you could!” Jared used the moment to look Shai up and down, from head to toe. He seemed like a magazine model, right out of some dress shoe catalog. Tall, handsome, and squeaky clean. “You’d have to lie down in it, though—curled up in a ball.” Shai suddenly had a million questions about Jared’s well-known TV show, and the two chatted about what went on behind the scenes. “So who plays Peachy? Is it a guy or a girl?” asked Shai. “Honestly,” said Jared, “that’s the one thing I can’t tell you. I’m sworn to secrecy. Like, legally I cannot tell you anything.” He pretended to zip his lips with his fingers. “Only the live audience gets to meet him…or her, and even then, Peachy’s always in costume.” “My family is going to freak out when I tell them I met you.” “Here,” Jared fumbled with his backpack, opening a pocket and taking out a small box of crayons branded with Peachy, the educational owl, sitting on its nest. “Give this to your nieces and nephews.” “Wow,” said Shai, accepting the gift. “They are gonna love this! Thank you so much.” “I only wish I had more—I just gave away a whole box of stuff to the pre-school at the JCC.” “I hate to ask this, but do you think…” “You want live tickets to a show,” said Jared, as if reading Shai’s mind. “I mean, if you can’t, it’s cool, but…” Shai was focused on Jared now, leaning in so close that Jared could feel the man’s breath. “I get asked all the time. Don’t worry, it’s fine.” Jared pulled a business card out of his wallet. “Here, take this. Call me, email me, text me, whatever you Orthodox people are allowed to do. I’ll see what I can do.” “Seriously? That would blow their minds!” “How many kids are we talking?” asked Jared, suddenly all business. “Seven. I have four nephews and three nieces.” “That’s a lot. And I assume all their parents wanna come, too?” “Just their moms—so three more.” “So, eleven tickets to Peachy’s Nest.” Jared sighed, as if taking a big order. “Only if you can,” said Shai, backing down. “Please don’t go to any extra trouble.” Take off your shirt and I’ll do anything you want, thought Jared. “Borough Park, Borough Park!” the subway announcer shouted through the intercom, and the doors opened. “This is me,” said Shai, getting up. “I’ll get off with you,” said Jared, following him. For a minute, they walked in silence, then turned to one another and began speaking at the same time. “I feel bad for asking you such a big favor,” said Shai. “I feel bad for teasing you about your beliefs,” interrupted Jared. “I’m sorry,” they said at the same time, then laughed and exited the subway station. Jared sucked in the cold, winter air of Brooklyn. It always felt cleaner than Manhattan, he thought. “Here’s an idea,” said Shai, turning to him. “How about you come over to our house tomorrow? It’s Hanukkah, so the whole family’s gonna be there—all the nieces and nephews. Why don’t you see how we do it? You can come as my guest. Really.” “Oh, I couldn’t impose like that. I mean, thank you, it’s very generous, but come on—it’s a family thing, right?” “Yeah, the whole family’s gonna be there, but the cousins will be there as well as neighbors, friends. It’s practically an open house. You would fit right in, and you could see how we do Hanukkah.” “You mean, how good Jews celebrate Hanukkah?” “Yeah, pretty much. We definitely do Hanukkah right,” said Shai with confidence. “Okay,” agreed Jared without much thought. He wasn’t going to visit his mother until the weekend, and he was actually quite curious to see inside an Orthodox family. Not to mention, he did not want to let Shai disappear so quickly from his life. “Great! Tomorrow it is. Can you make it by sundown? Say, around five o’clock?” asked Shai. “I’ll be there. And I’ll try to put your name down for tickets—wait, what name should I put down?” “Shai—Shai Goodhart.” “Plus ten?” asked Jared. “Shai plus ten. That’s right.” “Okay, then.” Jared laughed, comfortable with the ease of his interaction with this beautiful dark-haired man. Shai shook his hand, and Jared absorbed the touch like a warm blessing in his palm. “You alright getting home?” asked Shai, looking up the street. “Yeah, I’ll grab a taxi,” said Jared, shaking his hand once more. “Thanks for the chat—and I guess I’ll see you tomorrow!” “A Gute nakht,” said Shai. He gave Jared his home address, then waved his hand and began walking down 12th Street. “Goodnight,” said Jared, waving until a yellow taxi pulled over.