68
PARTISAN REVIEW
Among immigrant fathers, the obligations of sons were assumed. Among
American sons, knowledge of how and for whom America worked was what
defined a man. That knowledge, not the dead rituals of our father's Europe,
was important to my brother and me. We both understand this to this day.
Yet I still can't explain to Abe the reason why I was excused from
Neilah,
the
last attempt to catch God's ear on Yom Ki ppur before he slammed shut those
gates of judgment. In our father's eyes, his older son already had paid God's
price-and with interest. Is my brother unable to understand that our father
simply decided that God did not need me because even God has His limi ts?
That I was crippled meant that I had earned my way out of further obliga–
tion. That Abe was whole meant that he would stand with those whose job
it was to beg God to be inscribed in the L300k of Life.
Scorched by memory's fires, our imaginary argument continues. Abe tells
me of how he asked our father why his presence, not mine, was needed.
Before the question can be framed, the answer is apparent. At least, to my
brother it is. God's rage is not for worship. I was granted immunity because,
in our father's eyes, God had overstepped His own boundaries when He cre–
ated the virus which took my legs. In such a ft·ee-fall, ritual was just another
bargaining chip between God and man.
My brother refuses to accept this. Not that he cannot understand it.
There are certain immuni ties a man claims ft·om fate or accident or illness,
but they are not to be granted as if they carried lifelong tenure. An illlmuni–
ty gained so many years ago is beyond even God's power to grant. My
brother does not even try to keep the irri tation ft·om his voice as we speak.
We are beyond the dead father. " L3ecause even devotion ends when there is
no justice. Do you think that just because you lose your legs, obligation ends?"
In our father's mind, the balance has been struck. Losing my legs is enough.
Not even the pious are beyond making their own corrupt bargains wi th the
Lord of the Universe.
In the lives of immigrant fathers, redemption took 011 the shape of
American sons. Our job was to make the world safe for him,just as on grafi t–
tied schoolyard walls the intention
IS
to distract the mind ft·om what is going
on inside. Like the kiss of October's crisp air or a single yellow tulip in the
garden of the Episcopal priest on the bottom of the hill on Rochambeau
Avenue, ours was a world in which order was to be the miracle that would be
served. A pear tree stood behind the synagogue, its ripe yellow fruit tempt–
ing the strictures of Yom Kippur fasting. It is one of the pictures held by
American sons. My brother and I will each run the risk of not believing, in
defiance of our father and his God. The immigrant father still imposes self
and will on us, still
dallCl15,
rocking on heel and toe, to praise that God in
whom he believes with such simple passion that it is the one thing he pos–
sesses of which his American sons are afraid .
