Chapter Eighteen
EIGHTEEN
The next morning, Faye stared out over the aftermath of destruction. Shards of glass covered the floors, counters and couches. Her storefront window, the place she had always taken so much pride in decorating, now lay in pieces. Her home. Her business. Her sense of security. All the things she had worked so hard to achieve, destroyed.
Sadly, she wasn’t the only one shaken. In the wake of the attack, Hillel had disappeared, planting himself in the upstairs bathroom, where he hid behind the toilet and refused to come out. Even Greg—the man who had so heroically saved her from the shattering glass—seemed to have trouble relaxing. He kept pacing around the front foyer, looking out the broken window onto the street, searching for something to occupy himself while they waited for the police to arrive.
“Here,” Greg said, offering her a cup of tea. “I was able to find some kava kava without glass shards in it. I thought it might help you relax.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking it from him.
He kneeled in front of her, placing one hand on her knee. “How are you doing?”
“Fine, physically,” she confirmed, before nodding towards the cut on his forehead. “How’s the head?”
“Oh, you know me,” Greg said, attempting to brush off her fretting with a joke. “I can take a knocking.”
“At this rate,” she said, returning the favor by attempting to keep things light, “we should start worrying about permanent damage.”
“Hm.” Greg twisted back to the foyer, hands angled on his hips as he surveyed the damage once more. “I wish I could start cleaning up for you.”
“We need to wait for the police,” Faye said. “There may be evidence worth gathering.”
She hoped there would evidence worth gathering.
She had called them first thing after the attack, but apparently, she wasn’t the only location that had been hit throughout the night. Across Woodstock, reports were coming in regarding a rash of overnight anti-Semitic violence.
These unknown assailants, The Paper Boys , had hit multiple locations. Not just Jewish ones, like her business and Shulamit’s synagogue, but any place Jews were participants in daily life—from the local high school to the Jewish cemetery. They broke windows and kicked over gravestones. They spray-painted hateful anti-Semitic messages on brick walls and sidewalks. They left threats, wrote the words Holocaust 2.0 across buildings, promised more destruction to come.
It didn’t feel like America, but rather like she had woken up and found herself living inside the stories of her ancestors. She thought of the pogroms of the Russian pale. Of Kristallnacht in Germany and the unofficial start of the Holocaust. Of the massacre of October 7. The promise of never again —the words uttered her whole life by Jewish clergy and Hebrew school teachers—suddenly felt like a lie.
Or maybe—she couldn’t help but think it—Jews had never been safe.
Maybe all that hatred she was now experiencing had always been there, bubbling under the surface. Perhaps anti-Semitism could embed in your genes, get handed down l’dor v’dor , generation to generation, the same way as intergenerational trauma. She didn’t want to feel this way about her neighbors. She didn’t want to think that people in her community secretly harbored beliefs that led them to hate her...but she was staring out at her home and business, and it had been destroyed.
She didn’t want to give The Paper Boys this much power, but it was affecting her all the same. Her emotions veered out of control because she felt out of control . Her body reacted without sense or logic. She couldn’t focus. All morning long she had been constantly distracted. One moment she wanted to sob hysterically. A second later, she was angry, on her feet and spewing a litany of hateful curses...
She wanted justice, to return the favor of feeling unsafe, until she had convinced herself that there wasn’t a righteous person left in this world, and that the entire Earth, and all of humanity, should just burn like Sodom and Gomorrah—when her eyes would wander back to Greg. Greg, who had been there for her. Greg, who was still here for her.
He had shielded her last evening in the onslaught of glass. Used his own body to cover hers as the shards rained down around them. She couldn’t help but think back to her father. And Stuart. She was so used to people disappointing her, abandoning her when she needed them the most. But Greg had shown up for her. He had put himself in harm’s way in the process, too. It was all so very heroic, and she had to admit...a little romantic.
“You really should sit down,” Faye said. “I don’t want you getting a headache.”
“I’m fine,” Greg said, heading to the kitchen.
“Greg.” Faye put her cup of tea down to show she was serious. “You don’t have to play being the hero, okay? It’s normal to be rocked in situations like these.”
“But you misunderstand,” he said, pulling out some hard kosher salami, grabbing the knife, and laying down the cutting board. “I’m not rocked. I’m furious.” He cut a slice before offering it to her. “You want?”
“No,” Faye said. She had no appetite for breakfast. “But if you’re hungry, we can order in some food while we wait for the police.”
“Actually—” Greg laid three slices out on a paper towel “—I was going to take them upstairs to Hillel. See if I can coax him out. Poor guy hasn’t come out from behind the toilet for hours.”
She watched him depart up the stairs. He was a good person. Thankfully, they still existed.
Moments later, Nelly came bursting through her front door. “These goddamn Nazis,” Nelly said, spitting out the words to an old Yiddish curse. “May they have Pharaoh’s plagues sprinkled with Job’s scabies!”
For once, Faye found it hard to disagree with her neighbor.
Greg found Hillel shivering behind Faye’s upstairs toilet. Pulling the salami from the paper towel, he crouched down—trying to make himself lower than the little creature—before waving his favorite snack towards the little guy. “Hey, Hillel,” Greg said, pitching his voice higher. “It’s okay. You can come out. I promise...no one is going to hurt you. Not you or Faye.”
Hillel sniffed at the air but otherwise refused to budge.
Greg sat back on his knees. He needed to figure out next steps.
A sound from the first floor drew his attention away. Nelly had arrived and was speaking with Faye. Jackpot. Greg craned his ears towards their voices.
“I was just at the synagogue,” Nelly said.
“How’s Shulamit handling everything?” Faye asked.
“How do you think?” Nelly sputtered, upset. “‘We need to combat this hate with even more love.’ Ridiculous! What we need is duct tape, stun guns, and a whole lot of old-world chutzpah.”
Hearing Nelly, a plan sparked to mind. Leaving Hillel behind with the salami, Greg proceeded down the stairs.
“So,” Nelly said, “what do you need help with?”
“Nothing right now,” Faye explained. “We’re just waiting for the police.”
“Actually,” Greg said, bouncing down the stairs, landing in a loud thump in front of them, “I have an idea.”
“Oh,” Faye said, surprised. “Okay.”
“I was thinking that Nelly could take me over to Home Depot while you wait for the police. We’re going to need to buy some wood planks and nails to get that boarded up. It’s already almost eleven. I don’t want the day to get ahead of us, and we really should get this place secure by nightfall.”
Nelly squinted. “You’re gonna leave Faye—”
He cocked his head sideways, pressing his lips together, and attempted to communicate his thinking with his eyes. It took Nelly a minute, but eventually, a flash of recognition crossed her face. “Oh. Ooooooh. Right. Home Depot. Good idea. Yep, I should...totally drive you over there. Straight there and back. What do you say, Faye?”
“I don’t know,” Faye said, wrapping her arms around her body. “I’m sure the police will want to question you, too, Greg. You’re the one who saw the car and license plate, after all.”
“I can write it down for you,” Greg said, heading to the counter to find a pen and paper from one of her drawers, scribbling out the letters HX34. “And you can text Nelly if they show up. We’ll come right back if they do, obviously. But really...we should get the window boarded up by nightfall.”
He knew he wasn’t wrong. Still, Faye was hesitating.
“You know,” Nelly said, walking towards that broken window, “a bird once flew into Second Glance Treasures. I tried to get him out. Used a broomstick, opened every window and doorway...and you know what that bird did?”
Faye attempted to stop her. “I really don’t care to—”
Nelly kept going anyway. “He flew around and around, smacking himself headfirst into walls, tiny blue and brown wings fluttering about, blood splatter everywhere. Who would have thought just one little bird could make such a mess. My store looked like a goddamn crime scene. Took me three weeks to clean it all up, too. Forget about The Paper Boys, coming back at nightfall, hell-bent on finishing what they started. It’s the birds... The birds are the ones that will really fakakte your day up.”
Faye’s mouth had formed into the shape of an O. “You know what?” Faye said, throwing her hands up. “I can’t deal with this right now. You’re right. Why don’t you and Nelly go down to Home Depot. I’ll stay here and wait for the police.”
Greg wasted no time in escaping. Grabbing his jacket, he followed Nelly out to her car and climbed into the passenger seat. She had just sat down, and was still working to get her key in the ignition, when he got right down to business.
“I’m ready, Nelly,” Greg said, all hesitation in his voice now gone. “Take me to your war room.”