Chapter 6 #3
“But seriously,” Micah continued. “I’m honored to be here, celebrating with you and supporting The Trevor Project, a fantastic cause with the mission of ending suicide among LGBTQ+ youth.
For anyone not aware of its valuable work, The Trevor Project offers crisis services and peer support, 24/7 and all year round.
It works to change hearts, minds, and laws to support young lives through advocacy, education, and research.
Our youths are coming out in a challenging time, to say the least. As we know, survival can come at a harrowing price, and community is everything. ”
As if drawn by a magnet, his gaze found Libby in the crowd. She’d moved to stand near a door. Her lips held a slight curve, and her bearing was straight. She looked strong, proud, like she’d never hidden from a challenge in her life.
Did he imagine her slight nod?
He clutched the rail, suddenly dizzy. His words reverberated in his skull. Survival can come at a harrowing price. Community is everything. Oh, he could preach, all right. But practice? That was another matter entirely. He wasn’t fully himself in his own community, not even close.
He cleared his throat and began again. “The Trevor Project helps our LGBTQ+ youth survive, and tonight, we have the opportunity to help them repair our world by pouring money into their coffers—and have a fabulous time while doing it.”
Authentic but joyful. Hit your mark, Rabbi.
It was easier said than done. The Torah had some rough passages.
He was accustomed to exploring atrocities against humanity, but not while kicking off an eight-hour floating party.
Not while he felt unmoored, exposed, vulnerable—and inexplicably anchored by a woman he barely knew.
He forced himself to focus on the crowd.
It truly was an honor to lead the prayers tonight, and he wanted to be worthy of the task, despite his personal turmoil.
“Thank you for coming out tonight to celebrate Hanukkah and support The Trevor Project.” He tugged the event flyer from his breast pocket.
“You can find this handy list of food and entertainment on every bar and posted on each door.” He scanned the list. “Looks like we’ve got Broadway karaoke, Minor League Dreidel, Mahjong, a silent auction, and a drag show with Manhattan’s own Matzo Belle! ”
The crowd cheered, bedlam rolling from one end of the boat to the other.
Jay Katz had created something incredible with the Matzo Baller cruise, a yearly tikkun olam marathon that would make a huge splash tonight, spread ripples through social media, and continue to bring much-needed money to The Trevor Project.
“Not to mention the best Jewish food in all the boroughs,” he continued.
“If you can’t find what you’re looking for, please write your suggestion on the back of a twenty-dollar bill, and stuff it in a tzedakah box, also located on every bar.
Make your People proud. We’re working against a tough stereotype, if you know what I mean. ”
A collective groan rose from the crowd.
He grinned. “I believe we have some prayers to say? Feel free to join in. I’m sure you’ve heard them once or twice.”
“Baruch ata Adonai—” He launched into the candle blessing most Jews could mumble by heart. But no one was mumbling tonight. Instead, the words of the prayer rang, loud, clear—and, yes, proud—filling the December twilight with the sound of joy and devotion.
Since it was the fifth night of Hanukkah, he paced his delivery as he twisted each bulb, taking careful steps along the scaffold.
He wasn’t sure if the Matzo Ballers usually said the second blessing but he went for it, and many voices joined his.
When he had all five “candles” lit, he faced the crowd again. “We gather to celebrate the wondrous deeds God performed for our ancestors during this season—and to make the world a little brighter, together. Happy Hanukkah!”
He descended the ladder to a cacophony of whoops, hollers, whistles, and shouts of “Happy Hanukkah!” As soon as his feet touched the deck, the crowd swallowed him. It felt like ages before he got a minute to breathe among the back slapping, hand shaking, and good wishes.
When he finally got some space, Libby was gone.
His euphoria dimmed. It had been foolish to expect her to wait for him when she had an event to run. What had possessed him to talk to her like that, to crowd her with his body, to try to take her back to their time in Palm Beach—where he had deceived her so spectacularly?
Was he hoping for forgiveness? Friendship? Or more?
There was no mistaking their chemistry. Despite his deception, the heat was still there. He knew he was getting ahead of himself, but if she would agree to keep M. Waterman a secret, maybe they could continue…
His stomach churned, rejecting that idea on a visceral level. How could he preach acceptance while hiding a vital part of himself from the light? Asking Libby to hide with him went against everything he believed, and yet…
Survival can come at a harrowing price.
A relationship with Libby would bring his art into the pubic eye—and start a domino effect.
His mother loved nothing more than bragging to her Mahjong ladies about her son, the rabbi.
If he claimed his M. Waterman identity, he would become her son, the rabbi who paints naked women.
The temple board would freak. He’d lose Ezra’s respect. Would he also lose his job?
Panic fired his chest and made his shoulders feel set in concrete. He gripped the railing, pretending to admire the view. He’d never thought of hiding M. Waterman as being hypocritical until he’d climbed that ladder, but now, he couldn’t see it any other way.
He counseled his congregation to live their personal truths, no matter how inconvenient or difficult. He proudly displayed a poster for The Trevor Project on his office door, so that he’d be recognized as an ally.
He preached acceptance. Yet he hid the part of himself that he judged unworthy of being seen.
Not cool, Rabbi.
Baggage he didn’t know he had was suddenly stacked front and center, and there was a lot to unpack. He didn’t even know where to start. He pulled a deep breath in through his nose and released it slowly through pursed lips. What would he tell a member of his congregation to do?
That was easy. Talk to someone you trust. He was often that person for others, and Rabbi Ezra was the obvious choice for him—but not tonight.
They’d all been looking forward to the cruise, and he wasn’t going to bring the mood down with what would undoubtedly cause a headache—or several—for his boss and colleagues.
But he could talk to Libby. Relief surged through him at the thought. She already knew his secret, and from that look she’d given him when he was up on the scaffold, he bet she’d recognized his hypocrisy, too.
He had much more than that to make up to her, but he was ready to atone.
He released his death grip on the railing and looked around the ship, trying to remember which door would take him back to the cookie station. His thoughts raced with ideas for how to explain his actions to her until he felt dizzy.
Or maybe it was the heady scent of perfectly fried latkes messing with his head. He veered toward the latke bar.
Did Libby like latkes? If so, he wasn’t above bribing her with delicious fried food if that would make her more receptive to his apology. Because with his new clarity came the certainty that he wanted to share more with her than fond memories.
He wanted to make new ones. Maybe even some new naked ones if he was really lucky.
He didn’t know if she would give him another chance, but he did know one thing: his art was her weak spot—and suddenly, he had a burning desire to decorate the world’s most beautiful Hanukkah cookies.
Just for her.