Chapter 12 #3
Micah stared at the ceiling crack in the corner of the office. “I’ve made the temple look foolish for hiring me. I let something that should have stayed private become public, and now everyone will want to talk about my erotic art instead of my real work. I feel like a shonda.”
“Hmm.” Ezra nodded. “That’s one way to look at it.
But that’s not how I see it, and I don’t think it’s how many people will see it once the gossip has died down.
Last night, you shared your gifts with joy, and your art resonated with people.
The line for caricatures doubled after you drew Miriam and me.
Sophie is bragging that she paid three hundred dollars for your cookies.
You paint nudes, so what? The human form has been celebrated for centuries. ”
Micah felt like the floor had dropped out from under his chair, and any second, he was going to fall and hit hard. “You’re not upset? Angry?”
“Angry? No. Upset? Yes. I’m sad that you felt like you had to hide your talent.
I’m annoyed that you didn’t step up for the craft show last month.
We could have used your artistic eye. Honestly, I’m also offended that you clearly expected to get raked over the coals this morning.
You’re a good man, Micah. You helped make the Matzo Baller a success last night, and you’re an asset to our temple community.
Don’t get me wrong, the congregation will have questions, and the board of trustees will want to know why you didn’t share this side of your life earlier.
But we made an excellent decision in hiring you, which is what I will tell anyone who asks. ”
His eyes began to sting. Now he truly felt unworthy. And grateful. And confused. So many emotions stormed through him, he could barely speak.
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Your support means more to me than I can say.” The truth hit him hard, pressing him down into his chair. “I’ve lost my way, Rabbi.”
Ezra shook his head. “You may feel lost, but you’re still on a path that has meaning.” He sat forward. “Tell me something. Why did you hide your art in the first place?”
Micah turned inward, trying to put words to something he’d done so long ago it had become automatic.
“My sister taught me to draw. She’s older than I am, and she was wild about art, always sketching something.
But she went to a very competitive high school, and I don’t think I saw her with a sketchbook after her freshman year.
In fact, I think my mother hid them. I think she hid mine, too, but I always found them.
Then I started hiding them from her, but I hid them better.
” He wondered if his parents had sold the house with sketchbooks under the carpet in his room.
Ezra waited for him to continue. ”During my bar mitzvah preparation, my passion for Hebrew rivaled my love of drawing, so I forgot about it for a while, but then I discovered painting in college.
My path was set on the rabbinate, but I took art classes, too.
I was terrible when I started, but eventually, I improved.
My subject matter changed. I became obsessed with color, and form—and the way I felt when I painted was similar to the way I feel when I’m praying.
But I didn’t think my family would understand that at all.
The Wassermans work hard and are very well-respected in our various communities.
They’re so proud to have a rabbi in the family.
” He dragged a hand over his face. “My parents are having a fit.”
Ezra settled back in his chair. “Are you sure? Have you talked to them? Or are you making assumptions like you did on your way here this morning?”
Micah pursed his lips. “I’ve read their texts.”
“Ah, yes.” Ezra scoffed softly. “Texting is such a reliable form of communication.”
Micah shook his head. There was no misinterpreting his mother’s dismay. “I know my mom. She’s not happy.”
Ezra nodded. “You know your mother—yes. And she knows you. She’s known you and loved you your entire life. I guarantee she wants the best for you, whether or not you agree on what that is. But she doesn’t get to decide that for you now—you do.”
Micah knew that—and yet he still felt called to meet expectations.
Ezra tilted his head and frowned. “Nothing has changed. You are still the same good son—the same good man—you were last week. People know about your art now, but that doesn’t change who you are.
If you think it does, then that is what we should be talking about—and what you should be praying about, too. ”
Micah felt that truth hit like a grenade, shattering the wall he’d built between his art and his life.
Ezra continued, apparently not done dropping truth bombs.
“You hide your art. You think it makes you a shonda,” he said gently.
“But don’t you think many in our congregation struggle with feelings of shame?
Of unworthiness? What would you tell them?
I bet it’s something a lot different than you tell yourself.
In fact, I know it is because I heard you preaching acceptance last night when you lit that menorah. ”
Boom.
Micah clutched the arms of his chair, feeling like the storm had blown over, the clouds had rolled back, and the sun was lighting him up from the inside.
Ezra pushed back from his desk. “The decision is yours, Micah. You can hide, or you can lead. But before you decide, please think about whether this challenge is also an opportunity to work in partnership with God—and grow into a fuller version of yourself.”
BOOM.
Micah scrubbed his hands through his beard, shocked to find it was damp with tears. “You aren’t the first person to say that to me today.”
A smile broke across Ezra’s craggy face. “The pretty pastry chef?”
“Yes.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Remember how I mentioned meeting someone in Palm Beach?”
Ezra nodded.
“It was Libby. Actually, I had a gallery showing as M. Waterman last weekend, and Libby was there. We spent the night together, but I didn’t tell her my real name.” It was difficult to hold Ezra’s gaze, but he managed. “Then we ran into each other last night, and I had a lot of explaining to do.”
The rabbi’s eyes widened. “You must have done a good job explaining if she was still talking to you this morning.”
“Libby is amazing. She’s so strong. So bold.
So unapologetically herself. I cannot be less with her.
She won’t let me be.” He swallowed hard.
“She made that crystal clear. Libby makes me want to be a better artist, rabbi, and man. A life with her would be incredible, but I screwed up. I blamed her for this whole thing exploding on social media. She isn’t talking to me now. ”
“Oy.” Ezra grimaced. “We don’t always show up as our best selves under pressure. Will she give you another chance?”
“She’s already given me several, but I hope so, once I figure out how to apologize. I also need to talk to my family. And begin teshuvah.”
A return to his truest, deepest self.
Peace stole through him.
He’d already begun his journey, but he needed to do it more intentionally. Libby deserved the best of him, all of him, and so did his family and community.
He stood. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Any time.” Ezra walked around the desk, holding out his hand. Micah took it, expecting a handshake, but Ezra pulled him into a fierce hug. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Ezra.” The older man’s embrace grounded him.
He left the office and walked down the hall.
Each step felt heavier as he named his mistakes.
I hid my talent. I did not share myself fully with my loved ones.
I lied to Libby. And to myself. I let pride and fear shape my decisions.
I lashed out at her because I was afraid.
I denied opportunities to serve You and Your people with my whole self. I lost my way.
The sanctuary was empty. Winter sunlight filtered through stained glass, painting the floor with brilliant rainbow shards. The symbolism was not lost on him—and it gave him hope.
He stood before the ark, his heart full of regret, and whispered a resolution. “I know who I am, and I will return to that.”
The eternal flame above the ark didn’t waver. Neither would he.
Now his real work began.
As he left the sanctuary, he texted his parents. All is well. I’ll be in touch soon.
He had a lot more thinking and praying to do, but he needed to be in motion—maybe even painting. He’d spent years dividing himself, but now he felt whole—and ready to give Libby every reason to remain by his side.