“I want you to go to bed tonight,” he began saying.
“I go to bed every night,” she interrupted, and laughed.
“Can I finish?” he continued.
“Go ahead.”
“I want you to go to bed tonight, and wait until he is asleep. I know he is in a separate bed, but I want you to be absolutely certain that he is asleep.”
“Ok. And then what? What’s the point of waiting for him to be asleep?” she asked.
“Once he is asleep…once you are absolutely sure of it…I want you to undress and then get back under your covers naked.”
“I can’t do that!” she protested.
“Why not?”
“It isn’t…I…I never do that. He’ll know something is up if he sees me…”
He interrupted her. “He WON’T see you. That’s the point of waiting until he is asleep.”
“But what if he gets up…and asks me to…if I…if I have to get out of my bed?”
“You’re over-thinking. Don’t do it. Stop already. Didn’t we discuss over-thinking the other night when we were chatting?”
She blushed, as if embarrassed. “Yes. Yes, we did.”
“Of course we did. And I meant what I said. Every word.”
“Fine. I’ll stop. But being naked…on my own…I don’t do that. He will know for sure that something…”
“He won’t. I promise you that he won’t. Do you trust me? At least on this point…do you trust me?”
“Let’s say I do. What is the point of all this?” she asked.
“That’s part of trust. It’s faith. If you knew everything, you wouldn’t need faith.”
“We’re talking about you asking me to get naked under my covers, not about the existence of Hashem.”
“Maybe we are. Maybe everything we discuss comes back to that question.”
“That’s not right. Me being naked has nothing to do with…” He interrupted her again.
“It doesn’t, perhaps. But maybe it does. And you’ll just have to believe me on this. You’ll need to trust me and have faith.”
“That’s in short supply in my bedroom, you know. Did I tell you how long?”
“Yes. And that’s between you and him. But it’s not between you and me. He’ll be asleep, remember? So what does or does not happen with him, that doesn’t matter to me right now.”
“Ok. Fine. I wait for him to be asleep. Then I get naked under my sheets. And then?”
“Then? Then nothing. You go to sleep.”
“Nothing? What the fuck?” she exclaimed.
“Faith, my beautiful Sabra!”
“Your Hebrew is as bad as his. I’m not a Sabra. I was born in Canada and only made aliyah a few years ago. A Sabra is native born here in Israel”
“Forgive me…I’m not perfect.”
“That’s the first hint of modesty I’ve heard from you since we started chatting.”
“I never claimed to be perfect. I only said that I think that finding each other again was perfect. It was bashert.”
“Ha! So easy for you to throw in your half dozen Yiddish or Hebrew words. You’re sitting there back in Canada, and you don’t know what it’s like here. The words I’d be using aren’t words like bashert.”
“Oh? And what words would YOU be using now?”
“They didn’t teach those words to you in Hebrew school at that Conservative synagogue of yours, that’s for sure.”
“Ok…enough pulling Hebrew day school superiority on me now. I take back my incorrect use of sabra, ok? Just do as I am asking and have some faith. Can you do that one small thing? For me?”
“I like that,” she replied. “That’s honest. You’re asking me to do something, for you. That’s honest. That’s you saying what you want, and not just saying what you think I want to hear.”
“Do we have a deal?” he wrote, but typing a Hebrew phrase in Hebrew letters.
“Ha! Using Google translate now? Trying to impress me with your Hebrew? You’re so transparent.”
“But your answer?”
“Yes. It’s a deal. I’ll do it tonight.”
“Good. And thank you. It means a lot to me.”
“I still don’t see the…”
“Faith,” he interjected. “Have some faith.”
“I will. Ok…goodnight. I’d better get off this chat and go to bed. He’s going to bed now…I’ll wait for him to be asleep. We’ll finish this chat tomorrow.”
“Layla tov,” he responded. At least he knew how to say goodnight in Hebrew.
She closed the app on her phone, and plugged it in for the night to recharge it. She changed for bed, in silence, and got into her own bed, as she did every night. She was very much aware of his breathing in the next bed. Funny, she thought, I usually don’t even notice him being there any more. He breathes very heavily. Like a bear. She giggled to herself, thinking of herself as Goldilocks and the Papa Bear was in his bed. She was in the one that was “just right”, and she closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his breathing, as it became more regular, more like background noise for her.
She waited for it to stop, and for the snoring to begin. That would be when she would know that he was asleep. She looked beside her at the clock. 11:25. Late for her on a normal weeknight, except she didn’t have to be at work the next day. The day after would be Shemini Atzeret, and Shabbat too, and her boss gave her the day off beforehand to let her prepare for the holidays.
The snoring began. Right into it, she thought, with no warm-up. Deep and loud. How did she sleep with that normally? She wondered. Most nights she paid no attention. But tonight she was very much aware of him being there, of his breathing, of his presence in that bed only a few feet away. It might as well have been a few miles away, she thought. Or in another country. How long had it been? How many years had she slept alone, and not know his touch? She didn’t finish that thought. She shuddered, disgusted at herself when the notion of his touch came into her head. Stop it! Those were the words she used with herself when she found herself thinking those thoughts that didn’t serve her. Stop it! She repeated those words to herself and soon the sound of his snoring seemed to fade, as her thoughts returned to the instructions she had been given shortly before retiring for the night.
Naked. That was reserved for herself now. With him in the room, there was no reason for her to be naked. The shower. The change room at the beach. That visit to the hospital, putting on a gown. That was naked for her. But not in this bedroom. That was for herself, and not for him.
She wondered aloud, briefly asking, “why?” Shhh! She shushed herself. “Shit,” she thought, “I hope he didn’t hear me.”
She listened. The snoring continued. Steady. Deep.
He was asleep. He hadn’t stirred to her momentary lapse and use of her actual voice, not the usual internal monologues she had with herself lying in her bed.
She quietly and deliberately removed her nightclothes. She pushed them aside, under her covers, ready for her to retrieve just in case. A fire. A kid coming in to ask for something. The arrival of the Messiah? She giggled to herself thinking of Elijah the Prophet arriving in his flaming chariot, and turning back when he saw that she was naked.
“Good,” she thought. “We’ve waited forever for him to announce the arrival, and now…now we wait again because some old friend halfway around the globe asks me to get naked in my bed.”
She pushed her clothes further away from her, though, almost to the edge of the bed, under her sheets, and she lay on her back, her naked skin upon the cotton fitted sheet, enjoying the cool feel of her fresh linen on her body. She spread out her arms like an angel’s wings, and felt the portions of her sheets that hadn’t been warmed up by her body yet, refreshing and sending a shiver through her body. She moved her hands back and forth on her bed, touching, searching for more cool spots.
She thought back to his words. About faith? That word had a completely different meaning for her. What did he know about faith? She thought of his other words. Sabra. She giggled again. It was cute how he tried to throw in some Hebrew, thinking it might endear him to her. Sabra was so funny. “I am so NOT a Sabra,” she thought.
Bashert. That was another funny one. Didn’t he remember their first time around, as friends in their youth? Did he not remember that they never got past being just friends? Good and true friends, but nothing more. He never got so much as a kiss, let alone…
No. Bashert was the wrong word, she thought. This second time around? They were a world apart. Literally. Nothing could come of this…exchange. That was it, she thought. This was an exchange. Back and forth. Not a joining. Bashert was absolutely the wrong word, she repeated to herself.
She thought of some of his other words, though. The ones she closed quickly on her screen when someone came near. The ones that made her heart flutter. The ones that made her wonder. What would THAT feel like?
She thought of those words, and she envied some of what he said. Some of his boldness. Her life now? There never seemed to be a time and place for boldness. She often felt alone. Lonely. Be bold? How? With whom? Where and when would she ever…?
Her thoughts drifted. Her hands drifted. She didn’t realize it, as she lay naked on the cool bed, but her hands had drifted, and she felt her nipples beneath her palms, as both hands cupped her full breasts. She felt her nipples harden to her touch. Her own touch, she thought. He has written words to me about HIS touch, on someone else’s nipples. For me, she thought…do I always have to settle for my own touch? Her nipples grew harder still as she imagined the touch of a different hand, of his hand perhaps, caressing the curves of her body as she would lie there, and imagining her nipples pressing hard into his palms.
