been blind for about six months and was learning to live with it. Fortunately, he had always preferred wearing a beard so he didn't have to worry about shaving. When he took an apartment on the same floor in her building, Rhoda helped him set up his closet and drawers so that he could pick out matching clothes to wear.
He thought it might still be a little early, but as soon as he was dressed he locked up and walked down the hall toward Rhoda's apartment. Feeling his way with his long white cane, he reached the end of the hall, turned and counted his steps to her front door. He had done this many times by himself, and there was really no possibility he would go to the wrong door. Still, he had suggested to Rhoda that they carve a heart and their initials into her door so he could always be sure he had the right apartment. Rhoda had thought better of the idea.
Tom knocked at the door and was greeted a moment later with a very warm kiss, which he gladly returned. 'You're early,' Rhoda said. 'Come on in. I was just about to change.'
'Should I cover my eyes?' Tom joked.
'It's not your eyes I'm concerned about; it's the pictures in your mind. You just wait here. I'll be back in a minute.' In the past Tom had always avoided any real involvement with a woman because he feared rejection because of his disfigurement. Strangely, now that he couldn't see, it was no longer a problem.
Torn made his way to the couch and sat down. On the coffee table Rhoda kept a book for beginning Braille students. He picked it up, intending to get in a little practice, but noticed a single sheet of paper sitting on top. Running his fingers over the formations of bumps one at a time, he determined the characters on the page. 'I love you,' it said.
Tom didn't mention the note to Rhoda when she came from her bedroom.
'All ready,' she said.
Tom got up and walked toward the door. Rhoda met him halfway and placed his hand in the now familiar spot on her arm. 'Rabbi won't know what to think when we get to Havdalah early,' she said.
'That won't be his only surprise tonight,' Tom added, and though he couldn't see it, he was confident that there was a smile on Rhoda's face.
After dinner at Rabbi Cohen's house, everyone moved to the living room. Benjamin Cohen, who alone with his father was the only member of the rabbi's family to survive the Disaster, turned off the lights as his father prayed and lit the three wicks of the tall blue and white braided Havdalah candle. The Havdalah or 'separation' marked the end of the Sabbath and the beginning of the work week – the distinction of the holy from the secular. Along with the Cohens and Tom and Rhoda there were nine others present. Originally there had been many more in Cohen's congregation but the Disaster had reduced their number by over a hundred and fifty. Now they could fit easily into Cohen's living room. Of those present, some, like Rhoda, had started attending Cohen's services only a few weeks or months before the Disaster. Others had joined the group afterward.
As the flame grew, Saul Cohen took the candle and held it up. In accordance with tradition, those in the circle responded by standing and holding their hands up toward the light with their fingers cupped. Though he could not see the flame, Tom could feel the heat of the large candle and he did as Rhoda had taught him. It meant nothing to him beyond simply being a tradition, but it was important to Rhoda and so he did it.
As they had planned, after the Havdalah, Tom and Rhoda waited for everyone to leave so they could talk with Rabbi Cohen alone.
'Tell me, Tom,' Cohen asked, 'how did my favorite skeptic like tonight's message?'
'Well,' Tom said, 'I understood what you were saying but don't you think it's kind of narrow-minded to say that there's only one way for a person to get into the kingdom of God?'
'It would be, Tom, 'Cohen answered, 'were it not for the fact that the one way that God offers is entirely unrestricted, completely free, and totally accessible to each and every person on the planet. God is no farther from any of us than our willingness to call upon him. Would it be narrow-minded to say that there is only one thing that everyone must breathe in order to live?'
'But air is available to everyone,' Tom countered.
'Tom, so is God. The Bible says in the book of Romans that God has made himself known to everyone. It doesn't matter whether you're Jew or Gentile, Hindu or Buddhist, Muslim or pagan. It's up to each person as an individual whether he will answer God's call. And Tom, one of the great things about it is that once you've answered that call you'll find that it's absolutely the most natural thing in the world: even,' Cohen laughed at his own unexpected turn of phrase, 'more natural than breathing.'
The subject was worthy of further discussion but right now Tom had something else on his mind. As a transitional step from this discussion to what he really wanted to talk about, Tom decided to ask the rabbi something he had wondered about for a while. 'Rabbi,' he said, 'there's something I don't understand: if you no longer believe as the other Hasidim believe, why do you still wear the attire and earlocks of Hasidim?' Rhoda looked away in embarrassment; she would never have asked the question herself but it was something she had often wondered about. She felt sure the rabbi would know she had mentioned it to Tom. After all, how else could Tom know what the rabbi wore?
'It is my heritage,' Cohen answered. 'Even the Apostle Paul, who Messiah charged with bringing the word to the gentiles, did not change his ways, except as it was necessary to accomplish his mission. Besides,' added Cohen, 'there are many years of wear left in these clothes. Why should I buy new?'
Cohen smiled, but Tom, who could only assume that Cohen was serious, had to bite his lip to hold back laughter.
'So, what is it I can do for you?' asked Cohen, assuming correctly that Tom and Rhoda had not stayed late just to ask him about his wardrobe.
'Well,' said Tom, glad for the opportunity to get to the subject he wanted to talk about, 'Rhoda and I would like for you to officiate at our wedding.'
Cohen didn't respond.
'Is something the matter, Rabbi?' Rhoda asked.
Cohen hesitated. 'I'm sorry. Rhoda, could I speak with you alone for just a moment?'
Cohen began to move away, and Rhoda automatically followed before Tom could even think to object. In a moment so brief he couldn't speak, they were gone and Tom heard one of the interior doors of the house close behind them.
'Rhoda,' Cohen said, as soon as he was alone with her, 'do you remember what I told you when I brought Tom to you?'
'You mean the prophecy?' she asked.
'Yes.'
'How could I forget it? I've thought about it every day.'
'Then you know that this will not be an easy marriage. You may have several years of peace – I don't know exactly how many – but then you will lose him. The prophecy is clear: 'he must bring death and die that the end and the beginning may come.''
'I know and I understand,' Rhoda answered.
'And you still want to go ahead with the marriage?' Cohen's voice showed concern but gave no hint of disapproval.
'Yes, Rabbi. More than anything.'
Cohen gave her a look of caution concerning her last statement.
Rhoda saw the look and quickly corrected herself: 'I mean, more than anything, as long as it is within God's will.'
Cohen let it pass. 'All right, then. Just as long as you're going into this with your eyes wide open.'
'I am, Rabbi,' Rhoda assured him.
'There is, of course, the issue of being yoked to an unbeliever, but with Tom, I have always known it was just a matter of time. We shall have to see to that immediately, and by all means before the wedding takes place.'
Rhoda willingly agreed.
'Oh, by the way,' Cohen asked as an afterthought, 'have you told Tom about the prophecy?'
'No, Rabbi. I didn't think I should.'
Cohen nodded thoughtfully. 'Yes, it's probably best that you don't. Better to let God act in his own time, and not put any ideas in Tom's head.'
Cohen and Rhoda went back to where Tom was waiting for them. 'Well, Tom,' Cohen began, by way of
