me.” In that frame of mind, he couldn’t consummate.
Then a light went on. Dan and Alice, though only nominally Jewish and avoiders of synagogues, went to visit a young rabbi recommended by friends. He was dressed in shirtsleeves to see them in his office, a beardless guy named Nathan Weisfeld. A popular recent addition to Temple Beth David, Weisfeld was a supporter of John Kennedy even if Joe Kennedy was an anti-Semite and Nixon was maybe better for Israel. John Kennedy had a nice wife and children, John Kennedy had been wounded in World War II, John Kennedy came from immigrants, John Kennedy was a liberal. As for adoption, “He who raises someone else’s child is regarded as if he had actually brought him into the world.” It was an act of
chesed
, it made a contribution, it served so beautifully the endeavor of world repair, “which we call
tikkun
.” Weisfeld shrugged. “Of course you should adopt,” he said. “Nothing in Jewish law says no, nowhere is there an admonition.” He shrugged again. “I can only say
mazel tov
. Wonderful news. Now go and build a Jewish home together.”
Conveniently, it was time for the annual Passover trip to Dan’s parents. They lived in Pasadena with air conditioning, but were originally from Pinsk. “In Pinsk,” Dan’s father, Al, asked, when Dan told them what he and Alice were considering, “was there a Jew who adopted, Beryl?” Dan’s mother said no, it was unheard of in Pinsk, this was not something Jewish people did. “She’s right,” said his father. “Your mother is right, Daniel.” “Adoption!” said his mother. “Did your brothers or your sisters adopt? They didn’t adopt. No, every one of them with their own children, our grandchildren, seven grandchildren,
and not one is adopted
.”
“This is what I live with,” Dan said to Alice, as soon as they were out the door. “Textbook Yids.”
They set out for San Jose to see Alice’s father. Dan stopped at pay phones to check on his patients. Alice read
So You’re Thinking of Adopting!
At a roadside picnic table they ate sandwiches and potato chips, and talked about the new pieces of contemporary furniture they were considering for their living room. Alice wanted to donate the old pieces to the Jewish Family & Child Service. They talked about their exasperating parents; Alice’s sister, Bernice, and her marital problems; the cost of joininga private swim club where Alice’s best friend and her husband were members; and, more than the rest of it put together, adoption.
In San Jose, Alice’s father, Dave Levine—sitting on his deck in tennis shorts, thighs splooching where they pressed against his lawn chair—said that someone named Marty Ashkanazi had been adopted after his family got “wiped out” in the Holocaust. This Marty was “today a perfectly good guy,” which Pop felt was proof of something. If Marty could be adopted and turn out so well, who was to say about adoption? “Only an idiot could say yes or no,” said Pop, “adoption yes or adoption no, so let me be an idiot and say to you something—when you adopt, it’s true, you take your chances.”
“That’s obvious,” answered Dan. “But isn’t it also taking a chance to have biological kids? Either way, you do the best you can, but you don’t really control what happens.”
“Take Alice, for example,” Alice’s father agreed. “Look what happened to my baby girl Alice. She marries a guy who is admittedly a nice guy, only problem is he carts her somewhere else, then she forgets back home in San Jose, now I only see her maybe twice a year, three times if she has
tsuris
.”
“We come more than that, Pop, so stop with the guilt.”
“Four times.”
They hauled him all the way up to the city so he could visit his ill sister in the Mission District, where she lived behind barred windows and a double lock. “Only one more thing,” Pop insisted, when Dan told him for the third time that he and Alice had to get on
Then a light went on. Dan and Alice, though only nominally Jewish and avoiders of synagogues, went to visit a young rabbi recommended by friends. He was dressed in shirtsleeves to see them in his office, a beardless guy named Nathan Weisfeld. A popular recent addition to Temple Beth David, Weisfeld was a supporter of John Kennedy even if Joe Kennedy was an anti-Semite and Nixon was maybe better for Israel. John Kennedy had a nice wife and children, John Kennedy had been wounded in World War II, John Kennedy came from immigrants, John Kennedy was a liberal. As for adoption, “He who raises someone else’s child is regarded as if he had actually brought him into the world.” It was an act of
chesed
, it made a contribution, it served so beautifully the endeavor of world repair, “which we call
tikkun
.” Weisfeld shrugged. “Of course you should adopt,” he said. “Nothing in Jewish law says no, nowhere is there an admonition.” He shrugged again. “I can only say
mazel tov
. Wonderful news. Now go and build a Jewish home together.”
Conveniently, it was time for the annual Passover trip to Dan’s parents. They lived in Pasadena with air conditioning, but were originally from Pinsk. “In Pinsk,” Dan’s father, Al, asked, when Dan told them what he and Alice were considering, “was there a Jew who adopted, Beryl?” Dan’s mother said no, it was unheard of in Pinsk, this was not something Jewish people did. “She’s right,” said his father. “Your mother is right, Daniel.” “Adoption!” said his mother. “Did your brothers or your sisters adopt? They didn’t adopt. No, every one of them with their own children, our grandchildren, seven grandchildren,
and not one is adopted
.”
“This is what I live with,” Dan said to Alice, as soon as they were out the door. “Textbook Yids.”
They set out for San Jose to see Alice’s father. Dan stopped at pay phones to check on his patients. Alice read
So You’re Thinking of Adopting!
At a roadside picnic table they ate sandwiches and potato chips, and talked about the new pieces of contemporary furniture they were considering for their living room. Alice wanted to donate the old pieces to the Jewish Family & Child Service. They talked about their exasperating parents; Alice’s sister, Bernice, and her marital problems; the cost of joininga private swim club where Alice’s best friend and her husband were members; and, more than the rest of it put together, adoption.
In San Jose, Alice’s father, Dave Levine—sitting on his deck in tennis shorts, thighs splooching where they pressed against his lawn chair—said that someone named Marty Ashkanazi had been adopted after his family got “wiped out” in the Holocaust. This Marty was “today a perfectly good guy,” which Pop felt was proof of something. If Marty could be adopted and turn out so well, who was to say about adoption? “Only an idiot could say yes or no,” said Pop, “adoption yes or adoption no, so let me be an idiot and say to you something—when you adopt, it’s true, you take your chances.”
“That’s obvious,” answered Dan. “But isn’t it also taking a chance to have biological kids? Either way, you do the best you can, but you don’t really control what happens.”
“Take Alice, for example,” Alice’s father agreed. “Look what happened to my baby girl Alice. She marries a guy who is admittedly a nice guy, only problem is he carts her somewhere else, then she forgets back home in San Jose, now I only see her maybe twice a year, three times if she has
tsuris
.”
“We come more than that, Pop, so stop with the guilt.”
“Four times.”
They hauled him all the way up to the city so he could visit his ill sister in the Mission District, where she lived behind barred windows and a double lock. “Only one more thing,” Pop insisted, when Dan told him for the third time that he and Alice had to get on
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