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to respond to, I soon grew bored with her as well. Perfect body and pret-
ty face aside, there was simply nothing between us. Inside I felt a pang
of disappointment-disappointment that, after wet dreams and daily
fantasizing, nothing could seem to bring us together but the fact that we
shared a synagogue, and even that was tenuous, me being an outsider,
an intruder in her temple. There was nothing I could do to salvage what
I had ruined, and it gnawed at me that I had wasted so much time and
mental effort desiring her. We were silent to each other through the rest
of the services.

At some point during the services, the Mourner's Kaddish
was recited. I couldn't understand the Hebrew recitation, but I got the
impression that it should have made me feel something.

§

When the services were over, I went up to speak with Rabbi
Blatt briefly,

"Good Shabbos, Pat!" he said, cheerfully and with his charac-
teristic Rabbi's warmth. "It's lovely to see that you've come as I asked."

"Good Shabbos, Rabbi Blatt;' Ireplied, less enthusiastically.
"Could I speak to you for a second?"

He nodded and guided me into his office. His office hadn't
changed since Tuesday-the same plain wooden desk, the same calmly
unadorned walls, the same yarmulked Jewish children smiling up at me
from the photograph in the same picture frame.

"So, Pat;' he said, "have you given any thought to what I've
recommended ?"

"I don't know;' I answered. Rabbi Blatt hunched in closer to
me and adjusted his glasses. I noticed then that his irises were two differ-
ent colors-the left one blue and the right one brown.

"Well Pat, do you have any ideas?"

"No, Rabbi Blatt-"

"-David;' he said, correcting me again.

"-David, sorry. I really don't know. I don't think your faith is
for me, but-"

"But?"

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