Chapter 1: A Mysterious Package 1 A MYSTERIOUS PACKAGE The box was addressed to Ms. Naomi Teitelbaum , which made Naomi feel very grown-up. It came in the same batch of mail as a check for thirty-six dollars from Naomi''s aunt Rachel, who was in Prague for the winter on a research trip, and a card from Naomi''s great-uncle Irving, who was too old to fly from Florida to California by himself. Naomi''s Bat Mitzvah was three weeks away, and the mail was practically all Bat Mitzvah related: gifts, late RSVPs, decorations for the party. It wasn''t that strange, then, that the box came addressed to Naomi. It was a little strange that there was no return address indicating who the box was from, but that happened from time to time when her older relatives sent things. Naomi stared at the dark, reddish-brown wrapping paper while her mom sorted through the rest of the boring mail. "Can I open it now?" she asked.
"Hmm?" Her mom looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Not right now. Whatever it is will keep until after your lesson with the rabbi." She checked her watch and frowned. "Speaking of which, why aren''t you ready to go?" "I''m ready!" Naomi lifted her foot up over the counter so her mom could see that she was wearing shoes. "I''m so ready. I''m so super-duper ready, I could open this package right now and not even be late!" "Where are your headphones?" Naomi squinted. "I don''t need headphones to meet with Rabbi Levinson.
" Mom squinted right back. "You need your headphones if you''re going to practice your Torah portion in the car." Naomi groaned. "This is an injustice ." "Don''t try that with me, Naomi Sarah. I''ve been dealing in fancy words longer than you''ve been alive." "Yeah, but you work for The Establishment ." Mom didn''t dignify that with a response.
She sent a meaningful look at Naomi''s Bat Mitzvah binder. "Ugh, Mom ." Naomi threw herself sideways over the counter. "I practiced my prayers already today, and Mama said I only had to do that." Her mom''s other eyebrow rose to meet the first one, high on her forehead. She put the mail down, her shiny, white-tipped nails clicking against the counter. "Is that so?" Naomi nodded quickly. "Hmm," her mom said.
"So if I call your mama right now, she''ll back you up?" "We- ell , she''ll definitely back me up that I did my prayers," Naomi told her. "That, young lady, is not the same thing." Naomi scowled and stomped over to the couch. She knew she had been defeated, but she wasn''t going down without a fight. "I know my Torah portion, Mom," she whined, trying to tug her headphones out from where they had tangled in the couch cushions. They were caught on something, and she had to give them a good hard yank to try to get them loose. "Cantor Debbie said I was just about ready." "?''Just about'' isn''t the same as ''completely,''?" Mom said.
She was always saying things like that. Naomi''s mom was an assistant district attorney for Los Angeles County and a total perfectionist. Naomi and her older sister, Deena, were always getting lectures about paying attention to details and keeping track of their work. Naomi''s messy backpack made her mom sigh more times a day than anything Deena ever did. "Fine," Naomi said. Her headphones came free after another sharp tug, and she stomped her way back over to the counter to get her phone. " Now I''m ready." Her mom''s phone started ringing just then, and she waved Naomi off toward the front door.
As she gathered her purse and her cardigan with one hand, she lifted the phone to her ear with the other and said in her professional lawyer voice, "Rebecca Teitelbaum." "Rebecca Teitelbaum," Naomi mimicked, trying to make her voice sound like her mom''s. It was hard--she could never get her vowels to sound round enough. Naomi''s mama didn''t have a different phone voice; she just used her normal voice all the time. Though Naomi supposed that her mama didn''t need a special voice to be a yoga instructor. She didn''t even answer the phone like Mom did, with her whole name: Miriam Teitelbaum . She usually just said, Hello , or, if it was Naomi or Deena calling, How did you get this number? That had stopped being funny after the fourth or fifth time she did it, but she still answered the phone that way, almost every time. Deena was seventeen now and did a lot of eye-rolling at their mama.
Naomi climbed into the back seat of the car with her Bat Mitzvah binder and hit play on her phone, ignoring Deena, who slid into the front seat and made a face at her. Naomi guessed Mom was dropping Deena off at the mall or something. She waved her phone at her sister to show she was listening to her recording and couldn''t talk to Deena about whatever random pop star she was obsessed with that day. Cantor Debbie''s voice chanted the Hebrew words while Naomi followed along quietly, trying not to disturb her mom on the phone. At the end of the recording, Cantor Debbie explained what the Torah portion meant and which words were special. Naomi had listened to the recording so many times that she could practically recite the explanation along with Cantor Debbie. "And when God calls out to Moses from the burning bush, Moses responds ''hineni,'' here I am. This is more than just saying that he''s physically there.
When Moses says ''hineni,'' he is saying that he is present before God and committed to listening and taking on the duties that he is asked to ," Naomi recited along with the recording. "Whatever that means." She threw her arm across her eyes and sighed, long and pained, forgetting for a minute that she was trying to be quiet. In the driver''s seat, her mom snapped her fingers. Universal mom-speak for, Be quiet. I''m on the phone. Deena turned around in the passenger seat and snapped her fingers too, just to be obnoxious. Naomi bared her teeth at her.
"Do your work!" Deena hissed. "Mind your business!" Naomi growled back. Mom snapped her fingers again, and both of them rolled their eyes. Deena turned back around. Naomi pulled her feet up on the car seat and watched the street signs pass by as Cantor Debbie chanted her way through the prayers for after-the-Torah portion. The car pulled up to the temple. Naomi swung the door open as quietly as she could so Mom wouldn''t shush her again, blew her a kiss, stuck her tongue out at her sister, and hurried inside. Mom had dropped her at the side entrance, which led right to Rabbi Levinson''s office.
He was at his desk, the office door wide open and the giant beanbag chair that covered the half of Rabbi Levinson''s office that wasn''t behind his desk--a gift from the class a year ahead of Deena--freshly vacuumed and waiting for his next student. He looked up and waved as Naomi scooched her way inside and clambered up onto the beanbag. "How are you today, Naomi?" Rabbi Levinson asked. Naomi shrugged. "Fine. I like your yarmulke." Rabbi Levinson patted the blue and green tie-dyed yarmulke that sat perched on his hair and smiled. It made him look very young.
Well, not young young, but much younger than Naomi''s moms, at least. Rabbi Levinson was in that puzzling grown-up age bracket that Naomi''s best friend Becca Reznik liked to call "preparental" in the same slightly condescending tone Mrs. Reznik said "prepubescent." Naomi had known the rabbi since she was in kindergarten, and he had seemed old and wise when she was five, but now that she was about to be thirteen and was allowed to hear some of the gossip, she often heard her moms describe the rabbi to their friends as "Dave--you know, the cute young rabbi at Beth Torah," which was weird and gross. She also knew that Deena and all her friends had crushes on him, which was weirder and grosser. Rabbi Levinson wasn''t revolting, Naomi figured, eyeing him critically across the desk as he pulled out whatever book they would be discussing that day and his copy of Naomi''s Bat Mitzvah speech. His hair was stylish and fluffy under his colorful yarmulke, and his glasses were cool and trendy without being hipster. He was tall and smiley, and Naomi knew he worked out because she saw him running by their house once in a while, but he was old .
Anyway, you couldn''t have a crush on a rabbi. Naomi''s Hebrew school teacher had explained that Judaism didn''t really approach sin the same way other religions did, but Naomi was reasonably sure that it was probably considered a sin to have a crush on a rabbi. If it wouldn''t be completely mortifying, she''d ask Cantor Debbie about it. As it was, Naomi just fidgeted as Rabbi Levinson held out his hand for her Bat Mitzvah binder. She passed it over. "I''ve been working on my speech." The rabbi nodded encouragingly. "That''s good! What kind of stuff have you been thinking about?" Naomi drummed her fingers on the desk.
"Well, Cantor Debbie says that the story is about taking responsibility." "Sure." "But Moses didn''t really cause any of the stuff that happened, right? He was just. born at the wrong time and things got put on him." "Sure," the rabbi said again. He never disagreed with his students, Naomi had learned. He just asked gentle questions until they figured out what he was aiming for. "So, then, why is it Moses''s responsibility to go free the slaves? Just because God asked him to? That doesn''t seem fair.
" "What do you think would be fair?" "I don''t know! Couldn''t God have just taken care of it?" Rabbi Levinson n.