The Sweetest Deal

In the Caracas of my youth, I’d wake in the morning and count the parrots and macaws lined up on my windowsill. Caracas has the best weather in the world — it’s spring all year long. Birdsong floats on the air, flecks of flying color fill the sky, yellow araguaney trees sway in the steady gentle wind. But the winds of religion in town… let’s just say, they’re not as steady.

We were a typical traditional Venezuelan Jewish family. My father would make Kiddush on Shabbos, followed by a cheesy quiche, then minute roast with mushrooms, and on to the television from there. Still, the meat was always kosher, and we considered ourselves good Jews.

When I was 15, something crazy happened: My older brother became religious. He had attended some seminars led by a visiting rabbi, Rabbi Yosef Yagen from Monsey, and decided to live by this new truth he’d discovered. He got married shortly after at the first separate-seating wedding in Venezuela that anyone could remember; he had a mechitzah built from scratch. This was all a bit much for my parents, and a new tension filled our warm, comfortable home.

I’d sometimes go to my brother and sister-in-law for Shabbos, to spend time with my young nieces. They were cute, but I’d count the minutes until Shabbos was over, bored beyond belief. I once brought my boyfriend David along, and his reaction was, “Rebecca, if you want this kind life we may as well cut things off right now.” He didn’t have to worry.