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“Remember the house rules. Your first slice is savory: salt, or white cheese, then you can have Nutella,” he said, ignoring her request.
“I’m not supposed to eat dairy, chocolate, or salt before my audition,” Gal said and gulped down her glass of cold water. She smeared fatty white cheese on her bread. Ignoring knife and fork, she ate it with her hands. He let it slide. Choosing your battles was the first rule of parenthood.
“You’re going to make it.” He instilled confidence into his voice, nervous for her.
She’d made it all the way through to be admitted to a place in this prestigious Israeli Opera House’s Summer workshop, and today was the last hurdle. If Gal passed it, she would forego a family trip to Europe and spend the rest of the summer with him. The opera house was a ten-minute walk from his apartment.
“Imma thinks it’s wrong of me to want to be an opera singer. And she says this workshop is too expensive.” Her voice was devoid of feeling, and she stared at her plate, her long hair hiding her expression.
“She doesn’t want you to miss the trip to the Black Forest,” Erez argued. He had promised Rona he would take the workshop’s expense on him.
“You always take her side. She says life in show biz is competitive and frustrating, and I’ll starve for bread. I told her I was following my dreams. It’s not my fault that you guys are dry and boring and that you gave up on everything and became a CPA and she became a product manager.”
“I’m not dry and boring!” Erez hated that his daughter mirrored his own doubts.
“You are. You hide your tattoos, and you’ve become all about work. You named me Gal, which literally means wave, yet you never surf anymore. Or even paddleboard–which you promised to teach me! But you never have the time. You don’t write your book.”
Several months ago, she asked him about the book he was reading, Money Men by Dan McCrum, written about the German Wirecard scandal. He told her his dream was to write a book that mattered, like this one, and was thrilled at how much she loved the idea. Now would be a bad time to tell her he was running for a job, which would make his workdays even longer.
“I’m putting bread on the table,” he said, and literally did that by sliding another two slices onto the communal plate. And since he was wise enough not to chastise his daughter, he could allow himself to salt his own slice and gobble it down while standing up, not even using a plate.
“Geez, at least chew before you swallow,” Gal said.
He smiled at his daughter with an open mouth and made a show of chewing before gulping.
“Gross, Abba, close your mouth.”
“Maybe your mother objects to this particular piece.”
He gestured towards the pile of printed music on the edge of the kitchen counter. The opera house gave the finalists several arias and choral bits to practice and sing for the opening recital. Out of curiosity he translated it from the original German.
“Have you ever understood the German you’re singing? It’s the most antisemitic piece of classical music you can find.”
“What does it matter? We’re all Jewish here. And this was written hundreds of years ago. Choral pieces are a great way to practice singing without vibrato.”
“Look, look here,” he pointed with a French toast slice at the translation, “the chorus of Jews sings ‘his blood be upon us and our children’. That’s fake news, right there in the Gospel, taken as truth and an excuse to butcher Jews.”
Gal’s eyelids blinked fast and her chin quivered, and he realized he made his daughter upset right before her most important audition.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he apologized.
“You’re such a pedantic... CPA.” Her lips trembled, tugging at his heart.
“I’m sorry. I got carried away.” He got up and put his arms around her. “More than anything else, I want you to succeed, and have you with me for the entire summer.” He was gratified when she laid her head against his shoulder. “And you will! You’re great, you’ll nail it.”
He shouldn’t have blamed her for the choices the workshop’s managers made. He unwrapped his arms gently. She gulped down her tears and drank more cold water.
“I need to leave for the office. Call me, tell me how it went, yes?”
She was due back at her mother’s after the audition, and he wouldn’t see her again, not until after the weekend. He pocketed his keys, phone and wallet, his mood sour.
“Good luck, Gali.” She didn’t turn, and he trudged away. The morning had started beautifully and ended dismally, and it was his fault.
“Hey Abba,” she called after him as he reached the door. He turned. His lovely, courageous daughter smiled a small smile at him.
And his day started in the right way.
Chapter 7
