How is this Night Different...?

How is this night different from all other nights?

*****

It happens every Passover: Ben Glazer breaks the 10th Commandment: thou shall not covet thy neighbor's wife.

Passover is the Jewish festival celebrating God's deliverance of the ancient Hebrews from bondage in Egypt. The wife in question is Mindy Setrin-Greenwald who is married to Sam Greenwald, Ben's third cousin several times removed. Ben, thirty-seven and never married, has had his lustful eyes on Mindy since she was a high school freshman. Eight years Ben's junior, Mindy married right out of college to the once married and divorced Sam Greenwald, twelve years her senior. Ben has never told anyone in his family, the twenty-odd relatives and their mishpochas (families) that sit around the Seder table devouring the usual festival meal of matzo ball soup, gefilte fish, brisket, turkey, etc. Mindy doesn't know either, though Ben wonders if she suspects it, if she catches his eyes wandering in her direction, sometimes discreetly, sometimes not. After all, he's been doing it for fifteen years, ever since he first laid eyes on the adorable Mindy, she with the big, brown, puppy-dog eyes, peaches and cream complexion and slim figure she's kept that way subsequent to her high school cheerleader days through a disciplined exercise regimen.

What does she see in the obnoxious, pot-bellied Sam Greenwald? Ben wonders. Yes, he owns a plumbing business that does well, or so it would seem by the material trappings of success, the McMansion in upscale, gated Huntington and the Audi SUVs in their two-car garage. But Mindy, unlike Sam, is college educated, holds a master's degree in English and teaches at a local junior college. She's laid back and quiet in sharp contrast to Sam's outgoing, bawdy, life-of-the-party personality. Is she happy? Ben doesn't think so. He's heard the rumors about Sam's drinking and verbal abuse. More than that, Mindy doesn't look happy, never does when Ben sees her. It isn't often, a few times a year at family gatherings, including Passover, the Big One. She seldom smiles, and when she does, it's something akin to the Mona Lisa, wan and ambiguous. Ben's never seen her laugh, not even when the other guests yuck it up over a joke or some comical situation.

Mindy can do better, Ben thinks. She should have married a guy like him, college educated, physically fit. He's not rich. Even so, he's got a secure position with the Social Security Administration. He hauls in about eighty grand a year. Sure, it pales in comparison to Sam's six-figure gig, but it's not bad money and the benefits are tough to beat. Plus, Ben considers himself "cultured." He reads books, goes easy on the boob tube, attends ballet and theater. Mindy reads a lot too; she and Ben sometimes compare reading lists. "Doctor Zhivago" is a favorite of hers, "so romantic" she's told him. "Giles Goat-Boy" ranks among his top ten, a list that includes "The Naked and the Dead" and "The World According to Garp."

Besides being cultured, Ben considers himself a "good Jew." He fasts on Yom Kippur and attends synagogue, not just on the holidays but Friday nights and Saturday mornings when he can make it. It makes him feel good, keeps him anchored to the faith. He shouldn't be having these impure thoughts about Mindy, yet he can't help it. His feelings of guilt moved him to consult with a rabbi. "You're okay," the rabbi told him, "as long as you don't do something about it, cross the line from thought to action."

Ben keeps that in mind when he attends the next Seder. This year, it's held over the Setrin's, Mindy's parents, and the same twenty-odd people attend. Mindy's there, along with hubby Sam. She wears a black dress hemmed at her lovely knees, pearls around her graceful neck and low heels. She stands about five-foot-five, three inches shy of Ben's height. They'd be a good fit, he thinks, in more ways than one. Oops! There he goes again with the impure thoughts. But he's okay, on terra firma with God so long, per the rabbi's wise counsel, as he doesn't cross the line. Not that he would. But...well, she looks so lovely in that dress, so pretty, so cute with that blue ribbon in her hair, the way her dark brown, wavy locks cascade below her bare shoulders. He peers over his Haggadah, staring at her when she reads her portion of the Passover story: "Once we were slaves in the land of Egypt..."

When she finishes, hubby Sam takes the next paragraph. He's the same old Sam with the same old voice, loud and haughty, the kind of voice that demands to be the center of attention. Mindy looks across the table at Ben and rolls her eyes. She's tired of it too, he senses. All the guests take turns reading; around the table it goes, and then the meal is served, the matzo ball soup, charoses from the Seder plate, salad, brisket, turkey, sweet potatoes, Manischewitz Concord grape wine. Merriment reigns, for Passover is perhaps the most joyous of Jewish holidays.

Once the meal is over, most of the guests gather in the living room, holding their bloated stomachs. Sitting is not for Ben. "I need to work this off," he says, sticking his thumbs inside his belt. "I'm taking a walk."

"I think I'll join you," Mindy says. "Anybody else?" she calls out. No one gets up.

Mindy and Ben stroll down the Setrin's street of detached, pre-World War Two bungalows. A chill is in the air, typical for early April in the Mid-Atlantic region. It is very dark, for there are no street lights here, just a row of thick trees that line both sides of the asphalt road. Ben's fantasies have taken him to this setting, alone with Mindy in the dark. He thinks about slipping his hand into hers. Then, if all goes well, he imagines what he'd say: "I've been attracted to you for years, and I was hoping you might be able to reciprocate. Adultery is wrong, I know, but you don't seem very happy with Sam. If you ever decide to leave him, I'll be waiting."

Well, maybe not exactly that, but words to that effect. Of course, he wouldn't dare make those kinds of advances toward Mindy. She's a married woman and it would violate the 10th commandment. By definition, just thinking about it is sinful. Don't desire and covet mean the same thing?

"You know, I've been thinking," Mindy says after they walk on to the next block.

Ben, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his blue Dockers, turns his head. "Yes? About what?"

"That maybe I got married too young. I mean, many of my friends are still single, and here I got hitched right after college. Seems like I've been married my whole adult life." She chuckles. "You know, come to think of it, I have."

Ben senses an opportunity here he can't resist. "Is it that, marrying too young, or is it Sam, the guy you married?"

"A little of both, actually," she says. "I mean, Sam's a good provider and all that. But..."

"But...but what?"

She shakes her head. "Let's just say I should have got to know him better before committing myself only six months after we started dating."

Ben, feeling wildly hopeful, plows ahead. "Just my observation, and no offense, but it sounds like you're not very happy."

Her laugh is tinged with cynicism. "Happy. The big H word again. A couple years ago, I told my parents I wasn't happy in the marriage and was thinking about leaving. They said I was thinking selfishly, that I should be grateful that Sam provides a good life for little Rachel and me. Materially they were right, of course. My teaching salary and what child support Sam might pay would still compromise our lifestyle. Plus, Rachel's only four. She wouldn't understand. It would traumatize her. Sam's a good dad. I'll give him that, if nothing else."

They walk in silence for a minute. Then Ben says, "Do you still love Sam?"

"Still? You're assuming I once did."

"You didn't?"

"I thought I did. Or, I wanted to. Look, I was only twenty-two. Marriageable age, I guess, but it was too young for me I now realize." She stops, leans against a parked car and folds her arms against her chest. Now let ME get personal."

"Shoot."

"You're close to forty years old. So why haven't you ever married? Are you one of those guys who can't commit?"

Hands still stuffed inside his pockets, he faces her. "No, just one of those guys still searching for his dream mate, I suppose."

"You're a fan of "The Bachelor," I bet, holding the final rose, looking for that ideal woman."

He laughs. "I do watch that show, one of my guilty pleasures, I must admit." He then picks up a twig, holds it up and says, "Mindy Setrin-Greenwald, will you accept this rose?"

Hand over her heart, playing along with mock melodrama, she says, "Oh, I'd love to. And would, dear boy, but for the hyphen in my name, Setrin-Greenwald."

Ben brushes down his dark mustache. His smile fades. "Ah, a major sticking point, yes. But, let's say your name was still just Setrin, and you were, perhaps, looking for that ideal guy. Then what?"

"Then I'd say yes, pluck the rose from your chivalrous hand and kiss you passionately on the mouth."

Ben can't tell if she's serious or still play acting. He moves closer and grips his hands around her shoulders. "Can you pretend?"

"Pretend what, to kiss you passionately on the mouth or actually do it?"

"Pretend the hyphen isn't there."

She throws her hands on her hips. "Is this a proposal?"

"No, just an admission."

"Of what?"

"That I've adored you for years and that, well, what does it matter? You've got that hyphen in your name."

She reaches up and holds his face. "Well, to answer your question, I can indeed pretend it isn't. And, as long as we're confessing, I think you're a really cute guy."

That's all it takes for Ben to do what he's longed to do at all those Seders. He crosses the line and stays across even as the rabbi's advice tumbles around in his brain like some rude noise he can't shut off. But that advice now sounds like a faint echo; it can hardly compete with the incredible high of holding Mindy in his arms, enjoying the sweet taste of her tender lips and the warm, erotic contours of her firm, yet feminine body.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you have the hots for me." Mindy says. She rubs her hand over his crotch. "Or is that a piece of gefilte fish down there?"

"If it is, it sure doesn't need any horseradish," he quips. "It's on fire enough."

She shoves her hand up her dress and rubs her pussy. "Speaking of fires, I'm not exactly freezing down there myself." She takes his hand and places it in her crotch."

His brown eyes widen. "You're soaked!"

"No kidding. You know, you're the first man who's noticed in quite a while."

"Hmm...Sounds like a not so subtle commentary on your sex life with Sam."

"You're being generous to call what we have a sex life."

He pulls her close for some more smoothing. And then, minutes later, he says, "If you ever decide to leave him..."

"Like I said, I've got Rachel to think about." She pauses. "But we could have an affair."

Ben can't believe what he's hearing. "You could do that?"

"Had you asked me a few years ago, I'd have said no. At this point? Probably. At the very least, I'm willing to try." She rubs her hand over his crotch once again. "Are you game?" Ben doesn't answer. Instead, he pulls her into his arms again, his way of dodging her question, of avoiding telling her about the state of moral ambiguity he finds himself in.

After another heavy smooth, replete with dry humps and inside the pantie finger-fucking, she says, "I'll take that as a yes."

They walk back hand in hand, then decouple upon entering the house. The guests remain seated, laughing and trading stories. "That was some walk," Sam bellows. "Where'd you two go, China?"

"No, just trampling over the 10th commandment," Ben says under his breath.

Rachel runs up and hugs her mom. She's proud of herself for having said the Four Questions, a salient portion of the Passover service traditionally recited by the youngest child.

"I'm starting to remember those questions, mommy," she chirps.

Mindy picks her up, musses her Beatles haircut and kisses her on the cheek. "Oh yeah? Let's hear them."

The child makes a face, shy and mischievous. "Well, I know the first one, anyway." The guests quiet down, waiting for her performance. In close to a whisper, she says, "How is this night different from all other nights?" The guests clap.

"Very good, precious," Mindy says, hugging her.

Rachel beams. Then she looks serious. "How IS this night different from all other nights, mommy? Because we eat matzah?"

"Well, that, and for another reason." She looks at Ben. "On all other nights, mommy is, well, not very happy. But on this night mommy is very happy."

Uneasy laughter ripples across the room. The guests look at each other, confused and uncomfortable. Their eyes stay glued to Mindy, waiting for more. Ben feels himself blush and looks away.

Rachel pouts. "Why is mommy so happy tonight?"

Mindy puts her down and turns toward Ben. "Because mommy is no longer afraid of doing things that might make her happy."

"Doing what things, mommy?"

Mindy sighs, takes a deep breath and stoops down to Rachel's eye level. "Oh, things like eating chocolate ice cream, things like that."

Rachel beams again. "That makes me happy, too, mommy."

The guests giggle. They look relieved and return to their socializing. But Ben's had enough. He waves goodbye at the door. "Wait, I'll walk you out," Mindy, says. She closes the door behind her, takes Ben's hand and pulls him over to the side of the house. Then she reaches inside a side pocket of her dress, pulls out her cell and suggests they exchange numbers.

Ben pulls out his own cell, slowly, tentatively. "Mindy, I'm not so sure about this."

Mindy blinks. "You're kidding? After what we just did, you're not sure? What happened to, quote unquote, 'I've adored you for years'?"

"Nothing happened to it," Ben says meekly. "I still do. But the guilt of breaking the 10th commandment...I'm not sure I could live with that."

"You've already broken it. We both have. And God has yet to strike us down." He nods, stays silent. "Look, Ben, we can both atone on Yom Kippur. I mean, that's what it's for, to atone for our sins. Right?"

Ben senses the sarcasm in her tone. She obviously doesn't believe as he does. "Can you give me a rain check?"

She guffaws. "A rain check?!"

"Well, I know this sounds silly, but I'd like to consult with my rabbi first."

She doubles over in hysterics. Then, after pulling herself together: "Ben, you're too much. Sure, go ahead and consult with your rabbi. Meanwhile, I'll be looking for my chocolate ice cream elsewhere."

He watches her walk toward the front door, still gigging. What an amazingly desirable piece of pulchritude, he thinks. If only he could get The Almighty's approval.