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As it stands now, Roy Kent’s main connection to Judaism is being on Wikipedia’s list of Jewish footballers. Once, a reporter asked if he was concerned about playing a match on Yom Kippur, and his gut reaction was, “why?”
Like he’s going to take time out of his busy schedule to sit in a pew with a bunch of old farts and listen to a boring Rabbi go on about redemption and scapegoats, listening to the sound of his stomach rumbling. You’re supposed to sing and pray all day and you can’t even drink water? The fuck kind of masochistic bullshit is that?
He doesn’t even do Hanukkah anymore, which is the easiest sell of all Jewish holidays. It has the least amount of time-wasting rituals and self-denial . And his dreidel game was un-fucking-touchable .
When his sister, Fiona, got pregnant, she had a fleeting notion that she’d get back into practicing. Roy almost had the desire to get, fuck, at least one yarmulke. But with no one else to join the two of them, the idea kind of petered out. Their dad was Anglican, so mum had to be, too, for some reason. It was just easier to keep things the same. Phoebe arrived and got a Hebrew name but little else to mark that part of her heritage.
Half the time, a holiday is done and gone before Roy will realize it happened. It’s not fair though - everyone else only has one calendar to worry about.
“Oh, before I forget, we have to make sure the guest room is nice and presentable,” says Keeley one day, wrapping her arms around Roy as he cooks brunch for their friends. “Mum’s visiting for Pesach this year.”
Roy has to ask her to repeat herself.
“ Pesach ?” Keeley says again. “You know… Passover?”
He blinks.
“You know what Passover is,” Keeley says, incredulously. “Right? Roy, please tell me you know what Passover is?”
Roy furrows his brow. He flips a bit of bacon that he’s starting to feel guilty making for his girlfriend.
His Jewish girlfriend. Keeley Jones, who he realizes he only assumed wasn’t Jewish because, like him, her name sounds goyische as fuck. She had to have mentioned this before if it’s true, but he can’t remember. He looks at her, trying to determine if she’s joking or if she really is the nice Jewish girl that his bubbe always wanted to find for him. He goes and finds one on his own by accident.
“Of course I fucking know what Passover-. You’re Jewish?” he asks.
“You didn’t know that?” call Rebecca and Ted from the dining room, in unison.
“Private fucking conversation!” yells Roy, before turning back to Keeley with a look that says “am I the world’s biggest idiot for just finding this out now?”
Keeley stares blankly at him. Which means ‘yes.’
“Fuuuuuuck,” he says.
--
Keeley’s mother, Susan, is a delightful woman.
Actually, delightful doesn’t cut it. Long ago, Roy decided that if anyone tried to lay a finger on Susan Jones, well, no one would ever find their fucking body. He doesn’t say that about every woman who might one day be his mother-in-law. He hardly says it about anyone because it’s a bit intense.
The first time they met, she hugged him so gently and warmly. Weirdly, his knee stopped hurting at the same time, and for a moment he genuinely thought she had magic, healing powers. (His doctor said she’d probably just managed to lower his blood pressure for the first time in years.)
Every time she visits, even if it’s not a special occasion, she brings everyone hand-made presents. That first meeting, Susan brought him oven mitts that she had hand-sewed. They had greyhounds on them. And she made a matching pair for Phoebe with puppies.
(This did not make Roy cry, contrary to Keeley’s version of events.)
This visit, it’s all knitwear; she’s been big into crochet.
It takes about ten minutes for Susan and Keeley to stop shrieking at each other in excitement, saying it’s been so long. Roy does not point out that they saw each other last month at a cousin’s wedding he was forced to attend. It does feel like it’s been forever.
“Here we all are,” Susan says, pulling what seems like endless goodies from her bags. “A black beanie for Roy, a pink toque for Phoebe, a pair of fuzzy slipper-socks for my angel. Chocolates for Phoebe - but don’t tell your mum - and I’ve got a lovely pinot for the three of us.”
Phoebe runs off with her sweets so Roy and Keeley can’t swipe any more than they already have by the time her box of chocolates actually comes to her hands. Wearing her new pink hat, with a floofy pom-pom on the top that’s so unbearably cute it makes Roy want to gouge his fucking eyes out.
The three adults sit around the table, catching up. Around sundown, Susan stands up and puts her hands on her hips.
“Alright,” she says, “where’s the candles?”
Keeley stands up, too, and goes to the kitchen. They just bought new candles and candlesticks for Passover, to commemorate Roy’s first time celebrating since he was a kid. Phoebe got to pick them out, which is why their only bit of Judaica in the house is bubblegum pink and covered in glitter.
“Candles?” Roy says, feeling a bit foolish. “I thought Passover started tomorrow night.”
Keeley stops in her tracks in front of the cupboard. Susan stares at him over her wine glass. Both women look him up and down, trying to tell if he’s serious.
He surreptitiously checks the Hebrew calendar app he downloaded the other day after he learned Susan was coming. Shabbos , it says.
“Oh,” he says. “Fuck.”
“When was the last time you kept shabbat ?” asks Susan.
Keeley’s eyes go wide for a second, presumably hoping her mom won’t ask her that next. Roy’s no snitch - he doesn’t tell Susan that her daughter not-infrequently spends the sabbath getting wasted with Rebecca.
“Uh,” Roy says, stalling.
Roy’s family never lit candles on Friday night, even when zayde was still around. And most of his Fridays since he was 9 years old have belonged to football.
After turning out the lights overhead, Keeley sets down the sparkling, pink candlesticks and places two short white candles in each one. She hands Roy a box of matches.
“Here, babe,” she says. “I think you should light them.”
He looks at her, helpless, with a match in his hand.
“You just light the candles, love. Yes, just like that.”
There’s nothing inherently magical about lighting a candle in a dark room, but it sure feels that way. And he’s a heartless bastard whose most spiritual practice is smelling the pitch just after it's been mowed. But if he was more of a poet, he could say something about how miraculous it is that two small flames can illuminate the faces of the people you love in a way you’ve never seen them before.
He sees Keeley’s sparkling eyes staring at him, filled with what almost seems like pride. All he’s done is lit a match. Not a big deal. But her eyes are watering. Susan’s, too, he realizes. He feels self-conscious. Something else comes next but he doesn’t quite remember…
“Oh, then it’s-.”
He puts his hands out in front of him, waving them over the flames, then drawing them back to his face. Once, then twice, then three times.
He covers his eyes. Then…
“I don’t remember the blessing,” he says. Uncharacteristically, he’s almost too meek to hear.
“Just follow along with us, sweetheart,” says Susan.
He can’t see their faces with his own buried in his hands. And he doesn’t remember if he’s allowed to look.
It’s silent for a moment, and then they begin to sing the blessing. To his surprise, Roy does know it:
Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha’olam asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu l’hadlik ner shel Shabbat.
There’s only three voices in the room, but it’s weird. It feels like there’s more. His eyes closed and his ears full of Hebrew, he feels drawn back to one of the few times he can remember going to shul . He must have been about seven-years-old. Zayde was with him.
The Rabbi had just lit the candles, the voices of the congregation were beginning to rise, and zayde leaned down and told Roy:
“Can you hear it, yingele ? Centuries of our people coming together to welcome in the spirit of Shabbos . They’re still singing with us.”
When the singing stops, Roy puts his hands back down. He knows that he’s crying. It’s fucking embarrassing. But Keeley’s expression hasn’t changed. Like she’s just so fucking proud of him for repeating a few words that he doesn’t even fully understand and getting emotional about it. All over some stupid commandment from a god that he doesn’t believe in anyway.
Keeley wipes his tears away with her sleeve. She’s crying, too. Fuck, he made her cry.
She starts saying something else in Hebrew, shaky as it is.
He thinks he recognizes it, so he joins in.
Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha’olam shehecheyanu v’kiyimanu vehigi’anu lazman hazeh.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to do that one for shabbos ,” says Roy, after a moment.
Keeley smiles, kisses him on the cheek, and goes to clean up the wine glasses.
“That’s not why she said it,” says Susan.
She stands, gives Roy a little peck on the forehead, and leaves to check that Phoebe hasn’t eaten all her chocolates and passed out without brushing her teeth.
Roy watches the candles dwindling down.
He looks around. No one can see him.
“Thank you for singing with us,” he whispers to the flames.