Ever since I helped Jurassic Vassilievitch get a 21st-century haircut (which has completely reverted to type by now), I've been trying not to try to change him too much. It's not fair to him, and it might not always be justified. The haircut was a badly needed and fairly obvious change. Challenging his religious practices and beliefs might not be as warranted.
Similarly, JV's trying not to try to change me too much, unless he feels it's strongly warranted. Which sometimes includes my religious practices and beliefs. Since his education in this area exceeds mine -- he's a big reader of nonfiction books on Jewish history and philosophy; I tend to read murder mysteries and articles about substance abuse treatment -- I'm having trouble arguing with him.
Yesterday, we twice came close to an argument over food. First, JV picked me up and took me to lunch at a very mediocre fish restaurant in Jersey. He spotted something on the dessert menu that he thought was hilarious and pointed it out to me: a deep-fried Milky Way bar.
I started hyperventilating. Ever since I learned about deep-fried Twinkies and Snickers bars a few years ago, in a New York Times article about country fairs, I've been dying to try one. I assumed the only place you could get one was at the fair -- and those venues usually aren't kosher. But this restaurant is.
"I want that!" I cried.
"You're not having that," JV stated flatly.
Russian fathers. So directive. I laughed. "It's cute," I said. "You think that because you sometimes get your way this time around, you always get to tell me what to do. This is not your area."
(We decided -- well, I decided -- that JV is more skilled and knowledgeable in certain "areas," such as fixing things, Russian language and culture, and getting places without getting lost, whereas I am more skilled in other areas, such as psychotherapy, clothing and hairstyles, and food. So when a question comes up and a decision needs to be made, it makes more sense to defer to the person whose area it is. By and large we stick to this agreement.)
"In this case I do," he asserted. "I'm not letting you eat that heart attack on a plate."
"Not letting me?" Normally that kind of statement would infuriate me, but it's difficult to contest when what I want is so patently not what I need.
"You know when you can have one of those?" he asked.
"My birthday?"
"I'm taking you someplace nicer for your birthday," JV said, glancing behind himself to make sure the proprietor wasn't within earshot.
"Chanuka?" I asked. That would actually be kind of appropriate; it's the festival of fried things.
"When you get your cholesterol level down to a number that doesn't need to be medicated," said JV. He crossed his arms and smirked. He was pleased with himself, and rather pleased that the kosher restaurant was so bad.
Unfortunately, I couldn't argue with him because he was completely justified. "You were much more compliant in college," I grumbled.
"You don't know what you've got till it's gone," he retorted. True enough. And I didn't like always being in charge back then. It's still an adjustment letting him make some of the decisions.
I had wanted to take him for another haircut, but unfortunately there were no salons open that he felt comfortable entering. (The ones that were open tended toward the "ethnic," and JV didn't want to risk leaving with his hair in cornrows.) We shopped for some jeans for him, which I probably enjoyed a lot more than he did, and desk chairs and a bookcase for his kids.
"What do you want for dinner?" JV asked as we drove away from The Door Store. It was about 6 p.m., and quite dark. I was feeling a little subdued, as I often do at night during the winter.
"Whatever you want is fine," I said. He glanced over at me, startled.
"Are you okay?" he asked warily. I'd been quiet for the past half-hour as JV and the loading dock employee tied the bookcase to the top of the car -- physics and other practical things are definitely his areas.
Based on what I knew about his previous marriage and evil ex (EE), I sensed he thought I was incubating resentment that would eventually lead to a very unpleasant explosion. "I'm not being passive-aggressive," I said. "I know some women say they're fine and expect men to figure out what's bothering them and fix it. I don't have the patience for that tactic. If I'm mad, I'll tell you and tell you how to fix it. If I say I'm fine, I mean it. Or I'm not, but there's nothing you can do except give me space and give it time."
"Okay," said JV, not sure he believed what I was saying but hoping I meant it. "What do you want for dinner?"
"Whatever you're in the mood for," I said.
"It's your area," he said. "And you've been really nice all day."
"I'm supposed to be nice to you," I said. "I'm a better girlfriend this time around."
"Doesn't mean I shouldn't appreciate it when you're nice," he said.
"Well, thank you for the validation, and it wouldn't kill you to tell me I'm pretty once in a while," I said.
"You're beautiful," he said. "What do you want for dinner?"
"I'm up for anything," I said. I wanted him to make the decision. When I'm mildly depressed it's hard to make decisions, so I actually don't mind people telling me what to do. It's reassuring and makes life easier.
"In the mood for more fish? How about salmon?" he asked.
"Fine with me," I said. We went to the supermarket, and I talked him out of farm-raised and heavily dyed "Atlantic" salmon in favor of "wild catch." (My area, after all.) He made the salmon, I made some rice. And we had an argument about Jewish weddings.
I honestly am not sure how the topic came up. I know I asked him what his wedding to EE was like, but I can't remember why I asked. I don't think it came out of nowhere. Doesn't really matter, because he was willing to discuss it. And it wasn't so much an argument as his insistence -- again -- that it's not important to follow Jewish rituals and traditions to the letter.
"A wedding is your first statement of who you are as a couple," JV said. "It's more meaningful if it reflects who you are, rather than just an impersonal ceremony. I prefer something more egal."
To me that sounded kind of like do-it-yourself, make-it-up-as-you-go-along Judaism. Of which I am not a fan. But I couldn't really explain why the ancient rituals mean so much to me.
"Tell me, my dear," JV continued, "which rabbi said that the wedding ring should be placed on the bride's right forefinger?" This is another example of where his Jewish education (but not his faith) outstrips mine.
"Rambam?" I guessed.
"No," said JV. "Rav Aristotle."
Logic is clearly one of his areas. "So what would you want to do?" I asked him. "Write your own vows?"
"No, but I would want to follow the example that friends of mine have set," he said.
The discussion didn't really go anywhere -- honestly, there was nowhere for it to go, since we're not actually planning a wedding. I'd like to think that it brought us closer to negotiating a compromise, but I can't really say that it did. Still, dinner was lovely, and the day overall was pretty nice. I guess it's more of a process than a switch.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"
