{"id":2793,"date":"2015-03-27T03:12:42","date_gmt":"2015-03-27T03:12:42","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/?p=2793"},"modified":"2015-03-27T03:13:09","modified_gmt":"2015-03-27T03:13:09","slug":"the-pickle-rabbi-by-emile-barrios","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/the-pickle-rabbi-by-emile-barrios\/","title":{"rendered":"The Pickle Rabbi by Emile Barrios"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Sidewalk<\/a>
Sidewalk Cafe by Jonelle Summerfield<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The Pickle Rabbi<\/h1>\n

by Emile Barrios<\/p>\n

I need to know if Di Fara has the best pizza in New York.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow\u2019s the writing going?\u201d my wife back in California asks every night. Great. Wonderful. You wouldn\u2019t believe.<\/p>\n

\u201cNew York is where all the writers live,\u201d I had told her. \u201cI\u2019ll work on the novel for a month, meet people, get into the community\u2014it\u2019ll launch my career.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy sweet Hemingway,\u201d she said. \u201cGo.\u201d<\/p>\n

Three weeks in the city and I\u2019m riding the Q train to this ancient pie house I overheard someone talking about.<\/p>\n

Every day I work. But my pages sound plagiarized and I\u2019ve lost the thread of the plot. In California I called myself novelist. Eight days now before I fly home to \u201cTell me all about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Avenue J in Midwood buzzes with restless energy, low mismatched buildings shouting with bright Hebrew letters. Heimische. Glatt. I\u2019m awash in a river of serious bearded men and young boys with long curls and black hats, old ladies in babushkas.<\/p>\n

Di Fara is on the next corner, an anachronistic sore thumb with its shabby sign and stained brick. Inside, the peeling walls and ground-down linoleum radiate primal baking smells.<\/p>\n

Dom, the pizza legend in a plaid polyester shirt, caresses the dough and composes rough-shaped pies while a crowd watches. Since 1964 it\u2019s been only him\u2014when he\u2019s not there the place is closed. The wait can be two hours.<\/p>\n

I take a bite and taste Dom\u2019s mastery\u2014spicy and sublime. His kingdom is shabby and dusted with flour, but there is no doubt. He makes the Best Pizza in New York.<\/p>\n

Outside the sun is below the buildings, decaying leaves thick on the shivery air. I see a sign on a bright green awning: Pickles Made Under Rabbinical Supervision. White barrels occupy the sidewalk and my goyim brain grasps at the concept.<\/p>\n

Is there a Pickle Rabbi? And wouldn\u2019t that be the worst rabbi job? Maybe it\u2019s an entry-level position for new rabbis, or where they send rabbis who stray from their calling\u2014a kind of pickle rehab. I imagine an idealistic young Pickle Rabbi, curls redolent with brine and spice, reading the Talmud amongst the barrels and dreaming of his own congregation. First the pickles, they tell him. Then we\u2019ll see.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you Jewish?\u201d<\/p>\n

A twentysomething hasidim grabs my arm.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d I go blank. He pulls at my sleeve.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you Jewish?!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUh, I\u2019m not.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAugh!\u201d He runs away.<\/p>\n

A taxi horn blares and the pickle smell stings my nose. Two blocks away, the Q clatters. I stand there, trembling.<\/p>\n

An old man with a long white beard touches my shoulder. \u201cHe\u2019s assembling a minyan,\u201d he says. \u201cA prayer service. He would have invited you to join.\u201d<\/p>\n

I nod and then he\u2019s gone too, leaving nothing but the barrels and blank onrushing faces in the imminent dusk. I wind my scarf tighter and walk, eyes downcast, past Di Fara toward the train.<\/p>\n

Suddenly, I need the hour back to Manhattan.<\/p>\n

###<\/p>\n

My memoir, Nub: Story of an Ex-Cripple was published in 2007. My work has also appeared in Vestal Review and Concho River Review. I\u2019m currently working on a novel about the Cajun culture of south Louisiana. My MFA is from UC Riverside\/Palm Desert.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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