A Potluck Dinner

About a decade ago, when Wade first started Life Sanctuary Ranch, he reached out to Marta Rosenberg, who co-owns a neighboring sanctuary ranch. Hers, like most rescue ranches around, solely houses female equines, which are easier to manage than males.

Wade saw a need that hadn’t been met and Marta agreed to mentor him for free, guiding him through feeding schedules, ranch management, and safety practices.

But what truly sealed their bond was the type of humor they both enjoy: self-deprecating and often very politically incorrect.

Turned out, Marta was also a co-rabbi at Beth Chai Or, a reform synagogue twenty minutes away. It took Wade by surprise when Marta casually mentioned it six months into the mentorship.

“You know, bubbeleh, I was raised a JAP,” Marta told Wade one time as they were refilling the pig trough. “Jewish American Princess. My dad, oy, he went full meshugah when I said I wanted to leave Brooklyn and move to Los Angeles to open a rescue ranch.”

“Even worse than when you came out as gay?” Wade said.

“Oh, absolutely,” Marta said. “My parents met when they marched with MLK in Selma. They even paid for my honeymoon with Jessica. But no matter how tomboy I was, I’m still their princess with a sketchy track record taking care of animals. It got to me. First death on the ranch was Esther. A hen. Old age and disease. I was so wrecked with guilt I became a rabbi. It helps half the time. Therapy helps with the other half.”

Even after Marta’s mentorship ended a year later, they checked in at least once a week, helping out at each other’s ranches. But throughout their friendship, she never nudged Wade or tried to bring him to the temple.

When October 7, 2023 happened, Beth Chai Or, like so many other synagogues around the world, started receiving more threats. And when Marta asked for assistance, Wade didn’t think twice.

That same week, he began volunteering every Shabbat, leaving the ranch to his second-in-command, Derek. He’s never been observant, but after everything that had happened, he felt the need to protect his community, his people.

While the other security volunteers take turns stepping inside to pray or join the service, Wade stays outside. He paces the perimeter, scanning the street, radio in hand, his muscle memory bringing back the discipline and vigilance of his Marine training.

This routine, an addition to his ranch routine, became even more important after Wade’s breakup with Chrissy. So when Rabbi Marta emailed the volunteers for an appreciation potluck, Wade knew exactly what to bring: vegetarian stuffed grape leaves and a handful of hamantaschen, filled with sweet, chunky apple preserves straight from the ranch. Something savory and sweet, for people who don’t turn away.

When Wade arrives at Beth Chai Or, he sees Eitan, one of the security volunteers, patrolling the perimeter. Wade already prepared a small container with his stuffed grape leaves and hamantaschen. Eitan thanks Wade and tells him to enjoy himself and he’ll radio Wade if there’s anything.

As Wade walks into the building, he realizes he’s rarely been inside the temple. That evening, the function room looks lively with a table in the center full of foods. He chuckles as he sees Marta already cleared a space for his dishes, complete with the labels. She runs the synagogue like a tight ship, just like she runs her own rescue ranch.

He chats with a few other volunteers and grabs a plate and some food from the table before settling down in the corner. There are about a dozen other people in the room, chatting and laughing, but he can’t shake the loneliness. At least the vegetable kugel he’s eating is delicious. Different, but delicious. Whole wheat noodles maybe? But he can’t pinpoint what kind of wheat.

“Wade… I mean Isaac,” Marta taps Wade’s shoulder. “Bubbeleh, these apple hamantaschen are geshmak! I can’t stop eating them. Jess’s gonna complain how fat I’ve become. Are the apples from your ranch? It’s not really apple season, is it?”

Wade smiles and hugs Marta. He made a conscious decision to introduce himself as “Isaac” in the synagogue but he’s still not used to people using his first name to greet him, and he can tell neither is Marta, who’s known him as Wade for almost a decade now.

“Come to the ranch, Rabbi, you could help us clean the chicken coop. We’ll work off some of the calories!” Wade laughs when he sees Marta roll her eyes. “But yeah, they’re… apple preserves from a few months ago. Our trees gave a lot, but… we haven’t had as many visitors ever since… you know.”

“Oy, that was unfortunate. But that’s the way of the fakakta world these days. We just have to be grateful for our community. And our allies.”

Chrissy’s face flash in Wade’s mind.

During the day, Wade busies himself with chores, tasks, anything the ranch needs. But when night comes and he’s alone, the minutes when he puts a book down before sleep eventually claims him are difficult. His thoughts always come back to Chrissy, even if he’s locked out all the mementos and the photos. Memories of Chrissy surface. They make Wade smile at first, but the joy never lasts.

“And we can’t thank you enough for volunteering with our security team,” Marta says.

Wade nods.

“Hey, listen. I don’t know if you know Rachel? Rachel Stein? She and her husband, Eli, they’re both psychoanalysts. A pair of over-achievers if you ask me.”

Wade snorts as he holds his laughter. “Rabbi, they’re your congregants!”

“It was a compliment! Relax. Anyway, Rachel’s been running the women’s support group and Eli’s men’s group starts next week. She’s here with her son, Yaron. I did his bar mitzvah. Nice kid, a bit mouthy, and well, you’ll see.” Marta waves to a woman from across the room. She waves back and walks toward Wade and Marta.

Wade curses in his head, he’s so not ready to socialize with new people, but stands up and forces a smile.

The woman gives Marta a hug. “Rabbi, I just love your saffron challah!”

“I made it special for you! I remember how you much you enjoyed it last time.” Marta says. “Anyway, this is Isaac.”

“Hi,” Rachel shakes Wade’s hand. “I’ve seen you patrolling the synagogue. Thank you for keeping us safe.”

“Yes, of course, my pleasure.”

“And points for using barley noodles in the kugel,” Marta says. “I didn’t know if I needed to make a Tu-BiShvat-specific potluck or not.”

“That’s what it is!” Wade looks at the piece of kugel in his plate. “It’s so much better than egg noodles.”

Rachel nods and smiles. “It could be an acquired taste, but I’m glad you like it.”

“Isaac is all about trying new things,” Marta says. “Speaking of, I was just telling him about the men’s support group Eli’s hosting.”

Wade shoots Marta a wide-eyed, half-smile look. She smiles back at him, a twinkle in her eye, daring him to respond.

“Eli’s super excited about it,” Rachel says. “It starts next Wednesday. Eight sessions, once a week. He’s keeping it small just like the women’s group. Five already signed up as far as I know. One more and that’s it.”

Before Wade can say anything, a young man quietly sidles up to Rachel.

“Oh, hey.” Rachel puts her hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Isaac, this is Yaron, my son. He’s an undergrad, working his way to be a paleontologist.”

“Yeah?” Wade shakes Yaron’s hand. “That’s super neat.”

“I always tell Isaac his chickens are basically tiny T-rexes, especially during feeding time,” Marta says.

“Oh?” Yaron says. His eyes light up. “You have chickens?”

“I have a rescue ranch,” Wade says. “In fact, Rabbi Marta here was my mentor when I started out. But honestly, Rabbi, my chickens are so much more well-behaved than y…”

“Wait,” Yaron says, cutting Wade mid-sentence. “What’s… What’s the name of your rescue ranch? Is it Life? In Woodland Hills?”

“Uh, yes?” Wade flips through the rolodex of memory in his head. He can’t remember a Stein family ever visiting the ranch. Maybe Yaron went with his school?

“Mom!” Yaron grabs Rachel’s arm. “This is the guy! Toldja he looks familiar.”

“What? What guy?” Rachel says. “Also, inside voice, please.”

“Sorry,” Yaron says, but his wide smile isn’t hostile. “Remember? The video last year, the diner in NoHo?”

Wade can feel his legs grow weak. Yaron can’t possibly mean…

“Ice cream store,” Marta says.

“That’s it! Ice cream store,” Yaron says. “You were the one who pulled out that guy with the pink hair. You’re friends with him, right? What’s his name? Christian?”

“Christopher,” Wade says. “Chrissy.” The word feels sweet on his tongue. Familiarity engulfs his brain, then the sorrow settles in. He hasn’t said that name in months.

“Yeah, Christopher. Dude, he’s badass. I gotta tell Sarah I met you. She’s my girlfriend. We started wearing our Magen David again after seeing the video.”

Wade’s smile blooms, even if his heart can still feel the bruise.

Yaron sighs. “You know, our friends, even the apolitical ones, would never step up and defend us.”

“I wasn’t too thrilled when he said he wanted to be a paleontologist,” Rachel says. “But in this environment, at least it’s less hostile than archeology. Or anthropology, which happens to be my brother’s field.”

“Uncle Mort said he missed the days when all he had to debate against were ancient alien conspiracy theorists.”

Wade laughs. Probably a bit too hard. He clears his throat.

“How’s Chris doing?” Yaron says. “Sarah told me he was piled on on the socials.”

“Piled… on?” Wade says.

“He didn’t say anything?” Yaron says.

Rachel must’ve seen the discomfort on Wade’s face and attempts to deescalate. “Sorry. Yaron’s enthusiasm is…, well, let’s just say it’s a blessing that he doesn’t want to be a therapist.”

“Mom and Dad wanted me to be a therapist like them.” Yaron takes a sip from his paper cup. “Told them I’d rather work with dead animals.”

“It’s easier to make fossils talk,” Wade says.

Yaron laughs and high-fives Wade. “See? This guy gets it!” He flashes a toothy grin as Marta and RAchel laugh.

“But I have to agree.” Rachel looks straight at Wade. “Your friend, we need more like him, especially now.”

“Next time you talk to him, tell him he has fans,” Yaron says.

“I… I will. Thank you. It’s nice meeting you.”

Wade breathes a sigh of relief when Rachel gently nudges Yaron away from the conversation. As they turn around, Wade sees Yaron’s yarmulke. He feels a stab in his heart. This young man proudly wears his identity, in spite of, or perhaps even because of, the world. He smiles at Yaron’s enthusiasm and jovialness as he stands near the potluck table, taking two slices of the saffron challah, laughing with his mom.

“They’re right.” Marta looks at Rachel and Yaron.

“About what?” Wade says.

“Chrissy.”

Wade’s legs give out, forcing him to sit down. “You watched the video? At the ice cream store?”

“Bubbeleh,” Marta says, “everyone with a smartphone did.”

“Did you know… About Chrissy being… attacked on the Internet?”

Marta sighs. “I heard. But I didn’t want to tell you. When you said you’d blocked his number, I thought it wasn’t my place.”

Wade drives his nails into his thigh, trying to get through the fabric of the pants he’s wearing. But more than anything, he wants to clutch his chest, to stop his heart from pounding. It’s been half a year and the pain still feels raw. He got rid of social media apps from his phone and let his staff take care of the ranch’s socials, but it seems that he can’t escape the world.

“I’m sorry.” Marta takes Wade’s hand.

Wade looks into Marta’s eyes. He smiles. He knows there’s no malice. “You did the right thing. Thank you.”

“The men’s support group is Wednesdays at seven pm.” Marta squeezes Wade’s hand. “Could be good for you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I hope you will. By the way, I bet some families in the congregation would love to buy a dozen or two of these hamantaschen for their own tables. You could make a little batch for the next social event. Might help the ranch too.”

“Well… apples aren’t exactly traditional.”

Marta sighs. “Hello? A gay woman rabbi over here! This temple isn’t exactly traditional either.”

Wade smiles and chuckles softly. “Hey, when you’re right, you’re right.”

As he’s about to leave, some of the volunteers discuss how the remains of the last Israeli hostage, Ran Gvili, were identified and retrieved from eastern Gaza City by the IDF some days ago. Being away from the news and social media made Wade unaware of the news surrounding Gvili.

After a moment of joy, the room falls silent. Someone asks, “What now?” And everyone, including Wade, looks at Rabbi Marta. She says, without missing a beat, “We mourn, we cherish, we continue living. We continue serving our community, and beyond.”

Wade comes home with mixed feelings. After brushing his teeth, he looks out his bedroom window. The moonlight is particularly bright tonight. It illuminates the ranch and parts of his cabin. In a different lifetime, Wade would take a photo of the full moon and send it to Chrissy. Out in the distance, he can see the chicken coop and the barn, a little safe space he’s cultivated. For the animals, yes, but also for himself.

Yaron’s words echo in his head: Chrissy was being piled on. Wade wonders if he should, maybe… text Chrissy? Make sure he’s okay?

He closes the curtains and sits in bed, looking at nothing in particular. It’s almost too dark to see anything anyway. He can hear Thor snoring in the puppy cot by the bed. Derek must’ve tired him out during his walk.

But what if Chrissy didn’t answer? Wade would stay awake the whole night, filled with negative thoughts, and he’d be cranky and sleepy the next day. And what if Chrissy answered? What would Chrissy say? Would he say he missed Wade? Would he tell Wade never, ever to text him, ever again? Hundreds of doors slam open, each one leading to a dark abyss of uncertainty.

Wade shakes his head. He’s made split-second, life-altering decisions in battlefields. He’s no stranger to taking risks and owning them. But this one is different.

He gets up and unclips the yellow ribbon pin from his lanyard. The last hostage has been brought home. The pin feels cold in his hand. He’s worn yellow ribbon pins every day for the last two years. There’s a quiet tug inside Wade. If he stops wearing them, will the world forget this chapter? Will he?

His eyes fall on the book on his nightstand. He doesn’t need a light to make out the title: Dara Horn’s People Love Dead Jews. He bought it almost a year ago, but kept putting it off. The timing never felt right.

Tonight, after the potluck dinner at the synagogue, it feels urgent and necessary.

As he starts reading, his own anxieties, his relationship issues, his hangups with Chrissy, they all seem trivial, shrinking against the gravity of the world.

---

Dedicated to Sarah Milgrim, Yaron Lischinsky, and Eitan Bleichman.

Milgrim and Lichinsky were two employees of the Israeli embassy in Washington D.C. They were fatally shot by a Palestine supporter, on the night of May 22, 2025, outside the Capital Jewish Museum.

May their memories forever be a blessing.

Bleichman is an American Orthodox Jew. In October 2024, he was shot in the back for wearing a kippah, as he was walking to his synagogue in Chicago. He got up, the shooter shot again until his gun jammed. Bleichman ran to a neighbor’s house, who opened their doors for him. When the paramedics arrived and the police arrived, the same person shot the ambulance Bleichman was in, along with the first responders.

Bleichman survived the ordeal and testified in the antisemitism hearing that was described as “insulting” and “silenced Jewish voices.”

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