The Asteroid That Had No Jews

by Rabbi Steven Lebow

In memory of Rita Rudick Lebow

Vesper Lebowitz, the gazeeber player, was the rabbi on Kuiper V, an asteroid which had no Jews.

His mother, Rita Rudick, had died the previous year. He now needed a minyan, a quorum of just ten Jews, in order to say the Kaddish, the memorial prayer at next year’s Rosh Hashanah service.

“I’m tired of being the rabbi of a non-existent Jewish community,” said Lebowitz to his wife, Ra’annan Calessco.

“There’s a huge group of Venusian Evangelicals and another group of Martian Catholic settlers here,” he said. “There’s even a small group of Intergalactic Moslems!”

“Maybe corporate will send more Jews in the next group of settlers,” his wife said.

“Really?” said Lebowitz. “I’ll be 120 years old when that happens!”

“What’s with the 120 years?” asked Calessco. “You’re always using that number.”

“Oh,” said Lebowitz. “It’s just an old Jewish custom. In the Bible, Moses died when he was 120 years old. So ever since then, the Jews have said, ‘You should only be 120 years old!’ It’s kind of like a superstition.”

“Well, hopefully,” Calessco replied, “we will get more Jews before 120 years have passed.”

The next day he went to his regular job at the Oxygen Recycling Plant.

“How are things going, Rabbi Lebowitz?” asked his boss, Ricardo Paulstein.

“Could be better,” Lebowitz admitted. “I lead Jewish services every Friday night, which no one ever attends, and I give sermons that no one ever hears.”

“Yes,” said Paulstein, “we don’t get too many people at the Indigenous services either.”

“I didn’t know you were an Indigenous Episcopalian,” said Lebowitz. “It’s a relatively new religion. Did your family always belong to that church?”

“Well, that’s the weird thing,” said Paulstein. “My grandfather was from some Terran religion who married my grandmother, an Old Testament Practitioner.”

“Your grandmother was Jewish?” said Lebowitz. “Your mother’s mother?”

“Yes, she was actually some kind of religious zealot,” said Paulstein. “You would have loved her! She went to Jewish services every Friday night.”

“Well, if your maternal grandmother was Jewish, then that makes you—”

“Jewish?” said Paulstein. “Yes, I’ve heard that. But why?”

“In the Jewish tradition, you are whatever religion your mother was,” said Lebowitz, or, in your case, whatever your maternal grandmother was. And I’ll be damned,” said the rabbi. “There actually is a ‘half-Jew’ living here on the asteroid!”

“I don’t know anything about your religion,” said Paulstein, “but call on me if I can ever be of help.”

“I just might do that,” said Lebowitz. “Now all I need is eight more Jews for a quorum of ten, and I can live up to the commandment: ‘Honor your father and your mother.’”

* * *

The following week Lebowitz went to his gazeeber lesson, given by Ja’asson Salzzzman, a life-form from Kuiper Colony V.

“The gazeeber is a lot like a wind instrument,” said Salzzzman. “I’ve been told that the closest thing in Terran terms is that it sounds like a kazoo in an empty room.”

“You’re doing well with the gazeeber,” said the alien into the translator attached to his perpetually open mouth.

“You play it like a native!” said Salzzzman.

“Maybe now it’s time to teach you to play the tamales,” said Salzzzman. “It’s a drum you play while batting your eyelashes.”

“I’ve got a lot of time on my hands these days,” admitted Lebowitz. “I’ve got no hobbies. Today the gazeeber. Tomorrow the tamales.”

* * *

After leaving his lesson, Lebowitz glanced at his video screen, embedded in the palm of his hand. As he looked down at his hand, he saw the Secretary of the Colony, Irma Sabaldowsky.

“Rabbi Lebowitz,” she said, “I’m an Andy 3.0. That means that I’m—”

“An android?” said the rabbi. “Yes, I know. Not to say anything offensive, but you all have a distinct odor, like my wife.”

“Yes, I’ve met your wife at the market, before. She’s lovely. Tell me what religion your wife is.”

“She’s an Andy,” he said. “She’s never had any religion, that I know of.”

“Well, let me talk to her about that,” said Sabaldowsky “There are some things that only an android can tell another android. “

That night, his wife said, “Irma told me I should convert to Judaism to make my husband happy and to fulfill my God-given destiny.”

“What are you talking about?!” Lebowitz exclaimed. “God-given destiny? No Jew ever actually says that. You can do whatever you want to, Ra’annan, But the Jews don’t force our religion on others. We don’t actively convert people. It’s kind of against our ethos.”

“Why?” asked his wife. “Is it that you have something against androids?”

“No,” he responded, “it’s just hard to be a Jew. Lots of laws and customs. And why would anyone want to join a people usually scorned by others?”

His wife insisted: “Nevertheless, I want to convert. And in this case, you wouldn’t be converting me. I would be converting myself!”

“Fair enough,” responded her husband. “I know what civil law is on this asteroid. It says: ‘There is no difference—’”

“‘Between the metal and the meat,’” she quoted. “So, it’s settled. Your people are now my people, and your God is now my God.”

* * *

After months of studying the Jewish faith with her husband, Ra’annan immersed herself in the mikveh, the symbolic electron “bath” that signified one had joined the Jewish faith and the Jewish people.

Later that day, Lebowitz remarked, “It’s strange. Three months ago, I was the only Jew on Asteroid Kuiper V. Now I’ve got Paulstein, the half-Jew, Ra’naan and two other androids she convinced to become Jewish, and myself. Now we’re up to five Jews. Not exactly the quorum needed, but closer by fifty percent!”

The following day Vesper Lebowitz went to his weekly gazeeber lesson.

“You’ve made tremendous progress,” said Salzzzman. “Now you can play the gazeeber at your religious services every Friday night!”

“Yeah, well, about that,” said Lebowitz. “It’s a weird prohibition, but we Jews don’t ever use musical instruments at our service.”

“Why not?” his teacher asked.

“Something about the Jews being perpetually in mourning,” said Lebowitz. “It does say in the Bible that the Jews used harp and drums in the ancient Terran lands, but after that we haven’t used musical instruments on the Sabbath for the last 3,000 years.”

“Dumb custom,” the alien responded. “Who doesn’t like music? It gets people to come to the Catholic and Protestant services. You should try it.”

“I guess,” said Lebowitz, “but where would I find gazeeber players who are willing to be Jewish?”

“No clue,” said Salzzzman. “Keep practicing. You’re getting better every day.”

A few weeks later, Calessco said to her husband, “I know you have to say the Kaddish memorial prayer for your mother at Rosh Hashana services this year. Tell me what Rita was like.”

“Well, she could be incredibly critical at times,” said Lebowitz. “She was always remarking on how I cut my hair or what kind of clothes I wore. And yet she was my greatest ally and my greatest advocate. She’s actually the reason that I became a rabbi. She helped me write a letter to the Hebrew Terran College to tell them I wanted to be a rabbi. I was only seven years old at the time.”

“So, she was incredibly supportive and yet incredibly critical, all at the same time?” said Calessco.

“Yes, that about sums her up. I loved her, but she was hard on me at times. Nevertheless, I think I owe her a Kaddish. It’s the least I can do to thank her spirit now that she is gone from our shared universe.”

“Well,” said Calessco, “I’ve spoken to a group of androids these last few months, and several more are interested in joining our faith. If you are willing to count the ‘Andys,’ then you should get your quorum by this year’s service.”

A similar conversation ensued the next week with his teacher Salzzzman. “I’ve got a few musicians who might want to join you at your service this year.” he said. “Would they feel welcome at your Rosh Hashanah service in a few months?”

“The more the merrier,” said Lebowitz. “If somebody is crazy enough to want to hang out with the Jews, more power to them.”

The months went by. Expecting at least a minyan, a quorum of ten, Lebowitz worked on his sermons like he never had before.

“Good luck for tonight’s Rosh Hashanah service,” Calessco said to him. “Just give it all you’ve got.”

And so, the night of the Jewish New Year — Rosh Hashanah — Lebowitz donned his ecclesiastical robes and prepared to step out on the platform to give a sermon that maybe ten or even twenty people would hear.

When Lebowitz stepped from behind the curtain onto the platform of his synagogue, the service was packed. He looked around and saw his wife with several other androids. He counted ten androids in all.

And then the rabbi looked again into the crowd, There must have been 110 gazeeber players that night, each one with his and her own gazeeber, ready to play the songs that they had practiced for almost a year.

The congregation now had 12 minyans of 10 people apiece. There were, at least, 120 worshippers that night; aliens and androids together.

Thanks to Ra’annan Calessco and Ja’sonn Salzzzman, this would be the best year he had ever had on the asteroid that formerly had no Jews.

And so, that Rosh Hashanah night, Rabbi Vesper Lebowitz stepped forward before the synagogue to finally chant the memorial prayer for his mother.

And then, Vesper Lebowitz did something at services that he had never done before. He smiled.

And there were tears in his eyes on the night that he said the Kaddish for his mother that no author could ever hope to explain or even to describe. Even if he had 120 years in which to do so.