To See God

A Covo Family Saga

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Black Rose Writing
Published by: Black Rose Writing
Release Date: March 15, 2023
Pages: 307
ISBN13: 978-1685131579

 
Synopsis

In this profound continuation of the Covo family saga, Bruce J. Berger weaves a tale of faith, identity, and redemption. Sister Theodora, once a Jewish child saved from the Holocaust, now a devout nun, is compelled by a divine vision to guide her grandnephew, Jackie, believed to be the Second Coming. As she journeys to America, Theodora faces theological dilemmas, cultural clashes, and the intricate tapestry of a family divided by belief yet united by love. To See God challenges readers to ponder the mysteries of faith and the enduring power of spiritual connection.

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Praise

“To See God peers boldly through a dark glass at a mysterious human striving. A well-conceived, absorbing, and unpredictable sequel to The Flight of the Veil.”
-Cheryl Anne Tuggle, author of Lights on the Mountain

“Bruce J. Berger writes about belief like no other writer: his characters have ecstatic visions and undertake divine missions. They struggle to act on their beliefs, even as such beliefs are challenged, not by adversaries, but by the people closest to them. To See God, asks profound questions about how to live in and accept the world as it is, not as we see it in our dreams.”
-Stephanie Grant, author of Map of Ireland and The Passion of Alice

“Readers of Bruce J. Berger’s two previous novels will be rewarded with this … volume [too]: . . . the story of Jewish siblings separated by time, continents, and religious traditions but joined by complex histories. … Berger moves deftly among matters of faith and spirituality, miracles, mental illness, and the scars of war. The crisp dialogues virtually spring off the page as his complex characters wrestle with demons both sacred and profane.”
-Roberta Rubenstein, author of Literary Half-Lives: Doris Lessing, Clancy Sigal, and Roman à Clef.

 

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Excerpt

The Bones

“To see God.”

Sister Theodora’s words, uttered in little more than a whisper, lingered on the cool air as she looked out across the vineyards sloping down the hillside toward the dark purple mountains. It answered the question posed by Abbess Fevronia, who was gently holding Theodora’s arm, trying to steady herself after what was becoming an ever more difficult climb from the monastery’s church to its winery. As she tried to put away the slight twinge of pain in her chest, Fevronia followed Theodora’s gaze. Theodora had spoken with the conviction she would imminently see Jesus Himself, that He was waiting that very minute to reveal Himself again to humanity in the forests of northern Greece. But of course Fevronia could see nothing more than what she usually saw: the healthy grape vines carrying their burden of newly formed grapes, the fruit that brought the Holy Monastery of St. Vlassios most of its revenue.

“And do you see God now?” asked Fevronia, straining to keep doubt from her voice.

Theodora did not respond, but turned, looked into Fevronia’s eyes, and smiled warmly. Fevronia wasn’t surprised. For decades, Theodora had spoken to no one, and her voice could be heard only during prayer, only then in the softest of tones, so soft that a listener – and Fevronia listened frequently – might have imagined hearing Theodora’s thoughts alone.

Recently, Theodora had more to say out loud to Fevronia, not in prayer, but in reminiscing. A Talmudic story about Rav Huna, which Theodora had heard as a Jewish girl at her father’s side, had struck its way back into her heart. Fevronia’s attempts to question her about the story, to learn more of what the story’s miracle meant for Rav Huna, had been futile. All Theodora would say in response to the inquiries was: “I pray to the Lord Jesus Christ to forgive me, a sinner.”

Theodora took Fevronia’s hand; they walked to the last stone bench at the top of the path, close to the winery. Theodora intended that the two of them, as tired as they were, should sit to pray, and so they did, heads bowed. Fevronia, eyes closed, heard Theodora breathlessly recite the Jesus Prayer. Although Fevronia tried to match the emotion of Theodora’s prayer, her mind soon wandered. The hired men’s voices – there had been cursing about a stuck valve at the winery – intruded into her thoughts. Fevronia felt the uncanny warmth emanating from Theodora, a warmth that made the hot day feel even hotter. She was impatient to head back down the hill and into the monastery’s much cooler stone buildings.

Her mind drifted once again to Rav Huna’s wine. Theodora must have left something out in the story’s retelling. The monastery’s library had no copy of the Talmud. She wasn’t even positive the Talmud had been translated into modern Greek. It occurred to Fevronia that she could write to Sister Theodora’s brother, Dr. Covo, and ask him if he knew of a translation. Perhaps Dr. Covo could even tell her over the phone the entire story, with the details Theodora must have omitted. Surely that was possible. Then the mental image of that tall, dark, Greek American psychiatrist who’d visited two months earlier, discovering his sister still lived and had not been gassed at Auschwitz, drew her to reflect upon the two letters he’d sent to Theodora since his visit. They remained unopened, under Theodora’s cot. She knew they were unopened, because two weeks earlier she’d searched through Theodora’s cell.

Why had Theodora not opened the letters? Curious what the letters might contain, Fevronia wondered whether she should have urged Theodora to read them. Did they contain another appeal for Theodora to abandon the monastery and join her brother permanently in America? Did they contain memories of their lives together as older brother and younger sister? Did they perhaps contain news that Dr. Covo and his girlfriend, Helen, were planning a wedding?

Fevronia’s thoughts then turned to Helen, who’d been with Dr. Covo during his visit. Fevronia had learned Helen was a religious Jew, in sharp contrast to Dr. Covo. Fevronia could see Helen served as a stabilizing force for Dr. Covo, a guide, a safety net, a solid and mature companion, the kind of person whom Dr. Covo had needed when he realized Theodora would not return to America with him, notwithstanding his begging.

Lost in her thoughts, Fevronia noticed finally that she could no longer hear Theodora’s prayer. Minutes might well have passed since she’d last heard Theodora’s voice. Fevronia turned to see that Theodora, looking across the vineyards again, was crying.

“What is it, my precious daughter in Christ?”

Theodora stood unsteadily as she swiped at tears with the sleeve of her black cassock. She pointed at the distant hills; the dark purple had now brightened to vibrant indigo as the sun climbed.

“What are you seeing?” Fevronia asked, alarmed. She now stood herself and clutched at Theodora with the vague idea Theodora was readying herself to fly off toward the horizon in her search for God. Theodora had once flown across Greece with the Mother of God, the Theotokos. Would she now be able to take off on her own in search of God? And, if she flew away in her search, would she ever return?

“There are the bones. I’ve seen them. Oh dear Lord Jesus Christ. Forgive me, a sinner. It is I who killed them.”

With that, Theodora collapsed.

Shabbat Delight

Nicky Covo and Helen Blanco woke in bed on a Saturday morning, in Nicky’s Manhattan apartment. It was not the first time they’d spent the night there, but it was the first Friday night. Nicky had cooked Shabbat dinner as best he could: a tossed salad with lettuce, scallions, and cucumbers; Empire chicken and green beans with slivered almonds prepared on a new set of kosher cookware, an OU pareve dessert, and tea. Helen had politely complimented him on his efforts.

It was Helen who first began the slow trek into consciousness. She’d been dreaming about participating in a service at her synagogue, Aish Ahaim, in which nothing had gone right. Helen had found herself on the wrong side of the mechitza, among the men, and knew she shouldn’t have been there. But she wanted to pray among them, not next to them, not separated by a physical barrier as if she were unclean and unholy, as if she were a distraction to be ignored. As she tried to pray, though, the words kept getting lost. She couldn’t remember the prayers she’d wanted to say, and as she flipped through the siddur looking for the right spot, the spot at which the male congregation was now reciting the nineteen daily benedictions, the pages kept flipping of their own accord back to page one. Finally, she understood that the supposedly knowledgeable men around her were themselves reciting the wrong prayers. It was Shabbat, a day for special prayers, not the usual weekday routine.

Then she woke, and it took her a couple of seconds to remember where she was. A wave of guilt swept over her. Putting aside her recent trip with Nicky to Greece, this had been the first Shabbat in many years she’d not prepared a meal for her family to enjoy in the familiar and comfortable confines of her suburban New Jersey home. Her three children and eight grandchildren had celebrated the incoming Shabbat without her, because she’d let Nicky convince her to stay with him. Just one time, he’d promised, one time to see if it could be done well.

Well, it had been done well, but to what end? She wanted immediately to return to New Jersey, to see her family, but she couldn’t travel in a car until Shabbat was over. Since it was June, Shabbat wouldn’t be over until half-past nine in the evening, and then it would be too late to see anyone. She’d might as well stay with Nicky another night. And, because it was Shabbat, she couldn’t even call her family to tell them how rotten she felt, how sorry she was she’d abandoned their weekly ritual.

“Helen, you awake?” Nicky asked softly.

Helen opened her eyes and leaned over to kiss Nicky fully on the mouth. She had no idea how long he’d been watching her. “Mmm, I guess so. Shabbat Shalom.”

“Shabbat Shalom.” He reached to caress her. “Up for a little Shabbat delight?”

She could see Nicky was up, no doubt imagining what they might do together. She felt a deep inner glow of happiness, a glow that came so suddenly after her guilty ruminations that she couldn’t recall what had bothered her moments earlier.

“Just let me brush my teeth first. And, you too.”