le-olam va-ed

03: לב

03: לב

Dear Ben,

            לב. Lev. It means heart in English, though the Hebrew sounds so much better and means more. You used to have a lev, Ben. Then something happened, and your physical heart was still existent (I figured this after you kept breathing, following the breakup), but your emotional lev was nowhere in sight. You broke my lev, too, Ben. I’m sure you know that, though. I mean, ending our relationship the exact way you started it just to add that air of repetition that could be considered sweet, though in reality was “חסר לב”—missing a heart (chasar lev), or heartless. That’s what you are, Ben: heartless.

            Like the majority of milestones in our relationship, we were in the cafeteria during lunch when you stood up on a chair like you had almost two years before. I smiled, watching your antics and assuming that you would start a cheer or sing, for it was something that you would’ve done. Instead, though, you looked me right in the eyes with an emotion I had never witnessed from you—apathy. You were always such an expressive guy, Ben, but in that moment, I knew something bad was sure to occur, for you were never one to stifle your true emotions. Indifference wasn’t very becoming on you, Ben…just for the record.

            “Ain lanu kesher,” you began with a grave edge to your voice that made me want to burst out crying right then and there. “We don’t have a connection,” you translated into English, so that everyone in the room could understand what you were saying. “And since we don’t have connection,” the way that your words echoed the ones you so carefully elected to commence everything with me made it all the more terrible, “seyamnu,” you said. סימנו. “We’re done.” And just like that, my lev went from racing miles a second to shattering into a million pieces instantly.

            I couldn’t understand why you were breaking up with me. We were so good together, Ben—even you can’t deny that. I was under the impression that our levs (yes, Ben, I know that there’s a correct plural form for “lev,” but this isn’t Hebrew class, so I don’t care) were meant for each other. You clearly got a heart transplant with something filled with the quintessence of evil and just forgot to tell me. I still don’t forgive you for dumping me like that, Ben. It probably doesn’t matter to you, but it definitely matters to me. It wasn’t okay, Ben, and I’m sure that deep down inside, below all the bullshit and malice, you know that, too.

            I remember on our first official date, Ben, how amazingly sweet you acted, because at the time, you had a lev tov—a good heart. You picked me up from my house at noon on the dot, as planned, came inside and schmoozed with my mom for a few minutes, and then you played with my brother’s toys with him, while I anxiously awaited our departure. When we finally did leave, you took hold of my hand, and then comforted me, telling me not to be nervous. We were just going to the movies, and everything would be fine. Because I was a born worrier (דאגנית), I didn’t listen to you, and allowed those idiotic butterflies always talked about in books and movies to control me. Our hands were touching, and I felt like the luckiest girl on the planet.

            When we got to the movie theater, and you asked me if I wanted anything to eat, because you knew that I was as close to secular as they came, but was accepting of that. I declined, being too nervous to eat, and not wanting to make things weird with the whole aspect of religious observance and kashrut and all that. You always were really Jewish, Ben—and passionate about your Judaism, too. Personally, I liked the culture, not the religion.

            And so, after passing the concession stands and the usher who collected our ticket stubs, we came to the right theater, and entered the dark room as a pair. There were only about three other people in the theater, for the movie had been out for two months already, though neither of us had yet to see it. You asked me where I wanted to sit, and I told you that I didn’t care. Rolling your eyes at my passiveness, you then escorted me to the very middle of the theater, and we sat down. Not even bothering to wait until the lights fully dimmed, you went right ahead and put your arm over my shoulder, bypassing the cheesy yawn or any other clichés. Your arm was there, and it was there to stay. If my lev hadn’t already been infatuated with you, then in that moment, I could’ve fallen for you.

            Midway through the movie, you tapped me on the shoulder, causing my head to snap in your direction. You met me with a confident smile that made my heart—my lev flutter even more. Then, not wasting a second as you had a reputation for doing, you leaned in, closing the small gap between us and pressed your lips to mine. I didn’t know what was happening at the time, for it had been my very first kiss, but I knew that I liked it. After a few seconds had passed, you pulled back and smirked triumphantly at me, being the cocky bastard that you always are. I hate to admit it, Ben, but you’re actually a pretty great kisser.

            We watched the rest of the movie, stealing glances at each other periodically. My lev was a frenzy of nerves, and you were probably a little worried, too, though you would never admit it. You walked me home once the date was over, promising that you’d call me, and capping the date off with a kiss on my cheek. You certainly knew how to make a girl feel special, Ben.

            What happened to that boy, Ben? Where did the polite guy who ran to hold door opens for people and stole kisses during varying points of the day go? You used to have a heart, Ben, but then as Kanye would say: somewhere far along this road, he lost his soul to a woman so heartless. How could you be so heartless? Where did your heart go, Ben? What happened to your lev?

            Le-olam va-ed,

            -Me