![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[SCA] Yartzeit
Title: Yartzeit
Fandom: DC Comics + High School Musical crossover
Universe: Sharpay's Crossover Adventure
Relationship: Tompay (Tom Bronson/Sharpay Evans) - mention only
Summary: On the anniversary of his mom's death, Tom visits her grave and reflects on Jewish tradition... and how he almost eschewed it altogether.
Notes: The title is the Hebrew word for 'the passing of the deceased's anniversary.' While I'm not Jewish myself, I did dig a little deeper and researched the tradition a little bit. If anything's off, let me know! Tom's family is of Ashkenazi descent, so he would have grown up using "shul" instead of 'synagogue' in everyday speech. Additionally, I imagine that he was raised Conservative, and not Reform, so that's reflected in his mannerisms as well. Also, this is the weirdest birthday present I've ever given myself.
Last night, as soon as the sun disappeared into the horizon, you lit a candle and silently recited a prayer. This day - from night to night - was your mother's Yartzeit, the anniversary of her passing. While your Hebrew had grown rusty - no thanks to the lifestyle you currently led - you still gathered up your Torah and your stones before heading to her grave. You'd thought about asking Sharpay, but in the end, you went alone.
As much as you loved your girlfriend, this visit felt too solemn - and kind of sacred - to go with friends. She'd want you to explain all the traditions, all the rites you'd perform, and you didn't want to explain them. You just wanted to go through the motions; to perform them as Mom would've liked; and to just not think about the religion you no longer practiced. You didn't want to imagine Mom's disappointment.
She wouldn't have approved of the alcohol (the massive amounts you drank, anyways), the leather jackets, the lingering stench of cigarette smoke, or the company you had kept after her parting. You'd jumped ship from the model son to the prodigal son, and you weren't willing to pull yourself up from the brink. Not yet.
Today, you'd confess to Mom that it wasn't her fault. She couldn't - and shouldn't - blame herself for you drifting away from the faith. Bronfman, the Jewish community center at NYU, had welcomed you with open arms. You had just run the exact opposite way, with your giant tail tucked between your legs. You couldn't mourn with them. Not when you didn't feel worthy enough to even stand in the shul.
You hadn't kept many religious friends, either. You'd awkwardly drifted from your Bronfman circle, and your hero friends had faced too many gods to acknowledge a real religion (with the exceptions of Uncle Alan and Uncle Jay). Your college friends still struggled to grasp spirituality; and your roommates didn't acknowledge the elephant in the room. Whatever relationship you had with G-d, you'd lost it completely.
Or so you'd thought.
Standing outside the cemetery - the one Mom had personally picked out for herself when you'd gone through her will with her - you stared up at the archway leading inside, and you inhaled sharply. Now or never, Bronson. Your legs wobbled like gelatin (the kind you could never eat as a kid), your heart was beating swiftly, and you could feel shivers running down your spine.
You weren't supposed to outlive Mom like this, before you could've given her some grandkids to spoil. She was supposed to watch you graduate college and head onto grad school. You weren't supposed to bury her the proper Jewish way, just as she'd like it. You'd never embraced religion the way she had, not with that fervent passion, but for her sake, you'd dutifully attended Hebrew school every week. For G-d's sake, you'd even had a proper Bar Mitzvah!
It wasn't the Bar Mitzvah you were thinking about as you strolled down to her grave, nor was it all the rites and rituals you'd performed over the years. Instead, you focused on what you'd tell her. How you wanted to introduce her to Sharpay. How you wanted to marry her someday, if she'd ever stop being a hot pink whirlwind long enough to listen. How Peyton had become your second best friend when you weren't looking. How Jason and Mimi had rekindled - and how Mom would've been thrilled to finally see them settle down and get married. How Mimi was starting a successful cake business in the middle of freaking Manhattan. How Maxine had waltzed into your life without ever letting go.
How you'd become a hero. How you wanted to apologize to her for never fully absorbing Judaism the way she had, even though you enjoyed building a sukkah way too much for your own good. How you missed her cooking, her laugh, and her smile. How you wished that she could see the look on Pop's face every time you beat him in a boxing match.
You want to kneel at her grave and talk to her for hours upon hours, wondering if you'd ever stop to breathe. Mom had been your biggest confidant and supporter in life - at least, until Sharpay and Maxine had entered your life. Even they couldn't compare to Mom. You knew that. They knew that.
You wished, with all of your heart, that you could've given her a better last conversation. Yet you knew better than to voice that one out loud. You don't deify the deceased. Everyone was equal in death (Hebrew school drilled that much into you), and everyone deserved their eternal slumber.
So you brought out your Torah and your old, yellowed pages from Hebrew school, and clumsily recited the Mourner's Kaddish. You'd recited it last year, but beyond that and Rosh Hashanah, you hadn't practiced your Hebrew. The words on the page barely meant something to you. You began, stumbling over each word, "May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified / in the world that He created as He willed. May He give reign to His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days..."
Intent mattered more than the proper pronunciation of the prayer, right? You hoped so. Mom had always given you an loving - and exasperated - look every time you'd butchered prayers at shul, but you were growing older now. You couldn't haphazardly recite a prayer every time you attended services.
You hadn't practiced Judaism in a solid three or four years, but dangit, you were going to at least make Mom's memory proud. Once you finished, you calmly closed the Torah, tucking your yellowed pages inside, and gently placed two stones on her tomb.
"One's from Dad," you said, noticing how your voice choked up as you rose to your feet. "He wishes he could be here too."
At that moment, you noticed the other stones laid around her grave. One was labeled with a simple MT - for Mimi's initials - but you had no way of knowing who left the others there. The community had accepted Mom and you as two of their own. You'd always known that much. Somehow, knowing and seeing that love were two completely different things. As you gazed at the numerous stones that lay at her grave, you felt your vision getting blurrier with each passing second.
You couldn't see her grave anymore. Not when your vision was so blurry that you couldn't quite see past your own nose. You rubbed your eyes, trying to pry the dust out, but it just wouldn't leave.
Lies only worked if people truly believed in them. In your heart of hearts, you knew that you hadn't run away from Judaism because you were too cool for the tradition, or that you weren't feeling G-d. Honestly, you couldn't handle this tradition without Mom. Not without her teasing you every time you wanted thirds on latke night; daring you to make edible sukkahs instead of gingerbread houses; or getting on your case because you weren't dating that nice Jewish girl she'd always dreamed of.
Sharpay couldn't be that nice Jewish girl no matter how much she tried. You couldn't fault her for that. Nor would you even dream of asking her to convert for you. She'd already done so much for you in the name of love - how could you even ask that of her? On your way out, you almost tripped over your own two feet.
Every Yartzeit, you tried to honor Mom, and every Yartzeit, you remembered why your heart couldn't handle it. Reconciling Mom and your eschewed religious tradition was almost close to impossible.
When you returned home, Mom's Yartzeit candle was still burning on the windowsill. Sharpay was seated on the couch, watching it burn intently. The second you set your Torah away on the top bookshelf, she rested her hands underneath her chin.
"How was the visit?"
"Fine," you managed to say, choking on your own words as you turn to face her. "Mom sends her love."
She studied you with that piercing gaze of hers - the one that always pierced your armor - before her expression softens. "I'll grab take-out tonight." She jumped to her feet, kissing you lightly on the cheek. "I found out about this great Kosher place, down a couple of blocks..."
Before you had a chance to stop her, she had already picked up the phone and dialed in her - your? - order.
When the sun set over the horizon, you blew the candle out with one breath. You used to wonder if you honored her memory with your lifestyle. You used to think that you were her biggest disappointment.
As you watched the skyline illuminate the night sky, you think you know better now. Tradition or no, some things are too sacred to eschew. You may not actively practice Judaism like Mom, but some part of you would always incorporate the tradition into your life. Maybe you could still have that conversation about conversion with Sharpay. While you didn't have much of a relationship with G-d, you had never lost it either.
Fandom: DC Comics + High School Musical crossover
Universe: Sharpay's Crossover Adventure
Relationship: Tompay (Tom Bronson/Sharpay Evans) - mention only
Summary: On the anniversary of his mom's death, Tom visits her grave and reflects on Jewish tradition... and how he almost eschewed it altogether.
Notes: The title is the Hebrew word for 'the passing of the deceased's anniversary.' While I'm not Jewish myself, I did dig a little deeper and researched the tradition a little bit. If anything's off, let me know! Tom's family is of Ashkenazi descent, so he would have grown up using "shul" instead of 'synagogue' in everyday speech. Additionally, I imagine that he was raised Conservative, and not Reform, so that's reflected in his mannerisms as well. Also, this is the weirdest birthday present I've ever given myself.
Last night, as soon as the sun disappeared into the horizon, you lit a candle and silently recited a prayer. This day - from night to night - was your mother's Yartzeit, the anniversary of her passing. While your Hebrew had grown rusty - no thanks to the lifestyle you currently led - you still gathered up your Torah and your stones before heading to her grave. You'd thought about asking Sharpay, but in the end, you went alone.
As much as you loved your girlfriend, this visit felt too solemn - and kind of sacred - to go with friends. She'd want you to explain all the traditions, all the rites you'd perform, and you didn't want to explain them. You just wanted to go through the motions; to perform them as Mom would've liked; and to just not think about the religion you no longer practiced. You didn't want to imagine Mom's disappointment.
She wouldn't have approved of the alcohol (the massive amounts you drank, anyways), the leather jackets, the lingering stench of cigarette smoke, or the company you had kept after her parting. You'd jumped ship from the model son to the prodigal son, and you weren't willing to pull yourself up from the brink. Not yet.
Today, you'd confess to Mom that it wasn't her fault. She couldn't - and shouldn't - blame herself for you drifting away from the faith. Bronfman, the Jewish community center at NYU, had welcomed you with open arms. You had just run the exact opposite way, with your giant tail tucked between your legs. You couldn't mourn with them. Not when you didn't feel worthy enough to even stand in the shul.
You hadn't kept many religious friends, either. You'd awkwardly drifted from your Bronfman circle, and your hero friends had faced too many gods to acknowledge a real religion (with the exceptions of Uncle Alan and Uncle Jay). Your college friends still struggled to grasp spirituality; and your roommates didn't acknowledge the elephant in the room. Whatever relationship you had with G-d, you'd lost it completely.
Or so you'd thought.
Standing outside the cemetery - the one Mom had personally picked out for herself when you'd gone through her will with her - you stared up at the archway leading inside, and you inhaled sharply. Now or never, Bronson. Your legs wobbled like gelatin (the kind you could never eat as a kid), your heart was beating swiftly, and you could feel shivers running down your spine.
You weren't supposed to outlive Mom like this, before you could've given her some grandkids to spoil. She was supposed to watch you graduate college and head onto grad school. You weren't supposed to bury her the proper Jewish way, just as she'd like it. You'd never embraced religion the way she had, not with that fervent passion, but for her sake, you'd dutifully attended Hebrew school every week. For G-d's sake, you'd even had a proper Bar Mitzvah!
It wasn't the Bar Mitzvah you were thinking about as you strolled down to her grave, nor was it all the rites and rituals you'd performed over the years. Instead, you focused on what you'd tell her. How you wanted to introduce her to Sharpay. How you wanted to marry her someday, if she'd ever stop being a hot pink whirlwind long enough to listen. How Peyton had become your second best friend when you weren't looking. How Jason and Mimi had rekindled - and how Mom would've been thrilled to finally see them settle down and get married. How Mimi was starting a successful cake business in the middle of freaking Manhattan. How Maxine had waltzed into your life without ever letting go.
How you'd become a hero. How you wanted to apologize to her for never fully absorbing Judaism the way she had, even though you enjoyed building a sukkah way too much for your own good. How you missed her cooking, her laugh, and her smile. How you wished that she could see the look on Pop's face every time you beat him in a boxing match.
You want to kneel at her grave and talk to her for hours upon hours, wondering if you'd ever stop to breathe. Mom had been your biggest confidant and supporter in life - at least, until Sharpay and Maxine had entered your life. Even they couldn't compare to Mom. You knew that. They knew that.
You wished, with all of your heart, that you could've given her a better last conversation. Yet you knew better than to voice that one out loud. You don't deify the deceased. Everyone was equal in death (Hebrew school drilled that much into you), and everyone deserved their eternal slumber.
So you brought out your Torah and your old, yellowed pages from Hebrew school, and clumsily recited the Mourner's Kaddish. You'd recited it last year, but beyond that and Rosh Hashanah, you hadn't practiced your Hebrew. The words on the page barely meant something to you. You began, stumbling over each word, "May His great Name grow exalted and sanctified / in the world that He created as He willed. May He give reign to His kingship in your lifetimes and in your days..."
Intent mattered more than the proper pronunciation of the prayer, right? You hoped so. Mom had always given you an loving - and exasperated - look every time you'd butchered prayers at shul, but you were growing older now. You couldn't haphazardly recite a prayer every time you attended services.
You hadn't practiced Judaism in a solid three or four years, but dangit, you were going to at least make Mom's memory proud. Once you finished, you calmly closed the Torah, tucking your yellowed pages inside, and gently placed two stones on her tomb.
"One's from Dad," you said, noticing how your voice choked up as you rose to your feet. "He wishes he could be here too."
At that moment, you noticed the other stones laid around her grave. One was labeled with a simple MT - for Mimi's initials - but you had no way of knowing who left the others there. The community had accepted Mom and you as two of their own. You'd always known that much. Somehow, knowing and seeing that love were two completely different things. As you gazed at the numerous stones that lay at her grave, you felt your vision getting blurrier with each passing second.
You couldn't see her grave anymore. Not when your vision was so blurry that you couldn't quite see past your own nose. You rubbed your eyes, trying to pry the dust out, but it just wouldn't leave.
Lies only worked if people truly believed in them. In your heart of hearts, you knew that you hadn't run away from Judaism because you were too cool for the tradition, or that you weren't feeling G-d. Honestly, you couldn't handle this tradition without Mom. Not without her teasing you every time you wanted thirds on latke night; daring you to make edible sukkahs instead of gingerbread houses; or getting on your case because you weren't dating that nice Jewish girl she'd always dreamed of.
Sharpay couldn't be that nice Jewish girl no matter how much she tried. You couldn't fault her for that. Nor would you even dream of asking her to convert for you. She'd already done so much for you in the name of love - how could you even ask that of her? On your way out, you almost tripped over your own two feet.
Every Yartzeit, you tried to honor Mom, and every Yartzeit, you remembered why your heart couldn't handle it. Reconciling Mom and your eschewed religious tradition was almost close to impossible.
When you returned home, Mom's Yartzeit candle was still burning on the windowsill. Sharpay was seated on the couch, watching it burn intently. The second you set your Torah away on the top bookshelf, she rested her hands underneath her chin.
"How was the visit?"
"Fine," you managed to say, choking on your own words as you turn to face her. "Mom sends her love."
She studied you with that piercing gaze of hers - the one that always pierced your armor - before her expression softens. "I'll grab take-out tonight." She jumped to her feet, kissing you lightly on the cheek. "I found out about this great Kosher place, down a couple of blocks..."
Before you had a chance to stop her, she had already picked up the phone and dialed in her - your? - order.
When the sun set over the horizon, you blew the candle out with one breath. You used to wonder if you honored her memory with your lifestyle. You used to think that you were her biggest disappointment.
As you watched the skyline illuminate the night sky, you think you know better now. Tradition or no, some things are too sacred to eschew. You may not actively practice Judaism like Mom, but some part of you would always incorporate the tradition into your life. Maybe you could still have that conversation about conversion with Sharpay. While you didn't have much of a relationship with G-d, you had never lost it either.
no subject
When you said you made changes based on your chat with your Jewish friends I was expecting more accuracy/specifics on Jewish tradition rather than characterization, so seeing the changes in Tom's attitude between the first version and the current one was fascinating, particularly his changing his mind on asking Sharpay about conversion. What led to you changing his position on that? (Not saying this was a bad thing! It was just surprising.)
This pulled at my heartstrings so much that the most coherent thing I could think through most of it was "weh" or sometimes a "YUP", so I've just got a few bits and bobs of commentary:
Driveby cat references always make me grin :'D
Those two paragraphs of what in his life Tom wanted to update his mom on hit me the hardest, probably because I keep doing that mental "so here's what you missed on Glee" monologue too. It was also a rather elegant way of placing the fic in time (marriage! wanting to get married! oh babies), and I hadn't expected Mimi to start a cake business and make it work! Go girl!!
Considering we've had a lot of RP and fics from earlier on than this with secrets (mostly feelings) being kept from people within this wee triangle and/or references to Sharpay finding things out via eavesdropping, I really like this turnaround to Tom actually telling them things, and telling them the most.
Feeling a bit awkward about dropping by on your one night stand, Ted?
Tom deciding that though they've never met, his mom would like Sharpay enough to send on that greeting is a cute touch :')
no subject
My position on Tom and conversion actually was a direct result of my conversations with my Jewish friends. While they run the whole gamut from "doesn't even know how to keep kosher" to "KOSHER ALL DAY ERR DAY", one chord was surprisingly common: if they were a Jewish guy, they would - without any hesitation whatsoever - eventually ask their non-Jewish SOs to convert. While Tom is the least Jewish person ever, he would've been raised among fellow Jews - he went to freaking Hebrew school! - and I know this topic came up once or twice.
He wouldn't have asked Mimi to convert because they were in high school, and lbr, a teenage Jewish guy isn't thinking about marriage and conversion the same way a teenage Jewish girl is. I'd gotten the technical details accurately, but when I had my Jewish friends read this over, I'd given him an inaccurate culturally Jewish voice. Thus, his stance on conversion had changed, since he definitely knows he wants to marry Sharpay at this point in time.
Iiii have absolutely no idea if Sharpay ever did. Just that Tom'd like it, in case his kids end up being super Jewish - he doesn't want a non-Jewish mom preventing them from partaking in Jewish culture (because sadly, this IS a legitimate hurdle).
I love my driveby kitty references too! They'll never get old.
O-oh gosh I hadn't even thought about it in terms of an episode recap but that makes sense! Mimi had some help from Bruce Wayne's trust fund, but the success is 99.9% her own 8) I was hoping it'd be the stepping stone to the epilogue Mimi we see, where she gains enough fame through her cake biz to get a cookbook deal, which snags her a TV show... and you know the rest.
Haha yeah, I was actually getting tired of the "Sharpay learning things via eavesdropping" trope. :( I know Tom keeps things from her sometimes, but the important ones? The really, really important ones? He'd tell her as soon as possible - especially at this point.
fgjkl; that is a happier reason for Ted not showing up than what I imagined (him having to save the world again).
Tom really does think his mom'd like Sharpay! From what little we've seen (all 2.5 panels), I'd concur - she seems like the smart and sensible type, and Tom knows he was lucky as hell to have her.