iWhither can I go from Your spirit?/i
House was careful to avoid Wilson on Yom Kippur, knowing what he saw in the other man's eyes. But there was something more that day, spending more time outside the hospital than Wilson ever did. It was too solemn of a day to spend near the oncologist or the other Jewish members of the staff. He'd lost track of those folks too long ago for him to safely avoid their gaze in the hallway. And so House found himself outside again, standing at the glass doors to the hospital. He was waiting for something, but he didn't know what. There had to be something worth doing.
There was nothing to do but limp to his car and leave. Simple as that and nothing more, he knew. There was no patients and clinic hours for the day tended to be covered by Wilson or another guilt-ridden Israelite with an urge for repentance and masochism. House knew even Cuddy wouldn't bother him for a day.
iWhither can I flee from Your presence?/i
There weren't too many places to go on a Thursday afternoon. House didn't know any he wanted to go, at least. Nothing good alone and he found himself circling a building he almost recognized. The wood seemed familiar, at least. So he pulled into the almost-full parking lot, ignored the cops leaning on the posts and dragged himself to the front doors.
He knew why he recognized the doors the instant he saw the Hebrew inscription. Wilson had been married in a temple the first time, traditional everything the most important to his parents and hers. House had been there, sitting in the back with the other gentile and misunderstanding every other word. The real plus side had been the food and surprisingly comfortable chairs.
iIf I ascend to Heaven, You are there!/i
A few overly enthusiastic and yet endearingly serious ushers greeted him at the door, smiling gently and asking him why he was there. Though they had been collecting tickets before he'd set foot through the glass and wood doors, it didn't seem to matter. They let him pass with only a few comments. House wondered if it was common for gentiles to go wandering the streets on Yom Kippur, abandoned by their Jewish friends. But the temple was nice enough and he knew the seats were comfortable.
One of the ushers pointed him to the main room, guiding him to a seat next to the door. He could hear the Hebrew echoing through the room, settling into the seat and trying to think of something else. But the cantor (that's what he though the singer was called) did have a good singing voice. And the girl in front of him had one worse than he could pleasantly imagine.
iIf I make my home in the lowest depths, behold, You are there!/i
The Hebrew, admittedly, didn't mean anything to House. But there was interspersing English and a sermon he almost found interesting. The prayer book in front of him wasn't the same as the rest and he gave up after the first four pages didn't match up and it didn't matter because everyone else had it memorized. So he settled back into the seat, leaning his cane on the chair back in front of him, listening to the hum of music and wondering how much of it was on iTunes.
He found himself concentrating on a cello solo as the music flowed, haunting notes coming and fading with the voice of the choir. The song had never been named but the congregation paid silent and close attention. House found himself trying to recognize the notes, though he knew that was hopeless. It simply seemed such common knowledge writ upon the other's faces.
iIf I take up the wings of the morning/i
As the music faded out and people began to jostle their way out, House grabbed for a red prayer book. Someone had left their son their seat, bright against the dark cushioning. It took a few moments of him flipping through the pages to find some transliterated Hebrew he thought he recognized. The song was Kol Nidre, accompanied by a paragraph of translations. A simple prayer, he noticed.
Just another promise to be broken and one that couldn't even be punished. People lied and then expected God not to even care. That was all he saw in the prayer, nothing that the looks on the congregant's faces told him he should have seen. And he knew why Wilson had stopped going after all. The prayers were too much, throwing a people at the mercy of God and giving them no hope. They groveled and begged for forgiveness. Nothing more sickening than groveling in a foreign language.
iAnd dwell on the ocean's farthest shore/i
He left the synagogue more understanding then he had entered, though he couldn't claim to be certain. There had to be something said for the fact that Wilson had stopped groveling. After all, no grown man needed to sit around and beg forgiveness from a God who couldn't even forgive all his crimes. That was the lesson Wilson had always wanted to teach him. Man must forgive man for his crimes. Three times he must be asked, and on the third God would forgive if man could not.
Wilson had never asked for forgiveness, not so directly. House would never had come out and said it the way the prayer book wept over, bleeding prose like a dying patient. It didn't mean anything after a few pages. But there was something different feeling about the wind in his hair as he drove back towards the hospital, judging the sun half-set. He could grab his stuff and go without a word.
iEven there Your hand will lead me /i
The stopover at the grocery store was an unexpected thought. House wasn't sure why he wanted to do something different. It had been simple enough for years, one day they'd avoid each other. Even Cuddy knew that. But after the service, after listening to age old words and older wishes, he felt something else would be appropriate. The apple was just the first produce he found, grabbed off a shelf and shoved into a bag. He found honey by accident, a Jewish customer next to him extolling the virtues of the tradition far louder than he needed.
Both items ended up tossed in the back of his car, thumping and rolling with each turn as he made his way back to the hospital. Everyone knew that the sunset was a marker of sorts for the Jews, everyone avoiding the cafeteria by then. Then lines went around the corner as they waited for the fast to break. He could save Wilson from that line and get some entertainment at the same time. And if they talked a bit too much, they did. It was Yom Kippur. All would be forgiven.
iYour right hand will hold me/i
