The synagogue was rather small and cramped, a microcosm of sorts for the cramped confines of the city. Erik could not say what had prompted him to choose this particular synagogue, or to come to any synagogue, period. Although he had been raised in a devout, observant family, attended Shabbat services every Saturday, and knew all of the prayers by rote, he had long ago stopped believing in God.
At least, he had stopped believing in the loving, omnipotent, omnipresent deity his parents had believed in, and who had seemingly sat idly by as Mama and Ojciec were shoved into ovens along with millions of others, like so many loaves of bread.
He did not believe, yet here he was.
By the entrance to the sanctuary was a pegboard, a collection of black kippot - a polite offering for those who had forgotten their own. Erik had not forgotten. Somehow, all through the war, and in the decades since, he had held on to his father's kippah, once black, now faded grey through the years. Its color went well with his hair, now that small flecks of grey had begun to invade the red.
Erik sat in the very back pew. He listened as the cantor sang, his eyes misting with tears as he heard the words, a poetic prayer written by a young Hungarian paratrooper, before she was executed by Nazis.
Eli, Eli
Shelo yigamer le'olam:
Hachol vehayam
Rishrush shel hamayim
Berak hashamayim
Tefilat ha'adam. . .
The cantor's voice trailed off, and for several long moments the congregation was awash in mournful, reverent silence. Erik covered his eyes and bowed his head, his body shaking with silent sobs. He wanted to pray, but what would be the point? No one would hear him, and even so, no one would answer, except -
Charles. Charles, are you there? It's Erik…
Erik?Charles' tone was tremulous, and incredulous. Erik held his breath as Charles continued.
Erik, where are you? Are you alright? His accent gave the semblance of calm, but his alarm was evident. Yes, yes, I'm alright, Erik replied. At least, I think I am.
Right, that's comforting. At least you think you're alright. You never answered my question: where are you? Charles' insistent concern was touching. But you already know, don't you? Why don't you tell me, Charles.
Though he would have preferred to hear Erik think it, Charles humored him. Alright, Erik, I'll tell you: you are at Bet Am Shalom Synagogue, 295 Soundview Ave., White Plains, NY 10606. You're so close! Charles sounded plaintive, almost pleading. I wish I could come to you.
It was a sentiment Erik shared. Ever since their parting last yeari, he had stayed close, close enough that if he should so choose, Charles would be able to locate him without using Cerebro. After a decade-long estrangement, Erik couldn't bear to be too far away, even if Charles should regard him as an enemy. Clearly, that was not the case. I wish that, too, Erik thought. I wish I knew why I came here in the first place! All it is doing is making me feel sad.
Erik, didn't you know? Charles sounded genuinely baffled. Today is Yom HaShoah, it makes perfect sense for you to be there. Yes, Erik knew. Though the date changed every year, Erik had observed what was often translated to English as Holocaust Remembrance Day every year since it was first instituted in 1953. Indeed, though he rarely attended synagogue, he at least observed every major Jewish holiday with prayer. The Jewish calendar was indelibly imprinted in his mind.
Charles knew all of this. Many times he had watched Erik light the shabbos candles, and heard him recite the prayers, the same prayers that had been recited in his family for centuries. As he shared a mental meld with Erik's thoughts, Charles too began to weep. Erik, he began, but after he had probed the depths of his friend's mind, there was nothing more to say. Erik. . .
It was enough. As suddenly as he had come, Charles left, switching off his mental connection to Erik as one would a light.
Author's Notes: I'm getting these abrupt endings down to an art! In observance of Yom HaShoah, and anticipation of the upcoming film X-men: Apocalypse, I thought I would try my hand at writing a drabble of Magneto in a synagogue. For any readers who have great knowledge of are adherents themselves of Judaism, please be aware that I am no expert, and indeed have only a basic understanding of Jewish religious practices.
This fanfiction takes place on April 18, 1974, approximately one year after the events of X-men: Days of Future Past.
The 'young Hungarian paratrooper' mentioned is Hannah Szenes, and her poem Eli, Eli, has been set to music various times (My personal favorite is a rendition by Ofra Haza from 1977).
The synagogue Erik attends, Bet Am Shalom, is a Reconstructionist synagogue, perhaps half an hour from the location of the Xavier Institute. My descriptions of Bet Am's interior is intentionally vague, and I do not know if there is a pegboard with kippot at the entrance. From the photos I've seen, I know that Bet Am does not have pews, but that's creative license.