“That’s why he got into music. Have you not heard this? My grandparents were looking for some way to keep him engaged in the community, so he started working for a music shop owner down the street, a friend of the family from back in Belarus. You can’t play instruments during Shabbat, so Dad studied music instead, pretending it was for fun. Traditional music at first, then poof . . . everything.”

“But . . . his music has such heart.”

I laughed. “And?”

“I’m not saying atheists can’t write great music, but a lot of the modernist and post-modern stuff leaves me cold. I like it, I appreciate it, the deconstruction is sort of . . . unnerving. Your dad’s stuff isn’t like that. Even his Jersey Suite is so humane. It’s wry, it’s a commentary, but you can hear grace in it.”

I knew what he meant. “Dad has a word for it. You must have heard it, working with him . . .”

“The ‘ineffable’?”

“That’s it.” I smiled.

“He’s mentioned it once or twice . . .”

“ . . . an hour.”

Oscar laughed. “Not sure I have a grasp on it yet. It being ineffable and all.”

“He gave a conductor talk once that finally made it make sense for me,” I said, turning the corner. “He definitely believes in that invisible piece, but he sees it as . . . the composer, basically. Every life experience you’ve ever had, every thought, memory—everything you bring to the piece before you sit down to write it, distilled into one magical element. It’s not God . . . it’s you. I started thinking about what that would sound like for me. If I could write music. Which I can’t, so . . . meh. It would sound like oh well.”

Oscar fell silent, working the ineffable out as we walked.

I watched him for a moment. “So you’re religious.”

“In my own way. My granddad’s a reverend, so . . .”

“What? How have we not talked about this?”

“Yeah, we’re Baptist. Grandpa’s seventy-two, so he’s pretty much retired now.”

Same age as Dad.

“He gets a guest pulpit from time to time, but he doesn’t have his own flock anymore. I think he likes staying above the fray. Church politics get pretty wild. Anyway, his faith and my faith are two different things. Mine’s more centered on music. Every song I write is a song of praise in its own way.”

“Wow,” I said. We’d reached the house.

“Are you an atheist?”

“I wouldn’t go that far? I think that I would prefer to believe in God, but . . . only if he likes me. Which isn’t exactly the tagline for Judaism.”

Oscar laughed. “Have you been to services?”