There are some mutual advantages to living in a non-
insular neighborhood.
When someone mentions the discord between factions in the
Jewish world, I'm always surprised. Perhaps it's because I
live in Romema, a `cosmopolitan' neighborhood. With so many
different types around, there's no room for looking down at
others. In my own building, everyone gets along, though we,
too, have a diverse crowd, ranging from Belzers to Briskers
to Sefardim. I remember being overwhelmed at the amount of
cakes sent by my joyous neighbors for the sholom
zochor of our bechor, and at the help and support
when packing on a moment's notice to go to the States for my
father's funeral. On a daily basis, there are always plenty
of babysitters-in-a-pinch. My own children have playmates to
teach English to, and from whom to pick up Hebrew and
Yiddish. When baking at night, there is always someone who
has extra eggs, margarine or sugar.
But it was this past week that really brought the feelings
into focus. A month ago, an elderly secular neighbor passed
away. The rest of us were galvanized into action. Two women
from my entrance went to bring food and sympathy to the widow
as soon as they heard the news. A man from downstairs left
Kollel early to be at the funeral. Another from
upstairs took time to explain all the pertinent
halochos. My next door neighbor and I prepared the
seudas havro'a and everyone took turns to pay
nichum aveilim visits and to share in the pain of our
widowed neighbor. We now sat and spoke at length with her,
though we had previously only exchanged pleasantries in
passing.
After the shiva, one neighbor decided that
mishnayos should be learned for the deceased,
culminating in a siyum on the shloshim. A
number of neighbors assisted in the project. As this date
approached, new plans were discussed back and forth, with the
women taking part. One of us hosted it in her house while
others supplied cakes and drinks. The new widow deeply
appreciated all of the sincere efforts, both for her sake and
her husband's.
The most moving part was the siyum itself; it was an
impressive mixture of Chassidim, Litvaks and Sefardim sitting
around a table together, following the mishnayos from
texts. Some with long payos dangling, others' tucked
behind their ears and some without any. Long jackets and
short; men from America, Europe and generations-old
Jerusalemites. So different, yet so much the same - all
partcipating in the mitzva of chessed shel
emes, providing merit for one who could no longer garner
it on his own.
The siyum proved not only that different types can get
along, but unity can be generated with just a little effort
on everyone's part. The good-will already existed. May we
always merit to be part of such togetherness - for
simchos mainly.
