Dei'ah veDibur - Information & Insight
  

A Window into the Chareidi World

7 Nissan 5763 - April 9, 2003 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
NEWS

OPINION
& COMMENT

OBSERVATIONS

HOME
& FAMILY

IN-DEPTH
FEATURES

VAAD HORABBONIM HAOLAMI LEINYONEI GIYUR

TOPICS IN THE NEWS

HOMEPAGE

 

Produced and housed by
Shema Yisrael Torah Network
Shema Yisrael Torah Network

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Home and Family


The Invitation
a story by Sara Carmel

One very ordinary Erev Shabbos, Gary walked into the Schwartz's lives. Tall and thin with a mop of curly brown hair, well moussed and groomed, with a tiny brown leather yarmulka squashed in the center. He wore a light blue shirt and yellow tie with his well tailored navy suit. His shiny leather shoes attracted the boys' attention; they wanted to know which shoe polish he used to attain the luster of brown- red shoes. Gary laughed, waved them off and said, "When you'll pay the price I pay, then the shoes will shine the same way."

Firday night he joined the father and the boys on their way to shul; presently he was at the crossroad, searching for the truth. The road of Yiddishkeit seemed to beckon to him following his unsuccessful trek down the road of materialism, the way of life that seems to be the solution for the cavity in one's heart, which grows larger at every acquisition.

Gary, a lonely soul, was born to Holocaust survivors at their prime. Unfortunately, they had thrown the yoke away following the terrible war. They were hapless and yet sought to rebuild their lives anew on a different path, seeking to offer the best shelter for their offspring. After many years of waiting, they were blessed with a son. They called him "Gershon-Gary" after his mother's father. Often, his mother would hold him close to her and cry. Gary, the Americanized version of Gershon, would wipe her salty tears off his forehead and pull himself away. The tears bore through his soft heart, causing him much emotional turmoil.

Gary was their joy and pride and the salve for their burns and wounds. Yet Gary felt depressed and would awaken at night to hear soft whimpering. Yes, he knew the source. His mother's sleeping pills did not erase the horrors and nightmares from her memory and so she suffered quietly. For she dared not taint his carefree youth in the "Golden Land" with her horror stories; hence she buried them within her and would share them at night with her tear-soaked pillow.

At his high school graduation, his mother was very weak, yet refused to forego this special event. So she came, thin and emaciated, obviously unwell, yet her beaming face bespoke her pride in her one and only son. Shortly thereafter, she succumbed to her illness. On her deathbed, she draw her precious Gary close to her and admitted her mistake. "Please," she begged, "search for the light which we have so foolishly abandoned, for only the Torah can light the dark tunnels of life for a Jew."

Having stated her will, she closed her eyes and slept, the only peaceful sleep that Gary had ever witnessed.

Gary attended Harvard University for two years, but decided to put his studies on hold and go out into the real world. He needed action. He needed to do and to feel needed. Thus, he entered his father's clothing distribution firm and expanded the line by contacting various companies. Business was booming and Gary was pleased, especially when his father read the bank statement and would then pat him on the shoulder and say, "I knew you vould make it von day!"

Slowly, the aging father handed over all the reins to Gary, and only came to `supervise' the business operations. Often, he would sit with a glazed look in his eyes and seem to watch the goings-ons outside the window. This pained his son, whose pillar of support seemed to be moving further and further away from his grasp. Old Pa was slipping away and often fell into a deep sleep following this trance-like state, leaving Gary no alternative but to purchase an easy chair to accommodate his aging father. At times, Gary would put his hands behind his head and ask his father, beckon him to speak and discuss his dreams, but to no avail. His father seemed to become more and more withdrawn, as though the thoughts were powerful enough to actually gnaw from the physical limbs, leaving him a small and an almost invisible shadow on the comfortable recliner. Gary did not know to whom to turn; he felt that his zest for life was slowly ebbing away, as he knew what the end would bring. He coaxed his father along to doctors who could not find any medical ailment other than `depression' and advanced age.

The end came, leaving Gary alone and on his own, forcing him to brace himself against the world of sadness. Upon clearing up his father's paper work, he found a note addressed to his beloved Gershon:

The spidery handwriting indicated that his father had formulated the will in his later years. Despite his feeble condition, his lucid mind spoke clearly as he wrote, asking Gary's forgiveness for having denied him the true beauty of life and requesting him to taste the truth and enjoy the sweetness that Torah and its commandments had to offer.

Gary, a busy person, felt an urge to uncover the mystery behind his parents' wish. Their unanimous appeal and their strong feelings of guilt demanded an explanation. Hashem, in His infinite wisdom, sent a messenger to complete the mission and to assist the poor child in finding his way home, to Torah.

His secular upbringing in an unorthodox environment did not provide fertile ground for growth in this field which did not prod him to take action. This unfamiliar territory deterred him from asking for directions and help on this path and so he remained until Yossi Schwartz came around.

Yossi served as the department manager of the children's clothing dept. at a huge chain store. Following many calculations over the phone, Gary confirmed his capability of supplying their orders, if there were to be any, and was invited to the office for a meeting. With self-assured strides, he glided through the glass doors and turnstile; following the instructions given by the door guide, he walked to the elevator and punched the number `two,' the second level in the large department store. All too soon, the doors slipped open and he followed the arrow pointing to "offices." He checked his watch once again and then his image in the chrome doors of the elevator and hurried in the direction of the arrow. He took a deep breath while whispering a silent prayer for success.

He rapped on the door, which was opened almost immediately by a cheery fellow.

"Hi! Gary?"

Gary was a bit taken aback by the camaraderie exuded by the manager. He had worried needlessly. He sat back in the cushioned chair and let the manager's friendliness envelop him, placing him completely at ease.

Following the usual formalities of handshakes and names, Yossi got straight to the point and asked to see a catalogue of his wares. At this point, Gary picked up the thread of the conversation and described the excellent quality of goods and their country of origin. Yossi smiled; he was no freshman. He was an experienced haggler and he had a professional eye for high-quality goods at cheap prices. Gary, a well-seasoned and born businessman, found his equal in Yossi and actually enjoyed negotiating with him. Following the successful business deal, Gary decided to broach an entirely different topic, a very personal one. Overcoming his reserve, he said,

"Yossi, er, don't you feel conspicuous with that big black yarmulka, beard and sidelocks in the center of Manhattan and in this department store? You really gave me the shock of my life when you opened the door. It was not what I had expected from talking to you on the phone..."

"Oh, you must be kidding. We live in a democratic country, where religion is separate from the state. Here we are respected for our skills and expertise. It's success that counts," explained Yossi.

Gary remained perplexed. "But can't one be a good Jew by giving charity and helping their fellow man without sticking out like a sore thumb and awakening anti- semitism?"

"Listen here, Gary. I see you're a bit of a greenhorn in all that is related to Judaism. Why don't you come over to my home and spend a Shabbos with the family? You'll see what it's all about. My wife and kids will be delighted to have you as our Shabbos guest."

"To tell the truth, I've never experienced a real Shabbos and only recently heard about the very concept of a real day of rest. I thought that all people at our level of business were workaholics. My parents did not practice religion but in the last few years, I began to pick up bits and pieces on Judaism. Following my mother's death, my father began to introspect and would often speak about Shabbos before the War. His vivid descriptions of the simple brass candlesticks, which, he maintained, spread a strong light that kindled his spirit for the entire week, made Shabbos come alive. It all seemed very archaic and therefore, I didn't believe that there are still Jews who actually practice the Judaism that my parents left behind in the debris of Europe."

"Okay, let's make it short now. Here's my address in Brooklyn. Please make sure to come by four o'clock, so that we can have a chance to get acquainted before sunset."

Gary had to untangle his long legs before reaching for the door. He murmured a polite thank you and raced down the steps. He slipped the pink paper of orders into his brown leather briefcase and placed Yossi's business card in his wallet. His curiosity was piqued as he began to mentally count the days until Shabbos.

*

Shabbos. That first memorable Shabbos. The sparkling small abode housed eight people, yet all was calm. The children were scrubbed clean and dressed immaculately. He was amazed and impressed with this new world. A world that always seemed so distant from him began to find a place within his heart. Gary was told that he'd be welcome anytime and perceived the genuine tone beneath the invitation. He agreed to come again and again.

Despite Gary's quiet childhood, he was cheerful and amiable. The kids loved him and every motzaei Shabbos they would ask him to come again. During the meal, they dared not disturb him in his deep religious conversations with their father. Slowly but surely, Gary's hair was cropped short and a beard began to frame his face. After the meal, he would offer the kids piggybacks to their beds and then joined them in their crowded room. Every week Yossi and Gary had the same argument. Yossi, the host, sought to offer Gary a private room, but Gary politely declined and said, "I want to sleep with the boys. Please give me the pleasure which I never had."

Yossi inquired about the local seminars and informed Gary about their time and places. Nonetheless, Gary found it difficult to substitute these Shabbos classes for the especially delicious and heimishe food, beautiful zemiros and wonderful children.

Gradually, the small brown yarmulka was replaced by a black velvet kipa. No longer did he consider Orthodox Judaism to be a way of life of the past, but of the present and the future.

The halo of warmth that encircled the entire family did not exclude the almost weekly guest. Often, he would pinch the toddler's cheek and tell him how lucky he was to be born and raised in this special atmosphere.

Thursday, Gary became an official family member and knew that he could knock on the door, turn the handle and announce his presence with no qualms. The hostess, Leah Schwartz, offered him Shabbos gefilte fish, which seemed to draw the holy day even closer. Shabbos became a long bridge stretching from Thursday through Sunday.

Gary, a true Shabbos baal tshuva, like so many others who are attracted to Yiddishkeit through the unique home atmosphere, eventually sent a cream-colored invitation embossed with gold lettering to his benefactor. But the name on it was not Gary -- it was Gershon, who had reclaimed his heritage, along with his name.

 

All material on this site is copyrighted and its use is restricted.
Click here for conditions of use.