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.
