B-H
My day ended somewhere in Northeastern Oregon, where I could
while away some time before a morning appointment in Tacoma. Instead of taking
the shortest route to Tacoma, I wanted to see Mt Rainier on my way there. So I
steered my vehicle off the interstate and left behind the volcanic landscape
with fruit orchards in the valleys around Yakima. Soon I was driving through
different valleys - mountain gorges surrounded by high, but still volcanic, peaks.
At first my car zoomed into a tunnel of greenery made out of
cedars and pines and leafy trees. But the green subway quickly got darker, as
only Evergreen trees can survive the harsh winter conditions of a higher elevation.
After the mountain pass where I expected to see Mt Rainier,
I stopped to view some small-but-stunning alpine lakes. The awesome view that I
had awaited surprised me once again. Mt. Rainier towered like the sharp teeth
of some giant monster peak. She was there, but how different she looked. In the
past I usually saw Mt Rainier under a clear sky; but now, when I came from the
East in the late afternoon, the view was completely different. The sunshine
created beams of light that shone between the branches fashioning the tunnel
through which I drove. Now, seeing the mountain in open space made for nothing
less than a supernatural sight. In the haze coming straight from the distant
Pacific Ocean, the photons - particles of light that are slowed down in the
combined atoms of hydrogen and oxygen - gave the mountain a ghostly, ethereal
look.
As in all of the rest of nature, here too I saw a miracle: a
miracle of shapes, lights, smells and sounds. It was an act of creation at work
– by the Creator Himself.
At that moment, I thought about another miracle; A miracle
that can only be seen from a 'different light.' A miracle back there in the big
city – in Babylon itself.
Just a few days earlier I spent some time with my children
and granddaughters in the Boro Park section of Brooklyn. Although I davened
there with few minyanim alongside some Chusheve Chasidishe Rebbes, I didn’t go
to ask them for a miracle - even though my life requires nothing less than that
right now. I went to regenerate and recharge my spiritual batteries in my Rav’s
Beis Hamedrash, and also some other places. But as always, what impressed me
most in Boro Park was the view of the Yididshe gass – the Jewish street.
The kedusha – the holiness of institutions of learning and prayer
that can be found on almost every block and corner are seeping out of the
buildings and are detectable for a sensitive soul, even on the polluted streets
of this urban jungle. In the madness of traffic and sidewalks filled with
people, if you open your eyes you can still see peace and love in the faces,
conversations and simple behaviors of people passing you on the street.
Yes, life in the city is stressful and fast-paced, but I
don’t want to compare the Jewish residents of Bavel to some happy and perhaps
less-stressed villagers. In that competition Boro Parkers would lose, since I
personally prefer town life rather than city life. Still, the presence of true
Torah Jews in The City; people who are devoted to self-improvement, social development
and general holiness, is nothing less than a miracle.
While driving and witnessing the miracle of this 14000+ ft
mountain, I was thinking about different experiences and occurrences that are
even more fascinating for me than the sight of physical beauty, even given the
fact that I am a nature enthusiast who truly appreciates magnificent
geographical phenomena.
I was reminded of some other memories, from the same places
and the same streets.
I remember going with my son to some small book store
somewhere in Brooklyn, to buy some sefurim and books. While building the pile together,
the salesman began speaking to us in a manner which no salesman ever should. In
fact, no man should speak that way to any other human being.
I took it rather patiently, though that older Chasidic man
was not talking in a manner befitting his Chasidic attire. His language was
simply inappropriate for welcoming a client, especially a client who obviously
intended to spend a few hundred dollars in his store. I understood that there
must be something wrong with the man. But my son, who was the brunt of his bitter
comments, was a bit less tolerant and certainly feeling more stressed. At one
point my son gave a short speech to the salesman in his native Yiddish, and then
asked me to leave the books and go. I felt for my boy as he was being
humiliated for no reason, and with regret I left the sefurim and we walked out
of the store.
I expressed to my son my suspicion that the salesman was
perhaps suffering from some condition which caused him to act in this manner. But
my son disagreed with me, clearly shaken by the whole situation.
Two blocks past the store we encountered a man who was
disheveled and eccentric. There are a few men like him in the neighborhood, but
each is slightly different in appearance and behavior.
This man's tzitzis (talis katan) was covered with countless
flecks of dirt and splotches of food which had fallen on it. His beard and
payos had obviously not been brushed for years. Even his veise zaken (white
sacks) were more gray than white. He had some sheets of plastic covering him,
boxes of ripped suitcases in one hand and a stick in his other hand, which he
was waving while screaming to the passersby, including the two of us. He also
wore Chasidic garb, but in his case there was no doubt that the man was
mentally disturbed.
A few days later, when I was already back in the West; my
son told me that he checked on the man in the book store to learn what could be
the cause of such strange behavior. In der kleine yidishe velt (in the small
Jewish World) even within the big city, it doesn’t take long to find
information. My son learned with sadness that indeed the salesman was disturbed,
even though he can function somewhat in society and work with people most of
the time. He has some health issues which can cause the kind of erratic conduct
we experienced in the store.
I thought about other possible situations, while I was
driving. What if this incident had happened, not to us, but to some out-of-towners
who were visiting Boro Park - a place where they would expect to see only
people who are on the spiritual level of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob? What if this
would be someone looking to recharge his spiritual batteries, and he instead got
them burned by a salesman with a bad attitude?
Would he have enough understanding for his fellow Jew who is
suffering from a mental condition? Would he be able to rationalize to himself
that he is not dealing with a normal situation?
I don’t know. I hope that many would weigh the circumstances
with love and patience. I hope they would still see what I see every time I go
back to these places of holiness. Despite the fact that we have some cases of
mental illness or undeveloped middos (character traits) or even white collar
criminals and other people of inappropriate conduct in the frum community, the holiness
can still be detectible to the sensitive eye, on the streets of the big city.
And that is a great miracle.
Someone may ask – Why employ a man with mental problems as a
salesman in their store?
Well… a yid darft parnuse (it is honorable for a Jew to work
for his living). Perhaps this was the only place where some other Jew offered
him occupation. Although it may not benefit the owner financially, it is a
definite act of chesed (kindness). Chesed is not cost-effective – but it is
compassionate.
This Yid might have ended up like the other person whom we
encountered after leaving the store – on the street – had it not been for the
kindness of the proprietor. So why was
he employed while the other fellow remained homeless? Perhaps the stage or form
of his mental condition didn't allow the street person to take even a simple
job or live somewhere where he can wash and sleep in human conditions. But he
is still among us, he is still us, he is still part of the holy Jewish street
in the big city.
He too is part of this miracle.
Matys Weiser
