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Yitzak Levy
visited me two days after a surgical team amputated my left leg.
He looked like what he was: an Orthodox Jewish Rabbi with
sparkling, optimistic blue eyes. He had an untrimmed beard and curly
sideburns. He wore a dull, black striped suit, white shirt opened at
the neck, fringes and a yarmulke (skull cap) under a dark felt hat.
He was dressed for a nineteenth century shtetl (Eastern European
Jewish village) but functioned efficiently and compassionately in a
state-of-the-art twentieth century medical center.
His soft hands belied his strong handshake.
He carried his
religion in his heart and protected its provisions in a large,
old-time lawyer’s briefcase: a tallit (prayer shawl), a supply of
The Metrowest Jewish News (a local English language Jewish
community newspaper) and copies of a tabloid for the densely populated
Orthodox communities in Brooklyn, NY. It also carried Hebrew prayer
books and, in a worn velvet bag, phylacteries (tfilin).
I am a more
modern free thinker, not prone to outmoded traditions, dogmas and
miniscule details.
“You would like
to put on tfillin?” he asked.
“I don’t think
so, Rabbi”.
“Why not? Is it
too old fashioned?”
Before I could
answer, he asked, “at home, you have a mezuzah (a religious
doorplate)?”
“Yes, we do.”
“Well, tfillin is
a mezuzah you wear on your person, not on your door post. Both contain
the Ten Commandments. Both are ordained in the Bible.”
Searching for a
good excuse, I told the old scholar that I was tired … which was
obvious.
He respectfully
re-packed his salvation kit and departed, leaving with a smile, a warm
handshake and his good-bye blessing.
He returned twice
more during that long hospitalization. We discussed national and
international politics, social, religious and family values and the
after life (which I believe in—he didn’t). Each visit ended with a
handshake and the traditional blessing, “Shalom Aleichem” (“Peace be
with you.”)
We met several
times during additional unrelated surgeries; each meeting an
intellectual challenge to both the Orthodox Rabbi and his Reform
co-religionist.
Our last meeting
took place in the same hospital. It began with a smile and a weak
handshake. This time he brought his son from Australia.
“Maybe today
you’ll put on tfillin. I’d consider it a personal favor. Will you do
this favor for a old buddy?”
I gave him my arm
as his son opened the velvet bag.
He brought out
two soft black containers mounted on leather straps, each container
carrying the Ten Commandments; one for my head, one for my arm. The
Rabbi read the ritual Hebrew prayers.
Our bedside
meeting ended, again, with a smile and an enthusiastic but weak
handshake.
As he left, he
said “Shalom Aleichem”. I said “good-bye ol’ buddy.”
And blessed tears
flowed from his ancient eyes.
A few weeks
later, I read my buddy’s obituary in The Jewish News. |
