 | Open my Heart: A Story for Chanukahposted by KJ Hannah Greenberg, Aishes ChayilSunday, December 18th 2011 @ 5:18 AM |
This story is based on a true event that happened roughly thirty years ago....
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“Matt there?”
“Sure. Hudi?! How are you? We read about you in The Ledger. Tatti’s so proud.”
“Right.”
“I’m sure Sabba’s smiling from Shamayim.”
“Great.”
“Uncle Leon says if you want to talk about it he’s…"
“Is Matt there?”
“Sure. Sure. No problem. I’ll get him.”
******************************
“Matt?”
“Hi Hudi! How’s it going?”
“Maybe you can help me.”
“I heard you won in court.”
“Yeah.”
“The whole family talks about you at every simcha.”
“Great.”
“You don’t really care.”
“No."
“Everyone’s so honored to be related to you.”
“Right.”
“Really. My Rebbe says…”
“Spare me. I thought you...”
“Sorry. It’s just that it’s not every day that such a Kiddish Hashem…”
“Whatever. Doesn’t matter.”
“It does. Aren’t your parents proud, too?”
“Absolutely. I wanted to talk to you about…”
“And your older sister? “
“Dates more.”
“And your rabbi?”
“Yeah, sure. Maybe I’ll call someone else.”
“Nu? What gives?”
“Now those country clubbers adore Mom and Dad. Shushi likes the boys liking her. Our rav likes us. The lawyers like us. Everybody and their relatives like us.”
“You didn’t call to talk about it, did you? “
“No.”
“Sorry. I mean really sorry. How can I help, cousin?”
“Yeshivot.”
“Come again.”
“Yeshivot. In Israel. I heard they have them for kids like me. You know.”
“Absolutely! My sister’s husband’s brother teaches at the best one.”
“Not surprised. Help me?”
“I can ask. How do you feel about the publicity?”
“I hide.”
“Why? You can use it.”
“To get into yeshiva?”
“No. I don’t know. I’ll have to ask. We haven’t learned that yet.”
“I thought you guys know everything."
“Hardly. Did it really happen the way the newspapers said? I heard the ADL and Agudah got involved.”
“Just the ADL. Don’t really want to talk ‘bout it.”
“You did a great mitzvah.”
“He helped me.”
“You helped us. You helped the kids at your school. Later, they won’t have the same problems. You helped all of us. You’re a true Pinchas!”
“Those kids couldn’t care less.”
“Not today. Tomorrow, for sure. Gee, by tomorrow you might be another Rabbi Akiva. It’s a matter of madregot.”
“Madregot? Who do I call or email about an application?”
“I’ll find out.”
“My folks still want me to go to university. I had good SATs.”
“Oh. That’s different. You have to honor them.”
“Them? They wanted me to back down. When I called from the principal’s, they told me to apologize and to sit quietly for the rest of the holiday pageant.”
“But you didn’t. You didn’t back down. You didn’t sit quietly.”
“Couldn’t. I couldn’t stand for those religious songs. One of the other kids who followed me to the principal’s was crying. I couldn’t back down.”
“Wow. Is that how it happened?”
“No. There’s no miracle in wanting to stay friends.”
“So?”
“It was a girl. She writes for the school paper. She was taking notes on her Blackberry. Ol' Hedgerow grabbed it from her. He took our cellphones, too. I only reached my folks ‘cause he dialed and handed the thing to me.”
“Wow!”
“You’d have done the same.”
“I’m not sure. At least you did what you did. You were like Nachshon ben Aminadav, jumping in all by yourself with Klal Yisrael watching.”
“Right.”
“Really!”
“You’re the smart one. You’re the one who knows all that Torah.”
“I’m not you. You’re at a higher place.”
“Those teachers weren’t.”
“What?”
“They yelled at us. I though we were back in Sabba’s Europe. They yelled at us in front of everyone sitting in assembly.”
“Horrible.”
“I didn’t mind the songs about snowflakes and about rushing to shop, but that other stuff was too much. When they said everyone had to stand ‘in respect,’ I lost it.”
“Why this year?”
“Shabbat.”
“Huh?”
“Shabbat Shacharit. A tiny part of one prayer. Ha Kadosh Baruch Hu affects me, too, even if I don’t dress like you or go to your school.”
“Seems you’re more of a Torah Jew than me. I never honored Ha Kodosh Baruch Hu publicly in such an important way. So how did you get from the principal’s office to the courtroom?”
“The group of us refused to leave. Eventually school was over. The buses came and left. By night, our parents called, worried.”
“Back up. Which prayer? What part?”
“Shemoneh Esrei. The last part. Where it says ‘open my heart to Your Torah.’ ”
“We read that three times a day.”
“You do.”
“You…”
“Don’t. Not yet. I hope yeshiva will help. I mouth words sometimes without understanding them. That Shabbat, like the rest, I was forced to stay with the big kids inside and not run up and down the hill near the Jewish Center.”
“And?"
“And I was bored. Out of my mind with not wanting to be there. Besides, we had just gotten to Shemoneh Esrei, which, to me, had been all about standing up and sitting down.”
“What changed?”
“Not everyone else.”
“You can’t judge.”
“Fair enough. Okay, I changed. I hated standing and sitting down. I get confused as to when to say 'amen,' when to mouth the words, and when to be silent.”
“You understand now.”
“Just a little. Anyway, the grownups were talking. Lots of stock tips and ball game scores, few ‘amens.’ I paged through the siddur. Cool stuff, if you know where to look. I found those special words, for instance, at the end of the Shemoneh Esrei.”
“Words didn’t matter before?”
“Correct, dear Cousin. That morning, though, when I read them, I felt that I could be as important to The Big Guy as someone like you. Not that I want to be you; I want to be me.”
“Chhhhh. Our rebbe has been trying to explain that to our class for ages. I think I get it. There’s a story with a rabbi dying and his students coming to him and asking him if he’s afraid that he’ll be asked why he wasn’t like Moshe…”
“I don’t want to be Moshe, either. About those Israeli yeshivot…”
“Wait! Wait! Don’t leave me in the middle of the story. What happened?”
“What happened?”
“After you and the principal were left at school.”
“Told you already. The parents called. They came and picked up their kids. The principal yelled at the kids.”
“No way!”
“You’ve never been to a public school. The parents yelled at the kids. The principal yelled at the kids. Lots of punishments.”
“How’d that feel?”
“Mine threatened me with my senior class trip."
“I thought you went to Paris.”
“I did. Mom and Dad couldn’t punish me.”
“Why not?”
“Our grandparents. Ya ever hear those stories?”
“Hitler Yimach Sh’mo.”
“Exactly. They backed down. Mom called a lawyer friend and that friend represented me and then the rest of the kids. We became a class action case. The Jewish organizations rallied. The newspapers and TV stations had lots of fun.”
“That’s it?”
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“At the trial, there was a young guy in the audience who dressed like you. As I was leaving the courtroom, he spat at my feet. He said a lot of hurtful things. He said I knew nothing.”
“What do you think?”
“I think I need to learn more. I think he was wrong, too.”
“I can work on those contacts. But your parents have to approve.”
“Thanks.”
“Matt…”
“Yeah?”
“Would you have done it?”
“I don’t know. I wish I could say ‘yes.’ It’s really rough to go against parents and teachers. I don’t think I’m wise enough to know when it’s okay to do so and when it’s not.”
“Oh. Maybe the guy in the courtroom was right.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I don’t know.”
“Sometimes you have to act, even when you don’t know. Did I tell you I might be learning in Jerusalem next year? Im and Av are talking about moving me there.”
“If I get there, would you walk the streets with me?”
“Would you walk the streets with me?”
“Do you still cut your doughnuts into quarters?”
“Do you still dunk your eggs with ketchup?”
“Do you remember Safta’s goldfish?”
“Do you remember Sabba’s cat?”
“I love you, Cousin.”
“I love you, too. I’ll try to get that information to you this week.”
“Thanks.”
“Happy Chanukah, Yehudah.”
“Happy Chanukah, Matityahu.”
