The Short Vort
Good Morning!
Today is Thursday the 4th of Shevat 5782 and January 6, 2022
Shukran lakum
With about 15,000 Orthodox Jews, Passaic is well known to us.
Many forget that just a few short miles away is Paterson, NJ.
“Paterson, New Jersey, is nicknamed Little Ramallah with an Arab-American population estimated as high as 20,000,” wrote one newspaper recently.
The signs on the windows of the stores tell the story.
“Restaurant Ramallah,” “Café al- Khalil,” “Nablus Nook,” and of course, “al-Quds Quality foods.”
The doctor’s office I was visiting is in Paterson.
The office was full of people of all ethnicities and races, including many Muslims.
I noticed an elderly gentleman walking towards the receptionist.
He looked so sad and so helpless.
He was standing in front of the doctor’s office’s check-out window.
The receptionist told him he owed twenty dollars as a co-payment for his visit.
At first, he removed a ten-dollar bill from his pocket.
He then fumbled through his other pockets until he found a five-dollar bill.
He began to pull out a few single dollar bills and then produced three quarters, a dime, and seven nickles.
The receptionist, somewhat agitated, began to count the money.
“That comes to nineteen dollars and twenty cents. You are still eighty cents short.”
The elderly gentleman dug his hand deep into a side pocket, yet, no more money was forthcoming.
The man looked down and said with an embarrassed tone, “I’m sorry, that’s all I have.”
There was silence in the waiting room full of masked patients.
No one moved, and all pretended not to hear the conversation at the receptionist’s window.
I was next in line to check out, and I instinctively opened up my wallet, took out a dollar, and gave it to the man.
“Here, please take the money and pay your bill.”
He said to me, “Shukran lakum (thank you); you are my brother.”
After he handed the receptionist the dollar, I quickly paid my bill and headed for the door.
The elderly fellow was also reaching for the door, and I opened it and allowed both of us to leave.
Once again, he said to me, “Shukran lakum,” and added, “You are truly a kind man just like your older brother told me you would be.”
I looked at him quizzically as I had no idea what he was referring to.
“You look confused. Let me tell explain.
But, are you sure you have time? Nowadays, young people are always in a rush.”
“I am not rushing, and I am not young. Please continue.”
“Perhaps you view me as an enemy?”
“I view you as a human being as I am.
We are all born in the image of G-d. We come from the same father.”
He smiled and said, “Yes, we are brothers. It is cold here in the street. Let us go into this small store; we can have tea together.”
I hesitated. “No harm will come to you and a tea you can have.”
We entered a small storefront that had no indication it was an eatery.
There were two or three small tables.
We sat down, and the waiter brought two hot cups filled with steaming water and two teabags on the side. I silently noticed the O-U on the teabag.
After taking a long sip of the hot tea, my new-found-friend began to speak.
“My name is Galib Dawoud.
I was born in 1931 in Palestine.
As a boy, I lived in the Old City of Jerusalem. We referred to it as Bait al-Maqdis (Arabic for Beit HaMikdash).
I lived near what the Jews called the Ungarin Shul (also known as the Ohel Yitzchok Shul).
I was the Shabbos Goy.
I would come on Shabbos early in the morning, put on the heat, and light the candles.
I was friendly with all of the Chassidic boys. I even learned Yiddish.
After putting the lights on, someone would give me a piece of kugel and a drink.
One day I came by, and after putting on the lights, I was told there was no kugel today. The rabbi explained that the Jews had heard that the locals were planning a riot that day, so they would daven quickly and go home, and there would be no food today.
I must have looked disappointed. The rabbi, who looked like you, said to me, “Don’t worry about not being “paid” today for putting on the lights and heat. The Jewish people have long memories. There will come a time when you will be required to pay for something, and you won’t have the money. A Jewish brother will come forward and pay for you. That payment will be your reward for putting on the lights for us today. Our G-d never forgets those who are kind to the Jewish people.”
For a long time, I have thought about that promise from the rabbi.
I eventually moved here to America, yet, I always wondered if the rabbi’s promise would be fulfilled.
Today, after 80 years, it came true. The rabbi was right;
G-d never forgets one who is kind to the Jewish people. You are the brother the rabbi spoke about over eighty years ago.”
We finished our tea, and we both stood up to leave.
I opened the door for him and said, “Please, after you.”
“Shukran lakum,” he said as he walked out the door.
He then smiled widely and added, “Zei gezunt.”
“If Not Now, Then When?”- Hillel
Ron Yitzchok Eisenman
Rabbi
Congregation Ahavas Israel
Passaic, NJ
