burial plans

A man and his ever-nagging wife went on vacation to Jerusalem. While they were there, the wife passed away. The undertaker told the husband, "You can have her shipped home for $5,000, or you can bury her here, in the Holy Land, for $150." The man thought about it and told him he would just have her shipped home.

The undertaker asked, "Why would you spend $5,000 to ship your wife home, when it would be wonderful to be buried here and you would spend only $150?"

The man replied, "Long ago a man died here, was buried here, and three days later he rose from the dead. I just can't take that chance."

Men Are Just Happier People

What do you expect from such simple creatures?

Your last name stays put.

The garage is all yours.

Wedding plans take care of themselves.

Chocolate is just another snack.

You can be President.

You can never be pregnant.

You can wear a white T-shirt to a water park. You can wear NO shirt to a water park.

Car mechanics tell you the truth.

The world is your urinal.

You never have to drive to another gas station restroom because this one is just too icky.

You don't have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt.

Same work, more pay.

Wrinkles add character.

Wedding dress $5000. Tux rental- $100.

People never stare at your chest when you're talking to them.

The occasional well-rendered belch is practically expected.

New shoes don't cut, blister, or mangle your feet.

One mood all the time.

Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat.

You know stuff about tanks.

A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase.

You can open all your own jars.

You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness.

If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend.

Your underwear is $8.95 for a three-pack.

Three pairs of shoes are more than enough.

You almost never have strap problems in public.

You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes.

Everything on your face stays its original color.

The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades.

You only have to shave your face and neck.

You can play with toys all your life.

Your belly usually hides your big hips.

One wallet and one pair of shoes -- one color for all seasons.

You can wear shorts no matter how your legs look.

You can "do" your nails with a pocket knife.

You have freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache..

You can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives on December 24 in 25 minutes.

No wonder men are happier!!

Casey At Bat by Garrison Keillor

It was looking rather hopeful for our Dustburg team that day:
We were leading Mudville four to two with an inning left to play.
We got Cooney on a grounder and Muldoon on the same,
Two down, none on, top of the ninth- we thought we'd won the game.
Mudville was despairing, and we grinned and cheered and clapped.
It looked like after all these years our losing streak had snapped.
And we only wished that Casey, the big fat ugly lout,
Could be the patsy who would make the final, shameful out.
Oh how we hated Casey, he was a blot upon the game.
Every dog in Dustburg barked at the mention of his name.
A bully and a braggart, a cretin and a swine-
If Casey came to bat, we'd stick it where the moon don't shine!
Two out and up came Flynn to bat, with Jimmy Blake on deck,
And the former was a loser and the latter was a wreck;
Though the game was in the bag,
the Dustburg fans were hurt To think that Casey would not come and get his just dessert. But Flynn he got a single, a most unlikely sight,
And Blake swung like a lady but he parked it deep to right,
And when the dust had lifted, and fickle fate had beckoned,
There was Flynn on third base and Jimmy safe at second.
Then from every Dustburg throat, there rose a lusty cry:
"Bring up the slimy greaseball and let him stand and die.
Throw the mighty slider and let him hear it whiz
And let him hit a pop-up like the pansy that he is."
There was pride in Casey's visage as he strode onto the grass,
There was scorn in his demeanor as he calmly scratched his ass.
Ten thousand people booed him when he stepped into the box,
And they made the sound of farting when he bent to fix his socks.
And the fabled slider came spinning toward the mitt,
And Casey watched it sliding and he did not go for it.
And the umpire jerked his arm like he was hauling down the sun,
And his cry rang from the box seats to the bleachers: Stee-rike One!
Ten thousand Dustburg partisans raised such a mighty cheer,
The pigeons in the rafters crapped and ruined all the beer.
"You filthy ignorant rotten bastard slimy son of a bitch,"
We screamed at mighty Casey, and then came the second pitch.
It was our hero's fastball, it came across the plate,
And according to the radar, it was going ninety-eight,
And according to the umpire, it came in straight and true,
And the cry rang from the toilets to the bullpen: Stee-rike Two.
Ten thousand Dustburg fans arose in joyful loud derision
To question Casey's salary, his manhood, and his vision.
Then while the Dustburg pitcher put the resin on the ball,
Ten thousand people hooted to think of Casey's fall.
Oh the fury in his visage as he spat tobacco juice
And heard the little children screaming violent abuse.
He knocked the dirt from off his spikes, reached down and eased his pants
"What's the matter? Did ya lose 'em?" cried a lady in the stands.
And then the Dustburg pitcher stood majestic on the hill,
And leaned in toward the plate, and then the crowd was still,
And he went into his windup, and he kicked, and let it go,
And then the air was shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
He swung so hard his hair fell off and he toppled in disgrace
And the Dustburg catcher held the ball and the crowd tore up the place,
With Casey prostrate in the dirt amid the screams and jeers
We threw wieners down at him and other souvenirs.
We pounded on the dugout roof as they helped him to the bench,
Then we ran out to the parking lot and got a monkey wrench
And found the Mudville bus and took the lug nuts off the tires,
And attached some firecrackers to the alternator wires.
We rubbed the doors and windows with a special kind of cheese
That smells like something died from an intestinal disease.
Old Casey took his sweet time, but we were glad to wait
And we showered him with garbage as the team came out the gate.
So happy were the Dustburg fans that grand and glorious day,
It took a dozen cops to help poor Casey away,
But we grabbed hold of the bumpers and we rocked him to and fro
And he cursed us from inside the bus, and gosh, we loved it so!
Oh sometimes in America the sun is shining bright,
Life is joyful sometimes, and all the world seems right,
But there is no joy in Dustburg, no joy so pure and sweet
As when the mighty Casey fell, demolished, at our feet.

Remembrances of Poppy

By Reb Meir of Essex Street

He was Poppy. Some would say his claim to fame was that he lived to be 100 years old. The rabbi at the funeral talked about his life spanning the century, living before the automobile, electric light or the airplane became part of our lives. Yet his age was not what made my grandfather’s life special.

Poppy always had a smile or a joke. He always found time to make a baby laugh or entertain a child. He was less self-possessed and more fun than anyone else in the family. When I was very young and was staying at my grandparent’s apartment, Poppy would come home from work, and the entertainment would begin. Grandma was working in the kitchen, pretending she was too busy to be bothered with what was going on in the rest of the house. Poppy would motion for me to follow him into another part of the apartment. He’d put his finger to his lips and say “Shhhh,” and we’d go to one of his many hiding places where he had squirreled away candy or cashew nuts. Grandma didn’t want us to eat too much candy because she said it would ruin our appetites. Poppy had a way of making an adventure out of sneaking a snack. He’d laugh like a child and we’d savor the forbidden fruit, only to hear the voice of Grandma coming from the seemingly distant kitchen, “Is it good Issy? Are you having a party?” Poppy was always having a party.

He loved to tell us stories about his youth, growing up on the Lower East Side of New York, where he was born. He was born in an apartment on Willet Street, near Houston Street. His parents were immigrants from Poland, who met in America. They had to move every few months, because they were poor. They would go some place where they gave the first three months rent free, and after that, they’d move to another place with the same deal. He told us about having gaslights in the apartments, and you put a nickel in the meter to buy gas to power the lamps. People used to break the meters, to get the nickels back before they moved.

He was the middle child of seven, the one who caused the most aggravation to his parents. As a child, he always had a cop chasing him down the street for one reason or another. Once he dared a cop to chase him over the rooftops of the tenements. When his father died, Poppy was only 11, yet he went to shul every morning to say Kaddish for his father. He quit school after the 8th grade because he had to work to help the family. He regretted the grief he caused his father. Until the day he died, it was Poppy alone who took care of his father’s grave.

He told us stories of being a boyhood friend of Meir Lansky, Bugsy Siegal and other Jewish gangsters of that era, yet he himself chose the more honest work of the newspaper business. The reason he was a friend of Lansky was that Lansky was a smart kid, but not a strong one. My grandfather was strong. He never let anyone beat up another Jewish kid. “That’s what it meant to be a friend in those days,” he would say. When he was offered a “job” by his friends from time to time, he’d always say, “No thanks, I like what I do. He was a peaceful man, yet loved to watch a good fight. He had a lot of friends on the police force too. He got along with everyone.

When he started delivering papers to help support the family, it was in the horse and buggy days. Once when he was delivering papers, the horse went out of control, and finally stopped short, hurling him through a plate glass window. He had them call his uncle to take care of him, so as not to trouble his mother, who was working a pushcart to make extra money. His grandmother stayed home to take care of the younger children. In those days, widows with seven children had to stay one step ahead of the Children’s Welfare Agency, because they would have taken the children away. They made it a priority to keep the family together, and he and his siblings remained close throughout their lives.

Poppy loved to eat all the wrong foods, and loved it prepared in the least healthy way. He loved blood rare steaks, ice cream, and all cheeses, including Limburger. He liked Limburger for the taste, but he liked the reaction he received from people even more. He’d get a twinkle in his eye when people held their noses and ran from the room. He wasn’t really a drinker, but he smoked cigars until he was 90 (only quitting because he didn’t want to argue with Grandma anymore, because she said it stunk up the apartment).

When he met my grandmother, he wanted to get married right away, but she was afraid he would stop treating her so well after they were married, so she made him wait three and a half years. Years later, she said she regretted waiting so long, because he treated her even better than before. They were married 70 years.

Poppy wasn’t the most religious man, but I have warm memories of walking home from shul with him on the High Holy Days. He knew all the short cuts through the apartment buildings so we wouldn’t have to walk all the way around the block. Even though he wasn’t in shul all the time, he supported it. He was generous and never let someone who needed a few bucks walk away empty-handed. He taught us this was what religion is all about.

Poppy’s life was full of contradictions. He was a frustration growing up, yet spent his life honoring his parents; a peaceful man, yet the friend of gangsters. His uncle Abe once remarked about Poppy, “This one will die with his shoes on,” because of the kinds of friends he kept, Uncle Abe thought Poppy would probably not live long. Poppy proved him wrong. He outlived everyone in the family.

Poppy was a man who beat the odds. His life was one of dignity, kindness and gentleness. He did what he had to do in every situation, and exceeded everyone’s expectations. To the very end, he was making jokes, trying to entertain and lighten our hearts from the sadness we were feeling. People remark that it is a special thing that he lived one hundred years. It was not just the years. He was our pride, and our joy. He was and will always be my hero. His life was not only one that was lived long, it was lived magnificently.

Jews In The American Revolution

THIS BIT OF HISTORY WON'T CHANGE YOUR LIFE; BUT I THINK IT'S WORTH KNOWING.

A while ago, at the West Point Academy's Jewish Chapel, there was a
display about Hyam Salomon and the Revolutionary War. He died
penniless, having used all his resources to aid the newly formed and
poorly supplied American Continental Army. George Washington's
financial advisor and assistant was a Jewish man by the name of Hyam
Salomon.

During the cold winter months at Valley Forge when American soldiers
were freezing and running out of food, it was Hyam who marshaled all
the Jews in America and Europe to provide money in relief aid to these
stranded American troops and turned the course of history. Without
this help, Washington's Continental Army, and the fate of the American
Colonies would have perished before they could have defeated the
British. If! ! you take a one dollar bill out of your pocket and look at
the back at the Eagle, the stars above the Eagle's head are in the six
point Star of David to honor Jews. If you turn the Eagle upside down
you will see a configuration in the likeness of a Menorah (Candle
holder)....both at the insistence of George Washington who said we
should never forget the Jewish people and what they have done in the
interest of America. Kind of nice to know about.

The Smoke Filled Room: Reb Meir’s Diet

by Reb Meir Of Essex Street

“You can have that Bagel Meir, I got it from Greenbergs; Its kosher,” Ruth said as I was looking over the food available for Sunday brunch at the Cigar club. The guys like to get together on Sundays and shmooze with a bagel and coffee, and of course a cigar. The guys talk about how the Yankees or Mets are doing, good stocks to buy, and where people are all planning to go on vacation. I thanked Ruth, and grabbed a bagel and after shmearing it with cream cheese, sat down and savored the moment.

Rob heard Ruth let me know the Bagels were kosher, and he said, “Whats the big deal Reb. What difference does it make if the bagels are kosher or not?” He’s not very religious, and likes to taunt those who are. Rob said, "Cmon- nothing bad is going to happen if you have some bacon bits in your salad. Whats the difference if you eat kosher or not kosher. What you eat doesn’t make you a Jew."

You’re right Rob, it doesn’t make me a Jew, just like eating treyf doesn’t make you a goy. But who said I was keeping kosher to make me a Jew?” I noticed the puzzled look on his face and knew I had him hooked.

“Then why do you only keep kosher? You think G-d is going to strike you down if you eat a ham sandwich? Nothing will happen.” Rob was getting all worked up over this.

A few other guys came over to listen. I heard one of them saying to the other, “Rob and Meir are going at it again. This ought to be good.”

Mark, an accountant said “I don’t keep kosher, but I respect someone who does.”

Alan, Richie’s son said, “Rob, what do you care if someone keeps kosher or not? Meir is living according to his conscience. That’s more than you do.”

Rob turned on Alan and said, “Who asked you squirt? This is between Me and the Reb.”

“Rob, We all express ourselves by the way we eat and live our lives in general. I express my Jewishness by the way I eat, and the way I live my life. You express something by the way you live your life, but we haven’t figured out what your life expresses.”

Alan wanted to get back at Rob and said, “I know what his life expresses…”

I saw what was coming and cut Alan off. “Watch your language Alan.”

Mark said, “He doesn’t need to say it Reb. We all know what Rob’s life expresses.”

The guys laughed. I turned the discussion to a more serious tone. “Now that you asked the question, lets explore it. What does your life express? What does it stand for?”

Rob proudly declared, “My life stands for prosperity, decadence, and excess.”

Don’t you want your life to make a difference? I want the world to be better because I was here. I want it to be more Jewish because I was here.” I was hoping to strike a chord with the guys.

Rob came back and said, “I do a lot of good things for people. I helped people get jobs, I give to charity. The world IS better because of me.”

Wanting to affirm the good things Rob was doing, I said, “I know you do a lot of good things Rob. And I know you have tried to help people and that’s great. But there is more to it than just helping people. Hillel said ‘If I am not for myself, who will be for me? If I am only for myself, What am I? If not now, When?’”

What’s that supposed to mean? It means you don’t put off doing good things for other people until a someday that never comes. If you have an opportunity to help people, you need to seize the opportunity. It also means that you have to take care of yourself.”

Rob felt pretty secure with that and said, “I take care of myself pretty well.”

“Not really. It doesn’t mean that you are supposed to pamper yourself. Hillel meant that you are supposed to take care of yourself regarding Jewish things, and you have neglected yourself terribly.” I could see all the guys were a little confused.

Rob stopped joking, and took on a serious tone. “Why do you say that? I sent my sons to Hebrew school and saw that they got Bar Mitzvahed. What more do I need to do?”

“When you don’t live as a Jew, you are sending a message to your sons and everyone else that Jewishness doesn’t matter. Will they believe what you send them to learn, or what they see you do every day?”

Alan was jubilant. “He’s got you now Rob.”

By me living a Jewish lifestyle, it encourages other people to live a Jewish life. If I let people know it matters to me, some may think it should matter to them

I said, “I don't keep kosher out of fear that G-d will strike me down if I eat treyf. I keep kosher out of respect for G-d.”

He said, You mean to tell me that G-d cares if I eat bacon and eggs? Doesn't He have more important things to worry about?”

"Of course He does, but He also cares about how I live my life."

“What does how I live my life have to do with what I eat?”

“You are what you eat.” Paul added. And you know what that makes you! A Pig.”

The Jewish mystics taught that eating unclean food polluted the soul of the one who ate it. I am not saying that, but you should understand that if you respect someone, and care about them, you try to do things that please them. The Torah teaches that eating the meat of certain animals are off limits. There are other animals that would be disgusting to you, like eating dogmeat or ratmeat. The non-kosher animals are in the category of meats G-d said are off limits to us as Jews. Its not wrong for Gentiles to eat it but, is not acceptable for us as Jews.

Why is that, are we supposed to be better than other people. I don’t believe that.

NO. IT is not saying that we are better, but G-d said that we are to be different. When we try to be the same as other people, we bring problems on ourselves. When we try to be who we are, then we are more content, and others don’t have a problem with us either.

The Smoke Filled Room: Penguins Among Us

By Reb Meir of Essex Street

I walked into my cigar club and sat down next to the Wooden Indian, and fired up a fine Dominican cigar. A few minutes later, Rob and Gary walk over to me and say, “Hey Reb! We’ve got a question for you.”

“Wait a minute. What is this, a press conference? I just got here. Give me a little time to unwind.” I have found if you don’t answer with a bit of moxey now and then, they’ll walk all over you! I really wasn’t upset that they asked me a question. I like when people ask me questions, but like to do things on my own terms.

I sat back, puffed my cigar, sipped my coffee, and said, “OK, what do you want to know?”

Rob says, “You’re a religious guy right?”

“Well Rob, I walk around all day with my head covered, You figure it out.” I was getting more interested in where they were going with this and said, “What’s your point?”

“Well,” Rob continued, “Why is it that all the religious guys I see around the city are dressed in black and white, and wear black hats, but you don’t dress that way?”

“What are you talking about? You’ve seen me come in here in black and white before,” I maintained.

“Yeah,” Gary added, “but you come in here more often wearing a Hawaiian shirt, jeans and sandals. Aren’t you breaking the dress code?”

“Are you out of your mind?” I answered, trying to hold back a chuckle, thoroughly enjoying this interchange. “Who said you have to dress in black to be religious?” Have you ever seen me here with my head uncovered?”

“No,” he answered, “but wearing a baseball cap that advertises ‘Big Butt Cigars’ isn’t exactly the look of your well dressed Orthodox man.”

“Haven’t you ever seen the yarmulke under my cap? It should be visible from the back.” I said. The important thing is that my head is covered; whether with a baseball cap or with a black hat,” I informed them.

Gary said, “How about Rob’s Toupee? Does that qualify?” The car dealer sneered at Gary.

“Actually, it does,” I responded.

Rob said, “Hey, I didn’t even know I was being religious.”

“Neither did we,” I retorted. “It’s better to keep it under your hat.”

Rob said, “Hey Reb, If you wear a baseball cap, why do you need a yarmulke too? Isn’t one covering enough? I could understand it if you were hiding a bald spot, but you’ve got a full head of hair. ”

I laughed and said, “Yeah, but I like to have all my bases covered. This way if I go bald, no one will notice. Besides I might want to take off my cap. The yarmulke stays on.”

Rob continued to get bolder. You could see the car salesman in him going in for the kill. “Why do you have to wear it at all? You think G-d will strike you dead if you don’t wear one?”

Trying to make him understand, I went on. “No. I don’t think G-d will strike me down for uncovering my head. Covering my head is a sign of respect for G-d, and a reminder that I’m accountable to Him. Besides, I like showing respect for G-d. You got a problem with that?”

Mark, who walked in a few minutes earlier, joined our conversation. “Then why don’t you dress like a penguin?” Gary, Rob and I broke up laughing.

“A penguin? What do you mean like a penguin?” I asked, trying to regain my composure.

Mark went on, “Well, those religious guys kinda look like penguins.”

“The reason I don’t dress religious,” I explained,” is that I don’t want to scare people off. When a guy dresses too holy, people tend to avoid him. If I dress like everyone else, people are not afraid to get to know me better.”

Rob said, “So when you dress in black, you’re trying to tell people to get lost?”

“No Rob,” I retorted, “When I want someone to get lost, I just tell them to buzz off.” I’ve even told you to get lost, haven’t I?”

“Yeah but he hears that from everyone,” Gary threw in. We all laughed while Rob just mimicked a laugh.

“There’s another reason why I don’t dress in black. It’s not that important. Its more important to be than to seem.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mark pondered. For someone who is not religious, he was really getting into this discussion.

I started to explain, “It takes no religious conviction to dress religiously. Some people even get a thrill from it. Kinda like religious cross-dressing. I know a lot of people, who dress religiously, but they treat other people so badly, it’s hard to believe they really have any kind of faith. Most religious people are not like that, but there are plenty of people who are. The purpose of religion is not to impress others, or make good business connections, but to make someone a better person. An ancient rabbi once said, ”If you do mitzvot to be seen doing them by others, you have your reward in full.”

Gary said, “Yeah, I once got a catalogue from a company that wanted me to carry their pipe smoker supplies, but I wouldn’t do business with them. They had a cover letter that said they employed people who exemplified the highest ‘Christian’ values. It was as if they were saying Jewish values were not as good as theirs were. They forget that they got their values from us in the first place.”

“That’s what I mean,” I went on. They use religion as a sales technique. Their religion may be fine for them, but it doesn’t belong in their advertising.”

Rob cut in and said, “I thought religion was mostly a scam to keep people in line, you know, it’s the opiate of the people.”

“Actually, that’s a pretty communistic view for a capitalist car dealer like you,” I said. “Religion is supposed to help people, not oppress them. If a person is genuinely religious, they will try to help others who are less fortunate than themselves. In the Talmud it says, “If I am not for myself, who will be? If I am only for myself, what am I? If Not now, when?”

Gary lit up another cigar and said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

If you don’t take care of yourself, no one is going to do it for you. If you only care about yourself and no one else, what kind of person are you? A person’s life is worthless if they are so self absorbed that they don’t care about the needs of others. And the time for action is now. Not after you have accomplished personal goals, or made other excuses.”

I went on to explain that some people dress religiously because they live in that culture and want to fit in, whether or not they believe in everything the religion teaches. Other people may not be so religious, but like to be thought of as religious. The fact is, clothes don’t make the man, and they don’t make the man religious.

“Its like the guy who bought a captain’s uniform and told everyone he was a captain.” I said. “He even rode the Staten Island Ferry a few times to make it seem kosher. He told his mother that now he was a captain. His mother said he wasn’t a captain, but he insisted he was. Finally his mother said, “OK, by me you’re a captain, by your father you’re a captain, but by a captain, you’re no captain.”

Mark said, “Yeah, but you don’t even wear Tzitzis.”

“Yes I do, I just wear them inside my pants,” I intimated.

“Why do you bother to wear them if you don’t want people to see them?” Gary asked.

“The purpose of wearing them is because G-d said to wear them, not to make a public spectacle of them,” I went on. G-d commanded us to be circumcised, but if you display it for everyone to see you’ll get thrown in jail.” At that point we all broke up laughing.

They had me on a roll, so I continued my sermon. “Just because someone dresses like a religious guy doesn’t make him one; and just because someone doesn’t, doesn’t mean he isn’t. When a person dresses religiously it says more about the community he is a part of than the kind of faith he holds. I 0nly dress in black when I am in a religious community.”

“Why do you even want to go there?” Richie inquired. He had quietly sat down and joined us, and he was becoming engaged by the discussion. “I mean they speak a different language, and they live so differently than we do. Its like they are from another planet.”

“That’s a good question Richie.” I don’t want to go around like them all the time, because if I want to feel like I’m from another planet, I can go to a star trek convention.” I was becoming more emphatic. “I am honestly attracted to the inner faith taught in Hasidism. I like the idea of following Torah as a means of drawing closer to G-d. It’s like what Rebbe Nachman of Breslov taught, that it’s more important to be religious on the inside than to look religious on the outside.”

“Hey Reb, now you’re starting to sound like one of them,” Rob said in an implicating tone.

That’s my point. Inside, I am one of them. And that’s the only way to really be one of them; on the inside. People who put on costumes are called actors. I’m no actor. Its part of who I am,” I declared unashamedly. “And that brings me to question for you king of car sales: Where do you get this us and them stuff? They are us. We are them. They have the same last names we do; the same basic hopes and dreams as we do. When did you change your DNA?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Rob said, starting to back off, but he wasn’t fast enough. Richie was right on top of him saying, “ Are you kidding? A car dealer can change his DNA faster than an you can get an oil change.”

So what you are saying is that it isn’t as important to look religious as it is to be religious? Concluded Richie, trying to sum up what I was saying.

“Exactly,” I said, with a feeling of triumph one would feel when breaking through a brick wall.

“Then why,” Richie interjected, “don’t more religious guys go around in Hawaiian shirts and baseball caps like you?”

“They weren’t brought up that way. It’s normal for them to dress like that. I wasn’t brought up to dress their way. When I go to a religious function, I dress that way to blend in. I really don’t like to stand out. When I dress like a shlump, Its so I can blend in with you guys.” They all laughed. Gary said, “You’ve not only blended, you’ve led the way in shlumpy attire. Richie said, “Hey, that’s no way to talk to a rabbi, even if he does dress like a shlump.”

“Thanks guys,” I offered, ”You have no idea what your endorsement means to me, but my problem is because of the company I keep.”

Just then, Ira, a city Paramedic who came in a few minutes earlier said, “You’re a rabbi? I’d never have guessed it from the way you dress. You look like one of the guys.” I offered him my lighter as he was preparing to light up his cigar.

He went on to tell me that he was raised in a religious home, but had gotten away from his upbringing since college. He talked about how rituals seemed dry, and he didn’t like the politics of the shul. I agreed with him, but spoke of the teaching that the mitzvahs are not ends in and of themselves, but are a means and an opportunity to draw closer to G-d through them. Afterwards he said, “You know, I never met a rabbi like you. I feel like I can really talk to you, like you’re one of us. Thanks, you really helped me.”

Ron was leaving, and said, “Reb, I understand.”