abbi Schwartz phoned Yussie Yablonsky from his office in Temple Chaim. He
was informed by a recording that Yussie's phone was out of order, which was
ATT's discreet way of saying Yussie had not paid his bill, again. Rabbi Schwartz
was worried now, because there was barely an hour before Shabbos, the Jewish
Sabbath, started, and he needed Yussie. He needed him badly.
He called his wife, Hannah, next, who answered the phone out of breath, because
she was so big and pregnant with their fourth child that the baby felt like it was
squeezing the air out of her lungs. Over the sounds of the war his three children
were fighting in the background, the Rabbi informed her he would probably be late
for Shabbos dinner, again. Hannah sighed, which meant, "Do your best," and hung
up yelling at the children to calm down.
The 28 year old Rabbi jumped into his old car, and headed to Yussie's run-down
apartment, which was two miles from Temple Chaim. He stroked his full beard
nervously as he drove. Once at Yussie's, the Rabbi knocked on the door. After
what felt like an eternity, the lock was turned, and 54 year old Yussie Yablonsky
appeared. Yussie looked terrible, even for Yussie.
His hair streamed out of his head in all directions. His short, stocky body wreaked a
nasty odor and his breath could stop a racehorse in its tracks. His teeth were sitting
in a glass jar on the kitchen counter. They used to be a mess until Dr. Goldberg, a
dentist in the Temple Chaim congregation, yanked them all out and replaced them
with a complete set of false teeth. Dr. Goldberg did this for free, at the urging of
Rabbi Schwartz.
Yussie was still in his boxer shorts and undershirt, which should have hit the
laundry pile days ago. When he did get dressed, he donned clothes he found in
second-hand charity shops, for a quarter or fifty cents, and looked like a walking
rummage sale.
"Yussie!" the Rabbi said cheerfully. "How are you?"
"You shouldn't ask, Rabbi" Yussie answered.
"But I have to ask, Yussie. It's my job," the Rabbi smiled.
"Well, in that case, I'm not so good."
"Is there anything I can do, Yussie?" the Rabbi asked, growing concerned.
"I don't know, Rabbi."
"You think maybe I could come inside so we can figure it out together?" the Rabbi
hinted, seeing the sky turn dark with rain clouds.
"So come in," Yussie sighed, opening the door and walking inside.
The apartment looked worse than Yussie did. Dirty dishes were piled up in the
sink, while roaches danced upon them. The garbage overflowed the container and
fell onto the floor. There were filthy clothes scattered everywhere. The Rabbi said
a prayer of thanks that the bathroom door was closed. He didn't think his stomach
could take what lay waiting inside there.
"So what's wrong, Yussie?" the Rabbi asked, moving some dirty workpants from
one of the kitchen chairs, and sitting down.
"What's wrong? Everything is wrong. My life is one big wrong. Would you like
some wine, Rabbi?" Yussie offered, setting up two of the cleanest dirty glasses.
"No, thank you, Yussie. I don't drink before Shabbos."
"Shabbos? You know, I lose track of time sometimes, Rabbi," Yussie said, pouring
himself a large glass of wine.
"It's starts in a half hour," Rabbi Schwartz said, looking at his watch.
"And you don't think you'll have a minyon," Yussie surmised.
"I only have eight 'definites'," the Rabbi shrugged.
A minyon was 10 Jewish men. Temple Chaim was a small Orthodox Jewish
Temple, and the congregation of 35 families that belonged to it adhered as best they
could to the code of Jewish Law. Jewish Law required the presence of a minyon,
or ten Jewish men, in order to say Kaddish, the prayer for the dead, and to take out
the Torah, The Holy Bible, on Shabbos and read it.
"Yussie," the Rabbi added, "I promised Michael Fein I would have a minyon
tonight."
"Why did you promise him that, Rabbi?" Yussie asked before he took a big drink of
wine.
"Because he promised he would fire me if I didn't. He wants to say Kaddish for his
mother."
Michael Fein was the richest man at Temple Chaim, and also its President.
Michael's time was valuable, and he could prove it. He was an attorney who billed
out at $300 per hour, and he wanted the greatest benefit from every expensive
minute of his life, including his prayer time.
"Rabbi, I can not help you." Yussie said, shocking the Rabbi.
"What do you mean you can not help me, Yussie? You'll go clean up quick, put on
your best Shabbos clothes, and we'll drive to temple."
The rain started then. It was a cloudburst.
"Rabbi, I can not go to temple."
"And why not?" the Rabbi asked, feeling a thunderstorm start in his stomach.
"Because I don't believe in God anymore."
"And why not?"
"Rabbi, look at me. What do you see?"
"I see Yussie Yablonsky. A good man."
"You are not honest enough Rabbi. What would a child see, a child who doesn't
know enough to lie?"
"A child sees like a child, and a man sees like a man, Yussie."
"The children make fun of me, Rabbi, when I pass them on the street. They say,
'Here comes the raggedy man! Raggedy man! Raggedy man!"
"You are a good man, Yussie. It takes a Rabbi to see that."
"Good for what, Rabbi?"
"Just good."
"I'm good for nothing, that's what."
"Now, Yussie."
"Rabbi, I have no wife. I have no children. I have no friends. I have relatives, but
they don't want to come near me because I borrowed money from every one of
them. I have no house, just this crummy apartment. I have no career, just a job no
one else would rather do. I pick up litter by the side of the road using a stick with a
nail on the end. That's my living. That's what I do. I am a poor man with poor
manners. In this world, I am nothing. And as I get older, I will become less and
less, until the nothing I am now will seem like something compared to what I will
become.
"Yussie, you're being too hard on yourself."
"Too hard? Rabbi, even God has no use for me. He has given me no blessings of
any kind. And then He tells me not to covet my neighbor! Hah! No one wants to be
Yussie Yablonsky, and I would rather be anyone else but me. How can I not
covet? No! I refuse to believe in Him because He refuses to believe in me."
"How can I help, Yussie?" the Rabbi said, taking out his wallet.
"Put your wallet back, Rabbi Schwartz. You don't have enough money to make my
life worth something."
"What can I do, then? Tell me how I can help you?"
Yussie paused and stared out the window.
"Leave me alone, Rabbi. Just leave me alone."
"Do you think maybe I could leave you alone after Shabbos, Yussie? I need a tenth
man now," the Rabbi said, smiling.
Yussie finished his glass of wine and poured another.
"I am serious, Rabbi. Find someone else, and leave me be."
The Rabbi stood up and walked over to Yussie. He placed his hand on his shoulder
and sighed.
"Yussie, come with me to Temple. Together we will pray for blessings for you.
Together we will explain to God how he has forgotten you. Maybe God will listen
this time."
"Oh, God listens, Rabbi. And then He laughs. He always laughs at my prayers."
"Yussie, please. I need a tenth man. I have no one else to turn to. My job depends
on it. My family depends on it. Is it so much to ask?"
"Yes. It is too much. Maybe if you were a better Rabbi, God would listen to you,
and He would find blessings for me. So go! Go to your Michael Fein and your
congregation. Find someone else to make your minyon, Rabbi," Yussie said bitterly,
pushing the Rabbi's hand off his shoulder.
The young Rabbi had never encountered this kind of despair in another human
being. With all his splendid education, and with all the beautiful stories he had
learned for sermons, Rabbi Schwartz had no tools to fix Yussie's misery. He
shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the run-down, dirty apartment. He drove
back to Temple Chaim lost in Yussie's despair.
"What is the Holy One's purpose in making one such as Yussie Yablonsky, one
who has so few blessings?" he wondered.
"How can I understand him. How can I help him? I have a wonderful wife and
three blessed children, with another blessing on the way. I have a challenging career
and a congregation of good people who depend upon me and respect me. My
biggest problem is getting a minyon for Michael Fein. Who is Michael Fein? Is he
God? If Michael Fein chooses to stop paying me, will I survive? Of course I will. I
have blessings beyond belief compared to Yussie Yablonsky. And yet ... I am poor
with the words to help him."
The Rabbi turned his car around and sped back to Yussie Yablonsky's apartment.
He looked at this watch, as his speedometer registered 60, and saw it was 7:44 PM.
It was one minute until sundown. If he did not pull over and park, and then walk
the rest of the way, he would be desecrating the laws of Shabbos. It was forbidden
to create fires or sparks on Shabbos, and a car created sparks.
There were exceptions, thank God, to the laws of Shabbos. A Jew was allowed to
transgress if the life and health of another human was imperiled. The Rabbi hoped
the Almighty would understand and agree that Yussie Yablonsky's immortal soul
was in grave danger, and this was one of the allowed exceptions. The speedometer
indicated 75 now.
At 7:55PM, the Rabbi knocked on Yussie's door. There was no answer. The lights
were out in the apartment. He beat on the door until his hands hurt, and still Yussie
did not answer. Fearing the worst, the Rabbi put his shoulder to the door and tried
several times to break it open. His shoulder hurt, but he was successful on his fifth
attempt.
Once inside, the Rabbi called out, "Yussie?!"
There was no answer. The apartment was pitch black. The lights were out because
the power was turned off, also because of an unpaid bill. When the Rabbi's eyes
got used to darkness, he searched the apartment. He sensed Yussie's presence. He
also sensed danger. Yussie was not in the kitchen ... or the living room ... or the
bedroom. There remained only one place he could be.
The Rabbi held his breath and opened the bathroom door. Yussie was standing in
front of the mirror, with a lit candle on the sink. Yussie was staring at his reflection.
In his right hand, was a full bottle of pills. In his left hand, a glass of water.
"Yussie, why didn't you answer me?" the Rabbi asked.
"Rabbi, you don't belong here," Yussie answered. "Go to your temple."
"No, Yussie, this is where I belong."
"Let me die in peace, Rabbi. The world will not miss me."
"I will miss you, Yussie."
"Rabbi, please. I am begging you. Leave me be."
"No, Yussie. I will stay here, with you, until we figure this thing out together."
"Rabbi, I can not take the pain of living. Do you understand that? It hurts me to be
alive and be so miserable."
"No, Yussie. This I can not understand."
"Could you live my life, Rabbi? Look around you! Could you live like this?"
"I would not live like this ... you do not have to live like this."
"Rabbi, I have not always lived like this. I live like this now because I have gotten
so used to no one caring, that I, too, no longer care about myself. What value is
there in being clean when you are poor, alone, with no one to love, no one to even
talk to? How long can anyone care about themselves when they are ridiculed and
laughed at? How long could you live my life and still care?"
The Rabbi thought a long time in silence.
"I don't know," the Rabbi finally answered.
"Then go! Let me be!" Yussie shouted.
Yussie started crying then. He put down the pills and the glass and cried into his
hands. The painful sobs cut right into the heart of the Rabbi. The Rabbi put
Yussie's bottle of pills into his pocket, and then took Yussie's arm. He picked up
the candle with his free hand, and still holding Yussie, he steered him out of the
bathroom and into a chair in the kitchen. The Rabbi put the candle on the table and
sat down next to Yussie.
"I was taught that when I encounter situations where life is unfair, and I could find
no reason, I was to say, 'Only God knows why,'" the Rabbi said softly.
Yussie continued crying.
"And then I was told to have faith and go on."
Yussie still cried.
"'Only God knows why' is not much of an answer. I wish I had better words for
you, Yussie. Perhaps if I were a better Rabbi, like you said, I would have the right
words."
Yussie continued crying.
"You have had faith longer than anyone could hope for. Certainly longer than me,
and I am supposed to be a student of God."
Yussie was crying softer now.
"I think God gives blessings to those whose faith is weak, not strong."
Yussie took his hands away from his face and stared as the Rabbi continued.
"Perhaps to the strongest, He gives little, and He takes joy from the fact His best
creations need so little from Him."
Yussie stopped crying.
"No, Yussie. I could not take living like you. My faith has a lower limit than yours.
I am not strong enough."
"Do you mean that, Rabbi?"
"Yes I do, Yussie. Sometimes, when I pray, I ask God not to test me like He does
you, because I am afraid I would come up short."
"You think I am stronger than you, Rabbi?"
"Yes."
"Stronger than Michael Fein?"
"Many times stronger than Michael Fein."
Yussie stood up and wiped his eyes on his shirt.
"Then come, Rabbi. We'll go pray for Michael Fein," Yussie said, smiling. "If we
do not keep bothering God for blessings for Michael, that weakling will perish."
The Rabbi waited while Yussie changed into his best old clothes for Shabbos.
Together they walked the two miles to Temple Chaim in the pouring rain, without
an umbrella, as was required by the code of Jewish Law. It is forbidden to work on
Shabbos, and carrying anything, even an umbrella, is considered work
"It was nice of God to provide me with a shower on Shabbos, wasn't it Rabbi?"
Yussie joked. "I was starting to smell so bad even I could not stand to be around
myself."
Forty minutes later two Jewish men, drenched to the skin, opened the doors to
Temple Chaim. They were over an hour late for services. Eight Jewish men stared
back at them. Seven had been waiting patiently. Michael Fein, alone, was scowling.
It was a fierce scowl.
Rabbi Schwartz and Yussie smiled to each other when they saw the expression on
Michael's face. Rabbi Schwartz walked up to the bimah, his pulpit, cleared his
throat, and began the Friday night prayer service. He insisted Yussie stand at his
side throughout the service.
For the first time in the young Rabbi's life, he felt God was happy with his work.
