Home
Up
About Us
Daily Minyan
Donate to ASBEE
Study Torah
ASBEE Family
Upcoming Events
Shul Events
Photos
Rabbi & Cantor
ASBEE Sisterhood
Youth
Where We Are
Jewish Memphis
Resources/Links
Inside ASBEE Bulletin

A Jew by Any Name

A story for the month of Elul and the Ten Days of Repentance

But it wasn’t until we arrived in Shul that the reality hit us. It was Shabbos Mevorchim for Hodesh Elul. Elul was around the corner, just next week, and we would be forced to re-examine our ways and our hearts. "Rosh Hoidesh E-lool, yee-yeh be-yom hachamishi uvyom hashishee, haboo-oolayni ve-al kol yisroo-ayle le-toivoo" said Shimon the Chazan. He always punctuated the word Elul with a little pause "Eh-(pause)-lool" for effect. Yes, it was true, not long from now we would be standing in judgment before the King of Kings.

Even this week things would get started in preparation for the holidays. The Sephardic Jews would begin to rise early to chant the Selichos. We would begin to blow the shofar. The shofar reminds us, in its own way to wake up and repent. If you didn’t wake up, it would be a shanda, because everyone went to minyan during Elul, that is most of us. Meanwhile, the ladies were already planning the Yom Tov meals. Cholupches or stuffed cabbage for Rosh Hashanah, tzimes for Rosh Hashanah, and oh yes, take out the raisins for the Rosh Hashanah challos.

We knew it was serious when Reb Shloimeleh chanted the blessing for the new moon, but when the Rav got up for a drasha, it was final. There was no time left for repentance. The time had begun. "By Elul, even the fish tzitter," said the Rabbi. I always wondered how we knew what the fish did, but it was pretty much a given in Frystk that even the fish trembled in Elul. "don’t wait for the last minute. If we don’t prepare ourselves for the Day of Judgment, we will never be ready, " said the Rabbi. "If you were a lawyer going in for a big case, you would prepare your brief well in advance. You would do all your homework. Well, we need to do our homework as well," said the Rabbi. "We need to begin to look into our hearts and examine our ways. What could I be doing better?"

We all took the rabbi’s words to heart. The Mussaf was not like the Mussaf of last week or the week before. People swayed frantically. Eyes looked to heaven. The silent devotion seemed to go on forever. And when we reached the kedushah and we said that "Kesser Yitnu lechoo" that a crown will be given to G-d by us and by the angels on high, people wailed as if by declaring G-d’s kingship even louder, the anthropomorphic crown would truly be placed on G-d.

As we walked out of Shul, the usual chit chat was reduced to knowing nods and a brisk "Gut Shabbos," just in case our chattering might lead to some idle or slanderous talk. As we came home and began our Shabbos meals, we did slip back into the small talk about Berel the batlan who never did much but was always talking about how he had some big project he was working on, which or course never quite materialized. We tried to hold back but we talked also about Sheftel the Shluffer who never came to minyan, even on his own father’s yahr zeit he barely made it to shul.

We know we had no business judging others when we weren’t in their shoes, but it sure did seem hard to understand why Koppel the Kamztan never bothered to give any charity when he lived in such a magnificent home and had such a successful shoe factory. We knew we shouldn’t be talking lashon hara on Shabbos Mevorchim Elul, but then again, Elul was not actually here yet, so there was still some time before our teshuva really had to get into high gear.

That week at minyan, the silent devotions seemed to slip back into mere routine recitations as the amidah’s seemed to get shorter and shorter. But on Thursday morning, we all arrived early to minyan, just to show that we really took this Elul talk seriously. It was the time of repentance, how could we not repent a little. We all tried to spend more time on our silent devotions that day, but as we looked around, it all seemed like the same mumblings from before. We tired to concentrate all the way through, but who can concentrate when so much is going on? Was Sheftel the Shluffer really going to miss Rosh Hodesh davening again? Would Koppel the Kamtzan just give the same pennies to the tzedakah box that he always did and besides, would the baal tokeah blow the shofar real well this morning considering he hadn’t blown in public for a whole year?

Shabbos was coming and there was a lot to do. Clothes to wash, floors to clean, baths to be had, haircuts and trims to be done. The women were busy with the cooking and there was not a lot of time left. We shouldn’t have gotten so mad at our kids for not getting into the bath, but after all, Shabbos is coming. We shouldn’t have yelled at our wives for not setting the tables yet. After all, we should have helped a little more and set the tables ourselves. The Talmud does say a man should help prepare for Shabbos. One rabbi in the Talmud used to roast his own fish for Shabbos. And the Talmud also tells us not to instill too much fear in our homes, but with Shabbos coming, who had time to think about the Talmud?

This Shabbos the Rabbi talked about how he noticed that some people didn’t always daven mincha. They get preoccupied with business and before you know it, the sun is set and it’s time for mincha. "If we can’t stop for mincha, then there is something wrong with the way we do business," said the Rabbi. "If we were thinking about G-d all day, we wouldn’t forget mincha. Mincha is the test of the man. If you miss mincha, it’s not just mincha you missed, but you missed the point of the whole day."

Some of us were a little shaken by the rabbi’s words. Yes, it is true we sometimes missed mincha, but does the rabbi know all the pressures we face at work? Some of us have a huge number of shoes we have to repair, some have a lot of coats to mend, customers to wait on. It is not easy. But we should work on that a little more this month, after all, it is Elul.

That week we tried even harder to stay away from slander. We were doing pretty well until the rumor hit that Kappel the Kamtzan was letting some of his workers go and that the business was not doing so well. Then came the news that Sheftel the Shluffer had been seen coming out of one of those modern "head doctors" saying he had depression or something. Well, we tried to hold our tongues, but let’s just say that the tongue is sometimes slippery.

The next Shabbos was the talk of the town. The Rabbi announced that he was very disappointed in the community for not taking Elul seriously enough. He was putting everyone in Herem, a ban, until the situation improved. Sure enough, he didn’t greet us as we walked out of shul on Shabbos morning. We had let the rabbi down. Something had to be done. We made a delegation to approach the Rabbi but were turned away. "Gey aveck!" he shouted, and slammed the door. 

We had a committee meeting to discuss the crisis. Even Sheftel the Shlepper came. Kappel the Kamtzan said he was having trouble with his business but that he would be glad to donate a new group home for the homeless and the mentally challenged. Berel the batlan announced that he had been working for months on setting up a new Yeshiva, and that Kappel the Kamtzan agreed to allow some rooms of his group home to be used to house the Yeshiva. This would add to the amount of learning going on in town. Surely this would please the rabbi.

No one could believe it. Kappel the Kamtzan giving big money! Who ever heard of it! Berl the Batlan doing something productive! It was moshiach tziten, the times of the Messiah. (It’s funny, though, Kappel never seemed to have money for other good causes such as Basha Minda’s mother who needed money for the doctor, or for the time that Sochi lost his store to hard times.)

The next Shabbos, the last Shabbos before Rosh Hashanah, everyone arrived at shul fifteen minutes early finding parts of the prayer book they had never noticed before. When kaddish was recited, the response was amazing. It sounded as if everyone put their all into the sanctification of G-d’s name. We all know that if you respond to Kaddish with all your might, the evil decree will be erased. Maybe the rabbi’s evil decree could be erased too.

Then came the rabbi’s talk, the last before Rosh Hashanah. All eyes were on the Rav (we called him the roof). Would our meager efforts amount to enough to change the rabbi’s mind? Would he remove the ban from our community? By now word had spread to neighboring cities and villages that we had been placed in a ban. One supplier wouldn’t provide the goods to our merchants until the ban was lifted. All eyes were on the Rabbi. Everyone leaned forward in their seat to hear better.

"Tireh yidden, (dear Jews)" said the Rabbi. You have fixed so much and yet so much remains to be fixed. Your actions are new, but you are the same old selves. Everyone needs to be "mischadesh" to renew ourselves. Today, I am not Rabbi Khanapioty. I am a new me. And you, you need to stop calling each other names. This one is a batlan. This one is a Shloofer. This one is a kamtzan. If you have all passed a decree on each other as to who you each are and who you could become, then how do you expect G-d to change the decree? I will not abolish the ban on this kehilah until we have a new community. When I come on Rosh Hashanah, I don’t want to see any of you there. I want everyone to be a new person. No one is to be labeled or designated as this or that. We must all start with a fresh identity. When I walk in I want to see hundreds of new tireh yidden."

We were all in shock. After all that work, we’re still not good enough? We came so early to shul. We davened so loudly. But all right, to make the rabbi happy we’ll take his advice. I guess we really shouldn’t call people names, especially now that Kappel the Kamtzan gave all that money and Berel the Batlan did all that work. We tried as best we could to drop all the little nick names we had built up over the years in Frystk. We would give everyone a fresh start.

We walked in on Rosh Hashanah night, and at first we were a little taken aback. It was the same old congregation. Nothing had changed. But then we looked again. If the Batlan isn’t the Batlan anymore, and the Shloofer isn’t the Shloofer anymore, maybe there is hope for me. I don’t have to be that same old lackadaisical Jew that I was. As the Rabbi gazed at us, you could see a little gleeful smile on his lips. Our names had changed, and so had we.