The older rabbi was very much impressed by the young man’s total immersion in prayer and study
and asked the secret of his unwavering piety. The younger man replied that by concentrating
completely on his studies, he was able to ignor any outside influences that might distract him. The
older man said to the younger man, “When it is very cold, there are two ways to warm yourself.
One is by putting on a fur coat; the other is by lighting a fire. The difference is that the fur coat
warms only the person wearing it, while the fire warms anyone who comes near.”
Two Quiet Men
Shavuot Yizkor 5769
Saturday, May 30, 2009
I would like to share with you one of my favorite stories:
A revered rabbi once journeyed to visit a younger rabbi who was known for his religious devotion.
We come to realize in our lives, at one point or another that it is up to us to take responsibility for
ourselves. Once we leave our parent’s home that is our responsibility. The question is, how far
does that responsibility go? Are we only responsible for ourselves, our welfare, and our personal
success? Do we have a responsibility to insure for the personal welfare and success of others at the
same time? In other words, do we provide only a fur coat for ourselves or take the greater effort to
build a fire?
I would like to share with you a brief look at two men who made a difference in the life
of my family and the lives of others. One was my Uncle Wally, who died in April and the other was
Uncle Benny, Marcia’s uncle and the person we named our Benny after, who died two days ago.
Growing up, I recall always that Uncle Wally was quiet and unassuming. The one dramatic mark he
made on my early life is really quite trivial in the scope of things. He was a magnificent tennis player.
Now, I do not know if he won many tournaments. He certainly was no John McEnroe or Jimmy
Connors, or for that matter, any of the modern day players who smash the ball 150 miles per hour
into the corner. He was, simply stated, a beauty to watch. Every stroke - backhand, forehand –
was perfect in its form. When he was on the court, it was like watching a ballet dancer. Whenever
my game suffered, I held Uncle Wally in my imagination, to improve my strokes, to get the ball back
in court.
In the last fifteen years or so, I saw Wally (and Aunt Suzy) in a much different light. He was asking
questions about the world. Unlike most, he was not doing so in the privacy of his home or over the
dinner table. They would travel to Cuba to speak to Cubans and how they were suffering under
Castro and the US boycott. They would go to Central and South America and see the poverty in
those countries firsthand. They made trips with their synagogue to Israel. He would wander off into
the Arab shuk and befriend a shopkeeper. Or he’d meet a young Israeli soldier on the street and
strike up a conversation about politics. Or maybe he was getting that last, necessary photograph
that revealed something he needed to remember. When he returned home he read voraciously
about the Middle East and problems around the world. His office is filled with books, whose
shelves are marked by topic or geographical location like you would find in a Barnes and Noble.
He was curious about the world and he was curious about why we were not doing more to resolve
the world’s problems. He sponsored speakers who would help anyone who would listen as to how
those problems could be resolved.
My Uncle Wally was interest in learning truth, and in speaking truth, and in building truth, without so
watering it down in the name of pragmatism that it ceased to be truth anymore. Most of us will
concede a lot more to pragmatism than Wally ever did. He believed in us – in humanity. He
believed we are able to transcend our basest impulses that we all truly want and are ready to be led
to live in mutual honor and in peace. When I would listen to him these past few years I heard in his
voice and in his commitment that you and I should never rest until we have done whatever it takes
to make the world a better place – around the world and in our own community. Uncle Wally was
a man of great style and grace; but more importantly, he was a man of great substance with a
desire to make the world a better place for all.
Uncle Benny was another quiet and unassuming man. Raised in St. Joseph, MO
married his sweetheart Lilly, working and eventually purchasing his in-laws grocery store and
renaming it Rich’s market. He and Lilly lived in the back of the story and every day, they would
walk through the backdoor and sell groceries and his famous ham salad. After Lilly died, he
continued to be a presence in St. Joe with a smile and grace almost to the day he died at age 94,
selling groceries and that ham salad. Every day since he died, customers have placed flowers at the
front door of the store.
Benny was part of what Tom Brokaw called, “The Greatest Generation.” He fought in
World War II. He was in the Battle of the Bulge. He rarely spoke of it, except a quarter of a
century ago about an off color story with other GI’s; but never of the battle. He served his country
as a dedicated soldier and returned home to his Lilly.
When he returned, he quietly worked in this small grocery store in St. Joe. Benny did
not change the world. Benny did not care to ask too many questions about the world and its
problems. Benny was a gift to St. Joe simply by being present with a smile and cordial conversation
every day of his life.
On Shavuot, we relive the moment when God gave the Torah to Moses and to the
world. We celebrate a sacred scripture that is the basis of two other major religions in our world.
Two thousand years ago, rabbis asked a strange question about the Torah. With all of its insight
into human nature; with all of its demands to make the world a better place; they asked about the
first letter of the first word. Why does the Torah begin with the letter “Bet”? The simple answer is
simply this. God created the world with beracha, with “blessing.” This is not to say that when the
world seems to be crumbling around us personally or globally we should feel comfort that
somewhere there is blessing that surrounds us. I know that is part of it. The creation of the world is
a metaphor for our daily creation. That is, when you begin your day, begin it with blessing. When
you look at the world that may not be crumbling around you, but around the Cubans, the
Palestinians, the Israelis, the Central Americans, your children, your grandchildren, your colleagues,
or your customers who have a taste for ham salad, don’t just stand and hope and pray for the best;
rather, bring berachot, bring blessing into the world.
Two gentle men did this in my family: Uncle Wally and Uncle Benny. Their humble, gentle natures
challenged and beckoned us to be better. These humble and quiet men speak to our conscience on
this Shavuot Yizkor. Those of us who knew them or knew of them have been blessed by the fire
they created. On this day of blessing, God, Wally and Benny remind us us to provide the berachot
of fire not a fur coat to a world that is hungering for a little warmth from someone.
With Wally’s and Benny’s simplicity and clarity, we will act on Emily Dickinson’s words:
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain:
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one’s pain,
Or help one lonely person
Into happiness again,
I shall not live in vain.
Rabbi Thomas A. Louchheim
Congregation Or Chadash