Remembering Mr. Zucker

 

In Jewish tradition we are wont to say, “The secret resides in the doing.”  As the Talmud teaches, “If you want to know the character of a person, do not listen to the mouth, but follow the feet.”  It means, if I want to know who you are and the character of your faith, I will ignore what you say, but watch what you do.

In that spirit, I want to tell you about Mr. Zucker.  When I was in my teens, living with my parents in the Bronx, I used to attend the local Conservative synagogue, Nathan Strauss Jewish Center.  Every Saturday morning, I would get dressed and walk the few short blocks down Gun Hill Road to this shul.  Week after week, I would sit in one of the back rows by myself.  The service began about 8:30 and concluded close to noon.  No one said anything to me.

But one Sabbath morning a man, who told me his name was Zucker, approached me as I sat in my back row.  He said, “I see you here week after week, all by yourself.  Where is your father?”  I said, my father is working.  I explained to Mr. Zucker, “Even though it was the Sabbath, my father told me he has to work because the family needs to eat.”  My Dad was a clothing operator.  He worked in a dreary sweat shop eight to ten hours a day.  My parents were quite poor. They lived paycheck to paycheck.  Mr. Zucker’s eyes looked pained, and he seemed near tears.

Mr. Zucker was an elderly man with kind eyes and a caring soul.  He was a Jew and a mensch.  And it seemed his soul ached that my father could not afford to go to shul and pray.  I tell you there were tears in his eyes. 

In those days, to attend synagogue during the High Holy Days, Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, you had to have tickets.  That may sound strange to some of you.  But Jews do not collect a weekly offering, so one way to collect funds and maintain the synagogue is to sell tickets.  Since my father could not afford tickets, we did not attend shul during those days.

But, every year after that Sabbath morning, Mr. Zucker bought tickets for me and my father to attend High Holy Day services.  And by the way, the seats were not in the back.  They were in the front close to the altar and the Torah. 

I never knew Mr. Zucker’s first name, but I am remembering his face today.  He taught me what it was to be a mensch (a person of character) and that it is possible for a human being to be a mensch.  I suspect Mr. Zucker is long gone but I raise my voice and my studying to his honor.  May his memory be for a blessing.  May what he did instruct us all.