Ayal was the only person in the bar. It was eight o'clock, way too early for anyone else to stop in for a beer. I had just finished slicing the lemons and was slightly bored, so I grabbed my glass of Goldstar and pulled up one the metal chairs to his table. He smiled, and looked me over, from my kippa (skullcap) to my tzitzit (ritual fringes).
"What are you doing working here?" he asked.
I knew what he was getting at. His sad, brown, Yemenite eyes had focused on the fringes sticking out from my shirt. Standard response to my job description by a religious adult is to cock an eyebrow. My Hebrew teacher in the States explained to me that your social circle largely revolves around who you are with, and that rolling with a crew of bartenders looks bad on the shidduch-resume. Others have wondered if I am about to shake my skull loose from its cap, like others in my yeshiva have done since leaving. To me the answer was simple, and a genuine continuation of what I had been taught in yeshiva.
"Somebody's gotta raise the sparks, no?" I replied.
An explanation might be required:
According to Chassidic belief, before Creation, the good of the soon-to-be world was held as a powerful light inside vessels of G-d's making. Like any container that holds an ever-growing energy, these eventually exploded, showering the universe with shards and sparks that fell to the baby world. Our job in the world is to search for the sparks amongst the glass, the beauty and holiness within the mundane and even profane, and to raise them to their deserved level.
Ayal smiled, and raised his glass in a L'Chaim.
"This is good," he responded. "A boy like you, with a kippa on his head mingling with people who are different, this is what we need. True love for your brethren. That's what's most important for us, especially with this being the beginning of a month of happiness that was derived from our unity as a people." (The Jewish month of Adar, the month of the Purim holiday as well as important victories of the Hasmoneans of Channukah).
We sat there in silence for a minute, while I pondered the question that so many ask me, and analyzed my response. I was reminded of a story told by Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach, and decided to share it with Ayal.
"One year, as Yom Kippur approached, a little chassid named Moishele packed up his horse, kissed his wife and children goodbye, and set off to see his rabbi. This was the one time of the year that he had the chance to do so, and Moishele was eager to see his spiritual leader's holy face. He spurred his horse passed the Polish forests and countryside, arriving at the Rebbe's house before any of the other followers. Excitedly, he knocked on the door.
The door swung open to reveal the long bearded rabbi, who took one look at Moishele and ordered him away.
'Leave Moishele. I don't want you here. The last thing that I want is to spend Yom Kippur with you. Get out of my house immediately!'
The words were spit out with such ferocity, that Moishele barely even realized that he has saddled up his horse. Dissapointed and downtrodden, he began his slow journey home. To ease his sorrow, he stopped at the kretchma, the local inn, and ordered himself a shot.
Inside the kretchma, the chassidim who were on their way had congregated and were drinking, singing, and dancing with a passion. When they saw Moishele's face they had to ask what had happened. After he had unraveled his tale, one of his chassidic brothers clapped him on the shoulders and declared:
'Moishele, this is indeed a travesty, and therefore you must drink a L'Chaim with me.'
The others agreed, and soon Moishele found himself spinning around the room, rosy cheeked and optimistic, while his friends blessed him with rowdy "L'Chaims" ("To life").
"You know Moishele," the others said to him, "according to Jewish law, anything that the baal habayit (master of the house) says to a guest, the guest must do. Except if he tells him to leave. Come back to the rebbe with us. At the very least maybe he will give you an explanation as to his behavior.
Clearly at this point Moishele was in no state to argue, so with a little help he re-saddled his horse and began the journey back to see his rabbi. As soon as he arrived on the doorstep Moshe began to tremble with fear.Suddenly, the door threw itself open.
'Moishele!' the rebbe screamed with delight, enveloping him in a great bear hug, 'I'm so glad to see you!'
Stunned by the rabbi's spit-personality, Moishe stammered out a request for an explanation.
'Ah, you see my dear Moishele," the rabbi began, "when you had first arrived, the malach hamavet, the angel of death, hovered above your head. I knew that you wouldn't make it through Neila (the closing prayer of Yom Kippur), and wanted you to spend your last hours with your family. But when your friends blessed you L'Chaim, they pushed Death away for years and years. With friends like these, you could live forever."
Chodesh tov! L’Chaim! May it be a month of unity and true living.
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