From the other side of the bench 12-19-08

Walking that extra mile

By David Seidemann

Issue of Dec. 19, 2008 / 22 Kislev 5769

In Jewish law and lore, Gematria, or numerology, forms an entire sphere of learning and lessons. Basically, each letter of the Jewish alphabet is assigned a numerical value. The value of the combined letters of a particular word results in an entirely new and deeper understanding of the word or sentence itself. It’s not a trick or a gimmick although it has been used and often abused at all kinds of family functions. Speakers try to add the numerical values of the names of a bride and groom or a new baby to create some message appropriate for that setting.

I myself have fallen prey to the temptation to dabble in such practices and in fact rambled on for 20 minutes this past Shabbos with all types of gematriot that ranged from combining the letters of the names of the bride and groom whose marriage we were celebrating, to the location of the wedding, to more tongue in cheek offerings such as O.J. Simpson, spelled out in Hebrew, equaling a Hebrew word which means “to lock up.” I was able to come up with over 50 such examples.

With Shabbos beginning so early, we –– my family and the new “other side of the family” –– were able to spend many quality hours together on Friday night just sitting around and schmoozing. It was a beautiful experience to see brothers, sisters, parents, grandparents, cousins and second cousins enjoying each other’s company. No malls. No carpools. No pizza shops. No errands. Nothing from the outside world penetrating our “inner circle.” It was then that I figured out that the numerical value of Mishpacha, Hebrew for family, is the same as that of the Hebrew word u’visokha, meaning “within it.”

For a family to create a strong inner bond the focus has to be “within.” There must be a diminution of outside lures and activities. Our children’s generation does not seem to understand this well. In fact, they are almost always clamoring for stimulus from “without.” Try suggesting to a kid these days that “we’re just going to stay home and talk tonight.” Before you could finish the sentence they’d be on the phone making reservations with the retirement center for you and your spouse.

But this past Shabbos was a poignant reminder of what it means to strengthen from b’socho, from ‘within,’ without any distraction from ‘without.’ As quickly as I relearned that lesson on Friday night, I had forgotten it by Shabbos afternoon. However, my daughter was quick to reinforce it.

We finished lunch at about 2:30 p.m. With 90 minutes before Mincha I decided to walk back to my host’s home for a brief nap. When I awoke my host informed me that a Mincha minyan would be held just five houses away and I wouldn’t have to make the mile-long walk in the cold back to the shul where we ate lunch. As I was preparing to accompany my host down the block my daughter (nicely) scolded me.

“How could you not walk back to your sister’s shul? They invited you for this whole weekend and Mincha is part of it!”

I tried to explain that it was cold and dark and that as soon as Shabbos was over we could drive to that shul, where the rest of the family was, and join them for Havdalah.

“No,” insisted my daughter. “It’s not right. The whole family should spend the whole Shabbos together.” So I put on my hat and coat and we all walked in the cold under darkening skies.

She was right. Not only was it special to share the last hour of Shabbos together; not only did it make my sister and brother-in-law feel as if we appreciated all of their efforts that Shabbos; it provided me a great side benefit: When I told one of my brother-in-law’s brothers how my daughter had insisted we walk back he shared the following uplifting story.

Tragedy befell a certain family and two boys were orphaned. A local family agreed to take them in until a permanent family could be found. When the process was complete and the transfer about to be made, the boys refused to go. They felt so connected that they couldn’t leave. The couple that had taken them in, along with their own children, felt so connected to those two boys that they couldn’t let go either. And so they stayed. And stayed. And stayed, growing up alongside the family’s natural children.

When one of the birth daughters of that family married, a traditional Mezinka dance was held at the end of the wedding. As these two boys were not blood brothers of the bride and her sisters, they would not hold hands with the females of the family. One of their adoptive brothers came up with the idea that these two brothers would hold their sister’s hands indirectly, through the use of a napkin.

The bride sensitively understood that singling out her two brothers by having them dance with her with a napkin, instead of holding her hands directly, insisted that everyone dance with her using a napkin. When a complete circle was formed, she insisted that everyone dance with a napkin in hand.

Asked why this was done she simply explained that this was a family custom dating back generations, thus sparing her adopted brothers any discomfort. No one looked at those two boys any differently than they looked at any other brother. Though separated by a caterer’s cloth napkin, that family was actually closer than ever.

Thinking about that story now, that extra mile was one of the best miles I ever walked.

David Seidemann is a partner with the law firm of Seidemann & Mermelstein. He can be reached at (718) 692-1013 and at ds@lawofficesm.com.