An Extraordinary Yid

A visitor to our community tapped me on the shoulder last Shabbos and inquired about the name of our shul.

“It’s such an extraordinary name for a shul. Who came up with it?”

“Ah, this is a story!” I replied, and between the aliyas and the kaddish, but not the entire kaddish, I told him the following tale:

“You’ve heard of a g’mach, yes?  A place, often an unused space or room in a house, where people can pick up almost anything they need, and use it—free! A good practice? Yes. Simple to understand? You shrug your shoulders and say, ‘What could be simpler?’ Haha! This is why the actions of Reuven Botvinasokolov were so odd and offbeat that it caused a clamor in our community, a rumpus in the region, a brouhaha in “the hood,” and only recently did the dust settle.

 “Reb Reuven was a neighborhood native, the seminal Semite, the headmost Hebrew, the—”

“—I got it, I got it; he was here first.”

“Exactly. He arrived in the 1950s, when there were no Jews here. He told us incredible tales about growing up in this paradise, riding his bicycle for miles without passing a single home or building. Picking berries and hunting birds in broad fields where we now have shuls, schools, and pools, and how the neighborhood’s most enormous condo stands where there were once marshes filled with cattails, and the waters teemed with freshwater crabs.

“Back then, he was the only Yid within hundreds of miles. He wore a kippah, and the locals thought he must be Catholic because he wore the same head covering as the Pope.

“He was giving boat tours on the river when Jews began arriving en masse, attracted by the weather and affordable real estate. Some called him Reuven Crusoe, and he coached those pioneers on how to cover a sukkah with palm fronds, break open a coconut for dessert, and how to toivel in the ocean without losing your bathing suit.

“Years passed, and more Jews moved here. The Community flourished, and people needed things but couldn’t put their hands on them quickly or inexpensively.

“Mrs. Samowitz was having a simcha and required a dozen elegant tablecloths—fast. Dina Denburg’s daughter from Denver was visiting and needed toys, a crib, and a stroller. Donny Neufeld’s father from Fallsburg was coming and needed a wheelchair.

“In other communities, various people met these needs, but Reuven insisted he provide everything. After all, he was here first! People complained that it was unfair. ‘He’s taking away mitzvas from others.’ ‘He thinks he owns this place just because he was here first.’

“Reuven was astounded by the squabbling, flabbergasted with the fuss, mystified by the—”

“I got it. He was frustrated. Nu, so, what happened next?”

“Reuven came up with a plan—he charged them! And not a small sum.

It was only a short time before others started a g’mach. But a most extraordinary thing happened: people still came to Reuven. Why, you ask. Because he always had a kind word for all. Unity! he preached. Love was on his lips.  ‘Your father will love this chair,’ ‘your grandchildren will love this toy,’ ‘your zeide will love this walker.’ And not only this, but they left with more than they came for. If you needed a table cover, he threw in a centerpiece. A bag of Fruit Gems accompanied all borrowed toys.

“This was Reb Reuven's life, and after 120 years, the Holy One, Blessed Be He, called him to his eternal resting place. The town gathered and mourned the loss. Ashkenazim, Sephardim, and Chassidim pushed and shoved into the shul; we were packed like sardines in the old building, which we’d outgrown years ago.

“They sneezed and wheezed as Rabbi Eskovitz delivered a sermon on the shloshim, and with his usual flair and wit, the Rabbi recounted the days of Reb Reuven and even recalled with humor the uproar that ensued when he charged for the g’mach. Then the Rabbi cleared his throat for dramatic effect, and he announced that Reb Reuven had bequeathed the community a large sum of money to build a brand-new shul! But it was on the condition that everybody should accept everyone else’s peculiarities. There shouldn’t be any sinat chinam – senseless hatred.” 

“—So everyone gets along and davens here: Ashkenazim, Sephardim, and Chassidim?”

“Yes.”

“And there wasn’t any machlosis over minhag, no clashes over custom, no debates involving Bais Din?”

“No. And no quarrelsome quorums, either. To everyone’s astonishment, we found that we had more things in common than what we disagreed on, and made peace. And that is how our congregation came to be called Kehillas Ashkesephardichussid.”

“

That’s amazing, and a perfect message for this time of year. Do you have any other stories you can share?”

“Sure, let me tell you about my friend, Abbie, who had a midlife crisis and quit his influential job with the City to become an under-the-influencer!”

Sholom Feldheim has published his cute, comical sketches and stories in the LA Jewish Home, HaMizrachi, and Mishpacha magazines. One of his stories aired on National Public Radio’s “The Public Storyteller.” He lives in Florida with his wife and enjoys yoga, bicycling, and cooking. He can be contacted at legacywriter999@gmail.com