My Adar felt topsy-turvy. On the one side, a contemporary hero of mine revealed a hurt, which that person and that person’s family had received at the hands of other Jews. On the other side, I experienced my own hurt when a Jew treated me with condescension.
Neither my hero nor I like getting dissed. Both of us hold our resources as being as valuable as are those of other members of the Klal. Neither of us wants to be: interrupted, kept apart from, or otherwise transformed into the object of verbal or physical projectiles.
All Jews are equally valuable. Even so, Jews are imperfect. Whereas I was horribly disappointed to hear hurt become what sounded like hate in my hero’s mouth, and whereas I was thunderstruck when a Jewish leader did violence to me, I know my personality flaws are likely more glaring than are those of the people who attacked either of us. I have to think this way.
Fortunately, my Adar also included a wedding. The guests at that joyous occasion were an eclectic group ranging from the forward-looking fellow with the gelled, spiked hair to the traditional rabbi dressed in black and white. Some of the female guest came in jeans. Other female attendees’ wore outfits that covered all but their hands and faces. The two honored families greeted each well-wisher just as warmly.
I cleave to the beliefs that Hashem loves each and every one of us in the same way and that we are bid to emulate that behavior of ''The Boss.’ It is not for me to cast dispersions on other Jews, publically, or, in the secret places of my heart, to loath them because they think, act, or offer up opinions antithetical to my own or because they hurt me. Whereas I called someone in Hutz l’Aretz with the intention of discussing the ill treatment I had received from the callous Jew, I never did broach that topic with my friend. In the end, I am glad to report, I could not bring myself to issue sour words about another member of our tribe. Instead, my friend and I spoke of her forthcoming aliya.
At the wedding, the food was delicious. The hatan and kallah’s friends employed much fantastic shtick. The bridal party and the groom’s family looked regal. Nonetheless, the most outstanding quality of that night was the way in which the hosts mingled naturally with all of their guests. Their simcha was exceptional in its ability to cohesively and concurrently pull all of its participants to a higher level of consciousness. When I, for example, offered my “mazel tov” to the kallah’s grandmother, a woman dressed in a sheitel (I wore a scarf), I saw that this matriarch was surrounded by girls in pants and by girls in skirts, and that she was authentically issuing love to each and every young lady.
Her actions not only taught mighty lessons to her generations, they also provided us revelers with a corner of Shemyim. The Almighty does send us guides to prepare us for Moshiach. We just have to look.
My hero has new and exciting projects to actualize. At the same time, that Jew’s existent body of work is easy to admire. I just wish pain hadn’t so palpably permeated that Jew’s communication. Since we have common professional interests, for personal reasons, as well, I hope that person can get past the emotional trauma. I’m praying to Hakodesh Baruch Hu to replace bitterness with joy.
As per the Jew who assailed me, we, too, have handfuls of people in common. Despite the fact that I cried for hours after the incident, telling my family, without identifying the aggressor, that no one, including their wife and mom, ought to be degraded to the status of a nonentity, the best I can do in that case is to adjust my expectations. I can not hate that person, but I likely will, for a time, continue to loathe their choices. I can’t adjudicate their behavior. I can pray. Torah speaks chapters about deep, cosmic loneliness. I hope that Jew quickly finds both meaning and sagacious company.
The hatuna was so much more heimishe than are most that I wanted to sit and to talk, to share and to listen, to stretch out that experience, to savor it with my friends. To wit, Computer Cowboy and I lingered longer than we have at many similar events. There is something wonderful in the simple goodness constituted by inclusion. There is something mind blowing in witnessing acceptance that has no bounds. I’m convinced that at that huppa, where all of Klal Yisrael was welcomed, the cherubim of the Holy Ark readily faced each other.