Boynton Beach Chronicles, Jerry Klinger [large screen ebook reader TXT] 📗
- Author: Jerry Klinger
Book online «Boynton Beach Chronicles, Jerry Klinger [large screen ebook reader TXT] 📗». Author Jerry Klinger
I am not sure who enjoys it more, Norman, Mendel, or the patients.
Chanukah came late this year, almost at Christmas time. The director of the home volunteers came to me with a problem.
The man who was going to play Santa Claus and bring gifts to the patients, both Jewish and non, was ill. He could not make it. Did I know of anyone who could fill in?
It was a question that did not need to be thought of twice. Of course, I did, but would he do it?
Mendel had to think about this one a full day. He was a Chassidic Jew, could he play Santa Claus and bring a smile to the patients at the Homewood House and not violate his religious identity?
Mendel called his old Rebbe, Rabbi Fuchs of Beth Dovid in Brooklyn, for advice.
Rabbi Fuchs was unable to take Mendel's call so Mendel explained the problem to Rabbi Fuch's aide, Rabbi Singer. Rabbi Singer seemed to start at the suggestion of a Chassid being Santa Claus but he told Mendel to wait. He would call him back. Half an hour later Rabbi Singer did call.
"Mendel," Rabbi Singer said, "the Rebbe thinks it would be a shande – a disgrace for you to be Santa Claus. It does not matter what good intentions you may have, it is wrong to misrepresent yourself. The Rebbe says no."
Mendel was saddened. That evening he was over the house and we talked.
"William." Mendel said, not looking at me. "William, the Rebbe said it would be a shande for me to be Santa Claus at the home this year."
"I understand, Mendel" I said. "But what do you wish to do? What do you think is the right thing to do?"
Mendel did not look up. Norman had come up to Mendel in his usual position, paws on his pants leg, looking up into Mendel's face. Mendel looked at Norman, "Norman what do you think I should do?" he asked, stroking his head.
Norman did not say anything, his soft brown eyes just looked into Mendel's and Mendel knew.
"William, I will do it," he said looking at me with conviction. "I will do it with one condition."
That Christmas, Mendel the Chassid came into the Homewood House in a full, bright red Santa Claus suit, his belly stuffed with pillows, a large bag over his shoulder full of gift for the patients in the day room and a large Star of David on his chest. Cheerfully, he passed out gifts to the Jewish patients with a Happy Chanukah and a robust, smiling Merry Christmas to the non-Jewish patients.
Norman trotted along next to him.
"Mendel, do dogs have souls, do they go to Heaven?" I asked him that evening.
Mendel became serious.
"The question of whether dogs have souls is yes. I've never seen an answer to whether dogs go to heaven.
It's not a Jewish question because while we believe classically in heaven and hell, we are non-dogmatic about the nature of the other dimension.
On one level, no one has ever come back - so we can't know for sure.
On another level, the only way to know the other dimension is to be there - the quest to experience "heaven" mystically is only healthy for a very, very small number of people.
In terms of the literature about souls and animals - there is the probability of a spiritual continuation. Dogs for example are different from humans since they lack the highest level of soul - the moral component. Clearly dogs are alive and sentient - the lowest level of soul.
Dogs also seem to have feelings and thoughts - the second level of soul.
But the ability to make ethical choices - to postpone gratification for a higher good - is something that animals do not seems to have - this is what makes humans human spiritually.
Since we believe that the spirit lives after the body dies - then animals probably have a share of heaven - whatever that is, since the sentience and feelings would continue with God.
For humans as well as animals - does this mean that we are absorbed back into the Ultimate Spirit, does it mean we maintain our spiritual identity, or does it mean we're angel in a physical heaven - Jews may have personal answers - but there is no one authoritative answer."
"Sentience?" I asked.
I look at Mendel and we grinned together.
A few days later, Mendel and I were taking Norman for his 'business' walk. It was a pleasant afternoon that God had made for us to enjoy and savor. Certainly, Norman was savoring everything his nose could.
We were coming back down El Clair towards Pipers Glen. Mendel held Norman's 16' retractable leash. Norman led the way at full extension. As we walked by the Number 4, dog leg left, water hazard hole of the Westchester Golf Course, a bright pink golf ball flew over the hedge and rolled next to Mendel. He, not thinking, picked it up and tossed it back over the hedge onto the course. I doubted if anyone could see us.
"Mendel" I said, "it is good sportsmanship not to pick up lost golf balls while they are still rolling- Mark Twain."
He just looked at me and shrugged. We kept walking along as the yelling got louder.
There is an opening in the high hedge to let the golf carts into the teeing area of the hole. A very red faced man, in perfect white golf attire, flailed his arms at an equally perfectly attired woman golfer in pink.
As we approached the opening we heard him yelling.
"Can't you do anything right! What kind of f…ing idiot are you? I told you, and told you, and told you to keep you head down when swinging the club, follow through and turn your body towards the ball. You can't be this stupid all the time? Do what I tell you.
Now, watch me. Watch what I do, how I do it and do what I do."
He bent down put another one of her bright pink golf balls on the tee and lined up. First he addressed the ball and then he addressed the golf course hole for where he intended the ball to go. Swaying his golf club above the ball, wiggling his hips to settle his golf cleats into the grass of the teeing area, he exclaimed angrily "watch you stupid bit…"
Norman, Mendel and I watched through the opening in the hedge next to the tee as the red faced man pulled back his swing in a mighty yank. His forward motion was a movement of powerfull fluidity as the club face raced toward the bright pink golf ball standing on the tee.
With a crushing thud, the club swing was short. The club face crashed into the green turf kicking up a huge wedge of grass that flew into the air. The man lurched forward from the impact and suddenly his thick toupee flew off his head and hit the ground, with a whoosh, a few feet in front of him.
We did not know what happened. Norman swung into action. With a sudden surprising boldness he yanked the leash from Mendel's hands and surged forward, toward the tee, grabbing the toupee. Without so much as a how to do, he took off with the toupee in his mouth down El Clair. Mendel and I chasing after him, yelling "Norman, drop the toupee."
Part way down the block he did drop the toupee but he kept running, his tail wagging a mile a minute. Mendel continued chasing after him. I grabbed the toupee and returned up the street to the horrifically fuming, embarrassed golfer.
With a "sh..t give me that," he slapped it back on his head.
The lady in pink stood looking at us in astonishment – I thought I perceived a tiny smile across her lips.
Mendel had disappeared around the hedge corner at Pipers Glenn still chasing Norman. I took off in turn after the both of them. As I turned the corner, there was Mendel sitting on the ground with Norman in his lap licking his face. I sat down next to Mendel and we both laughed and laughed like silly school boys.
Back to the house, Norman lead the way, head high and tail wagging.
I went to the wine rack and selected a special wine to celebrate; a bottle of Fire Hydrant Red from Dog Tail Vineyards in Murphys, California. Yes, there really is such a wine. I poured Mendel a full cup of Manischevitz from his private stash.
"William," Mendel said. "If I have any beliefs about immortality it is that certain dogs I have known will go to heaven and very, very few persons. – James Thurber."
"Mendel", I responded. "If there are no dogs in Heaven then when I die I want to go where they went – Will Rogers."
We lifted our libations, mine Fire Hydrant Red, his Manischevitz in his plastic cup and said together "L'Chaim."
Chanukah came late this year, almost at Christmas time. The director of the home volunteers came to me with a problem.
The man who was going to play Santa Claus and bring gifts to the patients, both Jewish and non, was ill. He could not make it. Did I know of anyone who could fill in?
It was a question that did not need to be thought of twice. Of course, I did, but would he do it?
Mendel had to think about this one a full day. He was a Chassidic Jew, could he play Santa Claus and bring a smile to the patients at the Homewood House and not violate his religious identity?
Mendel called his old Rebbe, Rabbi Fuchs of Beth Dovid in Brooklyn, for advice.
Rabbi Fuchs was unable to take Mendel's call so Mendel explained the problem to Rabbi Fuch's aide, Rabbi Singer. Rabbi Singer seemed to start at the suggestion of a Chassid being Santa Claus but he told Mendel to wait. He would call him back. Half an hour later Rabbi Singer did call.
"Mendel," Rabbi Singer said, "the Rebbe thinks it would be a shande – a disgrace for you to be Santa Claus. It does not matter what good intentions you may have, it is wrong to misrepresent yourself. The Rebbe says no."
Mendel was saddened. That evening he was over the house and we talked.
"William." Mendel said, not looking at me. "William, the Rebbe said it would be a shande for me to be Santa Claus at the home this year."
"I understand, Mendel" I said. "But what do you wish to do? What do you think is the right thing to do?"
Mendel did not look up. Norman had come up to Mendel in his usual position, paws on his pants leg, looking up into Mendel's face. Mendel looked at Norman, "Norman what do you think I should do?" he asked, stroking his head.
Norman did not say anything, his soft brown eyes just looked into Mendel's and Mendel knew.
"William, I will do it," he said looking at me with conviction. "I will do it with one condition."
That Christmas, Mendel the Chassid came into the Homewood House in a full, bright red Santa Claus suit, his belly stuffed with pillows, a large bag over his shoulder full of gift for the patients in the day room and a large Star of David on his chest. Cheerfully, he passed out gifts to the Jewish patients with a Happy Chanukah and a robust, smiling Merry Christmas to the non-Jewish patients.
Norman trotted along next to him.
"Mendel, do dogs have souls, do they go to Heaven?" I asked him that evening.
Mendel became serious.
"The question of whether dogs have souls is yes. I've never seen an answer to whether dogs go to heaven.
It's not a Jewish question because while we believe classically in heaven and hell, we are non-dogmatic about the nature of the other dimension.
On one level, no one has ever come back - so we can't know for sure.
On another level, the only way to know the other dimension is to be there - the quest to experience "heaven" mystically is only healthy for a very, very small number of people.
In terms of the literature about souls and animals - there is the probability of a spiritual continuation. Dogs for example are different from humans since they lack the highest level of soul - the moral component. Clearly dogs are alive and sentient - the lowest level of soul.
Dogs also seem to have feelings and thoughts - the second level of soul.
But the ability to make ethical choices - to postpone gratification for a higher good - is something that animals do not seems to have - this is what makes humans human spiritually.
Since we believe that the spirit lives after the body dies - then animals probably have a share of heaven - whatever that is, since the sentience and feelings would continue with God.
For humans as well as animals - does this mean that we are absorbed back into the Ultimate Spirit, does it mean we maintain our spiritual identity, or does it mean we're angel in a physical heaven - Jews may have personal answers - but there is no one authoritative answer."
"Sentience?" I asked.
I look at Mendel and we grinned together.
A few days later, Mendel and I were taking Norman for his 'business' walk. It was a pleasant afternoon that God had made for us to enjoy and savor. Certainly, Norman was savoring everything his nose could.
We were coming back down El Clair towards Pipers Glen. Mendel held Norman's 16' retractable leash. Norman led the way at full extension. As we walked by the Number 4, dog leg left, water hazard hole of the Westchester Golf Course, a bright pink golf ball flew over the hedge and rolled next to Mendel. He, not thinking, picked it up and tossed it back over the hedge onto the course. I doubted if anyone could see us.
"Mendel" I said, "it is good sportsmanship not to pick up lost golf balls while they are still rolling- Mark Twain."
He just looked at me and shrugged. We kept walking along as the yelling got louder.
There is an opening in the high hedge to let the golf carts into the teeing area of the hole. A very red faced man, in perfect white golf attire, flailed his arms at an equally perfectly attired woman golfer in pink.
As we approached the opening we heard him yelling.
"Can't you do anything right! What kind of f…ing idiot are you? I told you, and told you, and told you to keep you head down when swinging the club, follow through and turn your body towards the ball. You can't be this stupid all the time? Do what I tell you.
Now, watch me. Watch what I do, how I do it and do what I do."
He bent down put another one of her bright pink golf balls on the tee and lined up. First he addressed the ball and then he addressed the golf course hole for where he intended the ball to go. Swaying his golf club above the ball, wiggling his hips to settle his golf cleats into the grass of the teeing area, he exclaimed angrily "watch you stupid bit…"
Norman, Mendel and I watched through the opening in the hedge next to the tee as the red faced man pulled back his swing in a mighty yank. His forward motion was a movement of powerfull fluidity as the club face raced toward the bright pink golf ball standing on the tee.
With a crushing thud, the club swing was short. The club face crashed into the green turf kicking up a huge wedge of grass that flew into the air. The man lurched forward from the impact and suddenly his thick toupee flew off his head and hit the ground, with a whoosh, a few feet in front of him.
We did not know what happened. Norman swung into action. With a sudden surprising boldness he yanked the leash from Mendel's hands and surged forward, toward the tee, grabbing the toupee. Without so much as a how to do, he took off with the toupee in his mouth down El Clair. Mendel and I chasing after him, yelling "Norman, drop the toupee."
Part way down the block he did drop the toupee but he kept running, his tail wagging a mile a minute. Mendel continued chasing after him. I grabbed the toupee and returned up the street to the horrifically fuming, embarrassed golfer.
With a "sh..t give me that," he slapped it back on his head.
The lady in pink stood looking at us in astonishment – I thought I perceived a tiny smile across her lips.
Mendel had disappeared around the hedge corner at Pipers Glenn still chasing Norman. I took off in turn after the both of them. As I turned the corner, there was Mendel sitting on the ground with Norman in his lap licking his face. I sat down next to Mendel and we both laughed and laughed like silly school boys.
Back to the house, Norman lead the way, head high and tail wagging.
I went to the wine rack and selected a special wine to celebrate; a bottle of Fire Hydrant Red from Dog Tail Vineyards in Murphys, California. Yes, there really is such a wine. I poured Mendel a full cup of Manischevitz from his private stash.
"William," Mendel said. "If I have any beliefs about immortality it is that certain dogs I have known will go to heaven and very, very few persons. – James Thurber."
"Mendel", I responded. "If there are no dogs in Heaven then when I die I want to go where they went – Will Rogers."
We lifted our libations, mine Fire Hydrant Red, his Manischevitz in his plastic cup and said together "L'Chaim."
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Publication Date: 12-18-2011
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