From the other side of the bench: A passport from G-d

By David Seidemann

Issue of Oct. 10, 2008

Shmulik lives in Israel with his wife and six children. He is a successful businessman who commutes to the United States approximately three times a month. Arriving on Mondays and leaving again on Thursdays, he insists at all costs to be home with his family for Shabbos. I heard this story from Shmulik’s first cousin, who was a guest at our Rosh Hashana table last week.

Many of Shmulik’s clients are located in South Carolina, in sparsely populated places were non Jews outnumber Jews and cattle outnumber humans. He lands in Charleston and then motors from one town to another thanks to Avis or Hertz. There aren’t many cars on the highway at 2 a.m. other than Shmulik’s and he takes advantage of the open space, as he puts it, “to test the bounds of his speedometer.”

One early morning, he figures around 2 a.m., while pushing the speed limit, he notices the flashing blue and red lights of law enforcement on his tail. He slows, pulls off on the shoulder and proceeds to reach for his passport to present it to the officer from whom he is expecting a ticket.

The officer rushes to Shmulik’s window and to Shmulik’s great surprise, screams “are you a doctor?” Without waiting for an answer the officer yells “follow me.” Shmulik didn’t know (and he still doesn’t know) for sure why, but assumes that the officer seeing Shmulik’s yarmulke, for some reason thought he might be a doctor. Talk about stereotypes. At any rate, Shmulik follows the officer to the scene of a horrific accident involving catastrophic personal injuries. Somehow, Shmulik and the responding officers manage to extricate a trapped passenger, saving her life.

A few weeks later, while enjoying Shabbos lunch in Israel with his family, there was a knock on his home door. Dispatched from that little town in South Carolina was a proclamation naming “Shmulik” as one of their honorary citizens.

A few weeks after the proclamation arrived in Israel, Shmulik once again found himself alone on the highways of South Carolina. In the wee hours of the morning, it was him, Avis, his heavy right foot and the gas pedal. The speed limit sign was a passing memory, and interpreted by Shmulik as a mere “suggestion” at best.

The blaring sound of the siren and the accompanying red and blue flashing lights was all too familiar. Once again Shmulik pulls over to the side of the road and reaches for his passport to present to the officer. The officer approaches Shmulik’s vehicle and says, “may I see your license and registration please?” Shmulik hands the officer his rental contract and his passport. The officer (not the same one from the first encounter) looks at the passport and smiles.

“Hey, aren’t you Shmulik, our honorary citizen from Israel? Thanks again for all your help last time, be careful, slow down just a bit and take care of yourself.”

They exchanged winks, smiles and a handshake and went their separate ways.

I stood in shul a few days ago on Rosh Hashana, one of about 1,500 people where I was, and one of the millions of Jews worldwide. Like all of us, the blaring sound I heard was not a sheriff’s siren but a Baal Tokeiya’s shofar. The blue and red flashing lights seen by Shmulik, for me, were flashes of the year gone by. The approaching officer for Shmulik, was for me, the approaching judgment.

I had precious little time to prepare a defense to the posted signs I had ignored since last Rosh Hashana, as I motored through life at speeds which most probably prevented me from attending to the details of both my personal and professional life, both my physical and my spiritual actions.

I particularized my needs and desires and asked G-d to grant them to me, if not because I deserved them, but because my family would benefit if I would be blessed with life, with health and with the financial ability to live with dignity. I remember thinking how is it, how could it be that one Supreme being can be attuned to the individual needs of millions of Jews worldwide?

And then I remembered Shmulik’s story. You see, each and every one of us carries a passport with our picture on it, issued not by the I.N.S., but by G-d himself. He knows what each one of us looks like and where we have traveled to throughout the year. It’s all there for G-d to see. He knows us. He recognizes us.

But more importantly, he recognizes us as honorary citizens and therefore is willing to look the other way, substituting mercy for justice, because we are honorary citizens.

Like Shmulik, being branded an honorary citizen does not come automatically. It requires heroic action and self sacrifice.

May all our passports be renewed for the coming year.

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.