From the other side of the bench: Judgment never ends

By David Seidemann

Nov. 7, 2008 / 9 Cheshvan 5769

I sauntered into a local retail store on the days between Yom Kippur and Sukkos on a mission from my wife to find matching napkins and paper plates. I overheard two of the store clerks bemoaning the fact that every few days the store had to be closed and the upcoming schedule called for more intermittent closures, resulting in lower revenues.

As I entered the checkout aisle, I saw them glancing into my cart. Their facial expressions conveyed their anger. My purchase, which totaled $1.98, would surely not offset the financial losses incurred or soon to be incurred over the next few days. I was almost intimidated to the point of purchasing some high end items — say in the $2.99 range — but regained my inner strength and proceeded with my paltry yet important purchases. I removed my wallet from my pocket and our eyes locked.

The skies darkened, the wind howled, a bolt of lightening accompanied by ominous organ music could be heard (in my mind, at least) as the two clerks turned into devils and barked at me, “When are your days of judgment finally over?” I laughed like a ghoul and shouted “never, I say never,” and ran from the store. From the distance I heard them screaming in their native tongue, a phrase I since learned meant “we might as well close forever now.”

I returned home only to discover that the napkins and paper plates I had purchased at the “house of horror” did not match the ones we had at home. I tried to convince my wife that Jewish law does not require matching plates and in fact encouraged separate dishes. She wasn’t buying it and so a return trip was necessary.

What if they didn’t have matching plates? What if they did have, but they were cheaper? Could I really risk my life in a return encounter with the clerks because our paper plates don’t match? It boiled down to a return brief encounter with the clerks versus my wife’s directives. It boiled down to a possible quick demise on Central Avenue or a slow tortuous one at home.

I returned the plates, relieved at least that the new ones were slightly more expensive than the original ones, though I made sure to check out in a different aisle in a slightly less hostile environment.

The truth of the matter is that judgment and redemption is never over, not after Rosh Hashanah; not after Yom Kippur; not after Sukkos, never. As the following true story reveals, it is never too late.

In a prison in the Southwest languished a middle aged Jewish man, serving a long sentence for committing an unspeakable deed upon one of his sons. His wife divorced him but he refused to give her a get as required by Jewish law. Without the get, she would be prohibited from remarrying. She would in effect be as “imprisoned” as he was. After a few years, in an apparent change of heart, he contacted a Rabbi who agreed to drive a few hundred miles to write a get. When the Rabbi arrived that Sunday afternoon, the prisoner laughed and informed him, “I changed my mind.”

The Rabbi returned to his car and motored the few hundred miles home. A few months later this Rabbi once again was contacted by the prisoner who told him, “I am ready to give the get.” The Rabbi said “fine, I’ll see you Sunday afternoon.”

“Why do you trust me?” remarked the prisoner. “Why don’t you believe I’ll pull the wool over your eyes again?”

“I don’t believe you,” said the Rabbi, “rather I believe in you.” The prisoner began to cry and said “Rabbi, you’re the first person in my life to say that they believed in me. I promise, I promise not to let you down. I’ll see you Sunday afternoon and I give you my word, Rabbi, I’ll set my wife free.”

The Rabbi packed his briefcase once again and drove to the penitentiary. Upon his arrival, he was stunned to find that the prisoner had died of a heart attack earlier that morning. The Rabbi turned his car around and was in his house for but a few hours when his home phone rang. It was the surviving sons of the prisoner, who relayed the following to the Rabbi.

“We understand you are our father’s Rabbi and we were just informed about his death. We aren’t observant but know that when a parent dies we must sit shiva. But we swore years ago that as a result of what our father did to our brother, that when he died, we wouldn’t sit shiva for him. We swore that the only way we would sit shiva for him was if he gave our mother a get. That would be the only way our father would be able to redeem himself at least partially in our eyes. We know he is dead, Rabbi, but we made a promise and he didn’t fulfill it. He had the chance to give our mother a get as she wanted, but he didn’t. Tell us Rabbi, because we don’t believe it. Did he really intend on giving her a get?”

The Rabbi assured them that now that their father had passed, their mother was free to remarry.

“That’s not the point,” replied the sons. “We need to know if his heart changed before it stopped!”

If that’s the case,” said the Rabbi, “sit shiva. Cry, mourn and weep for your father for I can testify that his heart had changed.”

And so it was. They sat shiva together, mother and sons mourning a man who they detested all their lives but who had earned their warmth in his final hours.

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.