Special excerpt from Homespun Jewish Folktales

The following homily is based upon two different true events that happened in the life of one Arthur Roseau of Miami, Florida. Mr. Roseau told me the stories when we were privileged to spend a period of reflective time together in 1998. Mr. Roseau who currently lives with his wife Darlene in Missouri is a retired restaurateur and writer. Copyright 1998.

                              A DEBT I CAN NEVER REPAY

"Excuse me doctor," a voice called as the door opened to the hotel suite. "I apologize for the delay," the neatly dressed hotel manager said sheepishly. "It will be about 30 minutes longer." He shrugged as he looked at the aging physician. "We are still waiting on the mayor."

"Young man," I quietly said. "I apologize for all the fuss. I hope that this has not been too inconvenient for you and your staff."

"Oh, Dr. Rose, we don't mind," then he added quickly. "I'm so sorry, I almost forgot. There's a newspaper reporter out here asking if she can see you. She said, she didn't have an appointment. I can send her away, if you'd . . ." He tilted his head slightly in the direction of the waiting suitor.

"No, that will be O.K.," the Reverend Thomas Mason chipped in. "I've got to check out the podium for my convocation anyway. So he'll be free for a minute or so." Pastor Tom stood up and hugged me, saying that he'd be back, then putting his arm around the hotel GM, he opened the suite door, and they left.

A pretty young woman, about 20, was quickly ushered in. "Hi, my name is Sarah, Sarah Rosenblum," she blurted too loudly for the small entry way. Quickly she fumbled around inside her blue and green leather purse for a card. Seizing the white parchment with a death grip she trembled a little as she handed it to me, upside down. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know I don't have an appointment, but my father said you knew him, and that you would be glad to give me a brief interview."

Quizzically, I said, "your face looks familiar. Who is your father?"

She quipped somewhat timidly. "Er, Rabbi Sideny Rosenblum."

Immediately pictures turned quickly through the pages of my mental memory book. "Of course, come in, come in, come in. Can I, ah, get you a soda or something?"

"No I'm fine, thank-you sir." And with that she plopped herself down, loudly, into the oversized velour hotel chair. I sat down across from her.

"How is you father?" I asked. "Is he well?"

"Oh yes, he's fine. I mean well," she stammered. Then she blurted, "he's coming to your award dinner, with mom." But, then she added as a way of explanation. "This is my first interview, and father wanted me to come by myself." As the words unfolded from her pencil thin lips, she again blurted, "I'm a junior at the University of Miami. In Literature!" With that explanation she grimaced, then shrugged and settled back into the chair.

Almost in the same continuation of awkward motion, she pulled out a spiral pad and an oversized worn yellow envelope. "I'll only ask a couple of questions," she inserted nervously, more to calm herself than to steady me. "I sure appreciate a moment of your valuable time, doctor."

I nodded my approval. "Soooooh, you are Rueven Rosenblum's granddaughter? That's why you look so familiar. You have your grandmother's coral blue eyes, and soft burnished golden-hair." The young co-ed blushed, unsure of my comment.

"Your grandfather was one of my best friends. May he rest in peace. There were four of us from the Old neighborhood. Tommy, Abel, your 'zaide', and me. We called ourselves the four holy terrors. We all played football together at South Miami High School, and in college at UM. We were inseparable," I closed nostalgically. "But enough, how can I help you?"

"It's just a short piece for the religion section of the Miami Herald. You know, just because I'm Jewish, and my father a rabbi, the editor thinks I'm some kind of religion specialist. I wish he'd treat me just. . .," she fumbled the words as they left her sub- conscious. Then shaking her head ever so slightly, trying to rid herself of all the turmoil roiling up inside her mind, she looked at me. "I only have a couple of questions." I nodded for her to continue. "So Doctor Rose, you are retiring. I bet your wife and children must be very proud!"

"I never married," the last syllables escaped my teeth.

"Oh, you mean you've never been in love!" she stated somewhat sarcastically.

"I didn't say that. There was this beautiful young girl in High School and College. She was a cheerleader. I loved her so much, my bones ached. But," there was a long pause. "It didn't work out."

"How sad," she responded casually. Then her curiosity perked just a teeny bit. "Is it O.K. if I ask how come it didn't work out, I mean like, off the record?"

"She married my best friend," I said wistfully.

"Bummer," she said. "I'll bet you guys didn't stay friends for very long after that."

"As a matter of fact, we stayed lifelong friends. Besides, it let me see Sarai ..." I added looking off into some distant bygone world. "You look just like her," I whispered. She appeared not to hear my last remark.

"I'd venture to guess, that you were named after your bubbe," I told her. My mind was fighting being dragged back into the present.

"How'd you know?' she asked.

"It's a Jewish thing," I added. "Ashkenazi Jews traditionally name their children after recently deceased ancestors."

"Are you Jewish?"

"My mother was a Sephardic Jew, but my dad was a Southern Baptist. They met during World War

I. When I was growing up, I mean, in those days, a half-breed did not marry into a rabbinical family." The novice reporter nodded, not totally comprehending. "Your grandmother died before you were born," and I quickly added. "May she rest in peace."

Oblivious to my sentimental quandary she asked rather casually, "so which did you become, a Christian or a Jew?"

"Actually, I became both, user neither. I have read in both the Christian New Testament and the Jewish TANAKH that you are supposed to love God with all your heart and soul, and that you are to love your neighbor as yourself. I've spent my entire life trying to do just that. So if that makes me a Jew and/or a Christian, well then I guess that I am."

Rocking back into her chair, she said: "I really don't know what to ask you doctor. Actually," she looked up at me, her countenance for a moment re- flecting youthful helplessness and continued, "my father knows the city editor. He had assigned your piece to someone else, but my father can be pretty persuasive. I'm just a cub reporter at the paper. Anyway, he talks my editor into giving me this assignment." She paused to gather her thoughts. "My father gave me this folder full of stuff to read on you. But . . . I've been so busy at school," her voice trailed off with her mind. "He said it has news clips and stuff about some of the things you've done." She grabbed the rumpled

"Actually, most of those things were really done mostly by Tom and Abel and your zaide I only helped."

"Dr. Rose," she said, gently putting down the clip. "I'm terribly sorry, I had no idea. You need to be talking with someone else, someone like our editors •"
or...

"That's O.K., the paper sent you.' Then I leaned forward again and added, "get your interview."

Propping forward in her chair, her blue eyes reflecting the waves of the Atlantic outside the hotel window, she said in a tone of humility. "I really don't know what to ask you doctor. Anything I could write it going to be too trite. Maybe, well maybe if you just told me how you saved all those kids. I might do a little piece on that."

Just then there was a knock on the door, and the hotel manager stuck his head in the partially vacated space. "The mayor has just arrived, but they're having a little press conference about his 'senatorial bid' out in the lobby. Reverend Mason said to tell you that it'll be about 20 minutes more. Is that O.K.?"

I just bobbled my head up and down and side- ways like a toy puppy in the back of a '57 Chevy. Then turning back to my inquisitor, I said, "I guess it was all due to the fact that I owed a debt I could never repay." Her face exhibited be-puzzlement. "You see, I had just turned 14. It was 1945. The big war had just ended for us here in America. It was summer. Your zaide was studying for his bar mitzvah. Abel was studying catechism at the parish. Tommy was going to Vacation Bible School, and my family was busy with our out of town visiting relatives. But, the weather was so beautiful, and ol' Grady Norton of the Miami Hurricane control center had said the bad weather in the Bahamas was going to pass by us here in South Florida.

"The four of us found out that old man Martin was planning to go down past Mathis on Hammock to get a load of crab cages. Well, we all put our swim trunks on under our regular clothes, and told our parents we had to go to school for a football registration thing. Then we headed out with Martin, sitting in the back of his old fire engine red flat bed International, for the beach. Rube and Abie wanted to go body surfing so they just dropped me and Tommy off at the Hammock and went on to Key Biscayne. I wanted to go out to the sand bar at Mathison and look for some shells for Sarai. So Tommy told me he'd go with me. Old man Martin was going to come back and pick us up in about 4 hours.................

This story has a wonderful ending. You can purchase Homespun Jewish Folktales from Amazon.com  or from our order page.