The following Tale is based upon a series of true stories that happened in the late 70's. The story first appeared in THE STANDARD, the Nazarene Church's Adult Weekly Magazine. It was later picked up and published by Guideposts Magazine in 1981. About 8 years (mid-90's) ago a movie based upon the concept called: "PAY IT FOR WARD " featuring actor Kevin Spacey appeared on screens across America. The tale later appeared in the book "REFLECTIONS FROM BEHIND THE RAZOR WIRE" © 2001 by Menorah Lights Books of Dallas. The action's are as ancient as civilization itself. They are based upon the concept of hospitality, or one man's obligation to help another. The Biblical Patriarch Abraham was one of its most noted practitioners. They have always been some of my favorite experiences. I hope you enjoy . ..

.                                 THE CHAIN REACTION


The rain was pelting my car windshield ferociously. During those sudden showers we have in tropical Florida, this type of rain is not uncommon. Soon I could see and hear the rain lessening in intensity. I had traveled about twenty-miles along the is-land-road-bridge system that inter-locked each of the various segments of the Florida Keys. It was my first trip to the Keys, and I was in somewhat of a hurry to make it to Key West and my hotel before darkness set in. Fortunately, the meeting with my client was not until the following morning.

Only a few days before, I had taken my car to the local dealer to have the brakes and alignment checked. It had been pulling to the right; and knowing that I would be driving about 700 miles the coming week, I did not want any car trouble.

Almost as quickly as it began, the rainstorm subsided. I could see the sun peaking sheepishly through the clouds. I started over one of the many bridges on the route. It was still wet and slippery. Suddenly, a flock of sea gulls flew low in front of my car. I slammed on the brakes. But, the car swerved sharply to the right, out of control. I was heading into the blue-green water. Then with a jerk, the car stopped. My right wheel was on the edge of the bridge. It had fallen into one of the water drain incision on the side of the causeway. This allowed the excess water to flow off the bridge and into the Atlantic Ocean.

I breathed a quick sigh of relief. "Baruch Hashem," I whispered. At least I was uninjured. I quivered as I walked behind the car to inspect the right side. I muttered to myself, "something must have been wrong with that brake job I got Friday." The right front tire was touching both sides of the drainage way. The body frame was resting snuggly on the concrete pavement. "No damage!" I breathed out-loud. "But, I'll have to get a wrecker." I looked both ways. Not a car in sight. The sun was rapidly sinking into the far side of the Gulf of Mexico. I knew that during this time of year, the off-season, and late on a Sunday afternoon, very few vehicles would be traveling this route.

Reluctantly, I began the long walk back to the last service station I had seen, some ten miles closer to the mainland. I had walked about two miles. Then I saw a four-wheel pick-up driving lazily towards me.

Maybe I could hire them to drive me back to the service station, I thought. I waved my arms frantically, hoping to flag down the truck. He slowed, then stopped. As he stepped down from the truck, he asked, "What seems to be the trouble, buddy?"

Quickly I explained the events that had transpired and my predicament. "Get in," he said. I saw him stare for a frozen moment at the Star of David and the Tree of Life amulet, hanging around my neck.

When we arrived at the scene of my accident, he stopped. Seeing the expression of helplessness on my face, he encouraged me by saying, "I think we can pull it out with my truck." I could breathe a sigh of hope. He pulled off his burly woolen P-coat. I noticed a glittering golden cross dangling in front of his middle of chest.

First, he had me jack up the front of my car with his screw jack. Then he backed his truck up to my car, took out a big heavy chain from his toolbox, and linked out two vehicles together. I put my car in neutral. He pulled the chain taut. I could hear his motor strain and struggle in the still ocean air. With a lot of patience, my car wheel finally cleared the depression. A smile spread over his face as he saw my relief.

"Thanks! How much do I owe you?" I inquired gratefully as he was putting the chain back into it's cozy home in the bottom of the toolbox.

"Nothing," he quietly remarked.

"But it would have cost me an arm and a leg to get a wrecker out here. Let me pay you something. Please. I insist."

"I'll tell you young man. Just do me a favor. Help somebody else in need, sometime. That'll be pay enough," he smiled warmly.

"But, if you hadn't have come along, I'd . .."

"I just thank God that I decided to go down to see the cats at Key West today, and do a little fishin'."


I looked at his face, closely. Earlier I had thought him to be just an ordinary retired man in his late sixties. But now he resemble a tower of controlled strength and purpose. I felt somewhat in awe at being in the presence of his serenity. Then he commented: "Since my wife die, I just fish a little and work with a prison ministry program in Miami. She and I used to help people out whenever we could. All we ever asked was that those we helped, help someone else in need."

Then he asked me to check my car and brakes to see if my car was safe to drive. I did, and at least at low speeds, they seemed okay. As he got back into his truck, I reached for my wallet and took out one of my business cards. I explained to him that I was a tax law specialist and worked up near Cape Kennedy, in Cocoa Beach. If he was ever in the area, I invited him to stop in and let me take him to lunch or dinner. On the back I wrote, "Thanks for your help, Baruch HaShem [praise/blessed be the Name/God]."

"By the way, we have some great fishing up in the Trident Basin, and along the Indian River, too!" I said. "Come up some time." He just smiled and nodded. Then as he started to drive away, I waved. I got back in my car and cautiously headed toward my ho-
tel. He motioned me to pass him, and to keep my speed fairly modest. He followed me almost all the way to Key West before turning off.

On a Friday afternoon a few weeks later, I was fighting rush hour traffic on my way home. I was angry at myself for dallying, knowing I would be late for shul. In winter the services which always start at sun-down, seemed to come, almost in the middle of the busy afternoon. As I passed the mall, I saw a car, stalled, sitting on the shoulder near the entrance to the parking lot. I could see from the expression on the driver's face that he was totally frustrated. But, I drove on by. I felt sympathetic for him, but I was late for Sabbath service. Anyway, I just knew somebody else, would stop and help. Besides, I thought, I have had a really hectic day, and Sabbath service IS more important than ... Yet as I drove by, I found myself remembering (as I had done quite often lately) my incident in the Keys. I put on my turn signal and pulled into another of the mall's entrance ways. I drove back to that previous entrance and the stalled car.

I rolled down my window. "Want a ride to a gas station, or something?" I called out. The man darted around the front of his car and opened my passenger door.


"Say," he asked with a puzzled look on his face, "didn't you just pass me?" He stared at my yarmulke.

"Yes, I guess I did," I remarked, waiting for a chance to get back into the traffic flow.

"But, you turned around and came back?" he quizzed.

"Yes, I guess I did," I said. "By they way what seems to be the trouble with your car?"

"I ran out of gas," the words tumbled out of his lips somberly.

As we drove, I told him where I worked. I gave him one of my card's. "So you fight with the IRS?" he asked. When he reached the service station he borrowed a gasoline can and filled it with fuel. Then I drove him back to his car. The sun had faded and the heavy tropical air made me feel sticky. It was Sabbath. When we got there, he reached for his wallet and held out a twenty-dollar bill. "Here," he urged," and thanks. I don't know what I would have done."

"That's all right. Keep your money. Just help somebody else out who needs it."

"C'mon. Take this," he insisted. When I shook my head, he asked, "are you sure you're Jewish?" He pushed the bill toward me once more.

"No, I'm serious. Just help somebody else out someday." Then I drove off.

One day about a month later, I was busy working on an audit appeal when my secretary came in and told me that someone wanted to see me. "He doesn't have an appointment," she sneered.

With a huff, I turned from my pile of papers, and walked out into the reception area. There a man with a big smile on his face came rushing up to me. "Remember me?"

"Sure," I jokingly answered. "Still trying to run your car on fumes?"

He laughed. Then he asked, "have you got a minute to talk?"

"Well, I'm 'er in the middle of... no come on back," I beckoned. "Miriam, hold my calls, please."

As we sat down, he seemed to be on the verge of exploding. "Remember you told me to help somebody else who needed it?" I nodded. "Well, I travel a lot. At least when I have gas in my car," he chuckled. "Sorry. The other day I was on 1-95 coming back from Daytona when I noticed this car in the median. Anyway, I drove on by, because . . ."

"Because you figured someone else would stop and help!"

"Right," he admitted. "But, then I remembered you helping me. So I got off at the exit and went back. As I started walking toward his car, I could hear the motor running. I looked at the car. The driver was slumped over the wheel and a bottle of pills were spilled on the seat beside him. Instantly, I ran to the edge of the road and flagged a trucker down. He used his CB radio to get the police and an ambulance. The man had had some kind of seizure. Anyway, I went to the hospital in the ambulance over the objections of the EMT people. While I was setting next to him, I saw these bluish numbers tattooed on his arm. I later learned he was a Holocaust survivor. I'm not religious mind-you. I guess I am a Christian. I do believe in God. And I don't think I had ever helped a Jew before, but I sat in the waiting room until the man regained consciousness. Then I asked the doctor if I could see the patient for just a moment. After I explained who I was, he let me in. As we walked to the man's beside, the doctor told me that my getting him help when I did probably saved his life. Then the doctor told me about the numbers on his arm. As we stood there that poor little old man reached up and took my arm and barely above a whisper stammered, 'what can I ever do to repay you?' You know what I
told him?"

"Yes ... I do," and I started laughing.

"You're right. Anyway I just had to stop and tell you."

Then the two of us talked a little while longer. After he left, I felt fantastic. I just couldn't get over the fact.

Now, every time, when my secretary comes in, and tells me that someone is in the reception room, with no appointment, and hands me a business card that I've given out, I quickly look at the back of that little stiff piece of gray cardboard. Someday, I want to be able to meet that saintly old fisherman, and tell him how I helped someone else, and how that in turn helped to save another man's life.

END