by BURT GERSHATER
Posted on the AZ Daily Sun: Tuesday, November 9, 2010 5:05 am
I am on my way to New York City for the 27th annual International Conference of Chabad Rabbis. This will be my fourth conference. I was born in Manhattan nearly 65 years ago. My dad was born in Brooklyn, just shy of 100 years ago. I am going home.
After I arrived at JFK International Airport, I stood in line for a taxi for nearly half an hour. Finally, my yellow cab arrived. A young driver, with a full beard and wearing a kufi, a traditional Muslim skullcap, welcomed me. As we lurched our way through rush hour traffic, I felt the urge to strike up a conversation, but I was nervous. Should I reveal the purpose of my trip — to attend the rabbinical reunion? Would my Jewish roots set off a hostile reaction from my Muslim driver?
A conversation began … I don’t remember how. At some point, I asked if there was a mosque in his neighborhood. He seemed wary and asked how I knew about mosques. I said something about the mosque at Ground Zero, and that I had seen many mosques during my recent trip to Israel.
He told me there was a mosque in his neighborhood. He told me he prayed five times every day. He told me Islam is about love, and that there are many references to Moses and Jesus in the Qur’an. He told me that Muslims who kill couldn’t be Muslims. “Allah told us not to kill. We are all one people. We need to have peace.” He was excited, his free hand waving as I poked my head through the security window separating the front and back seats. “Do you understand,” he said, “Muslims are taught not to hurt anyone. If you hurt one person, you hurt everyone. If you give kindness to one person, everyone is given kindness.”
As we pulled in front of the restaurant in Queens where I was meeting my cousins, he reached into a plastic bag next to him. “Here,” he said, “take this, read it, then you will understand.” He gave me a copy of the Qur’an. We shook hands, I thanked him and said goodbye.
The next day, my cousin Ellen and I drove to Crown Heights, Brooklyn, one of the world centers of Chasidic Judaism. Pesach, a friend from Montreal who befriended me at my first Chabad conference, had invited me to his in-laws’ home. “I want you to meet my grandchildren,” he told me.
As we entered Crown Heights we were engulfed by pre-Shabbat excitement. Hundreds and hundreds of orthodox Jewish men, women and children hurried through the streets, picking up last-minute items — bakery goods, wine and flowers. They joyfully made their way back to their families and their traditional, festive Shabbat dinners. Smiles, greetings and friendly chatter filled the streets. I should have felt like an outsider, but I didn’t.
Ellen and I were welcomed into Pesach’s in-laws’ home. Curious, happy children greeted us at the door. We were guided through the bustling kitchen into a sitting room where each of Pesach’s four grandchildren found their way into his gentle arms and onto his comforting lap. They love their zeidy (grandfather). We could see it in their soft eyes and their desire to be close to him.
Pesach, with tears of joy in his eyes, told us, “I wanted you to meet my grandchildren.” As they nestled close to him, he continued, quoting from the Torah: The jewel in a person’s crown is his children’s children.
Sunday I will study, learn, dance and celebrate with more than four thousand Chabad rabbis and supporters from around the world.
From my taxi driver, to my dear cousins, to Crown Heights, to my friend Pesach and his four grandchildren, I was home.
Make it a great week!
Burt Gershater is a counselor, author and motivational speaker living in Flagstaff.
