My father-in-law, he should live and be well, became a BT in his late fifties. That, in and of itself, is a whole story. Maybe some other time.
After becoming observant, he had started a new job. He just wasn’t able to bring himself to wear his kippah at work. He thought the obvious change would be too much for his co-workers to handle. In particular, there was one co-worker he was concerned about, an Israeli gentleman who had warned him “if you want to be my friend, don’t talk to me about religion!” Then there was the other co-worker whom he didn’t think would be kindly disposed, a gentleman with an earring in his left ear. So, he made the decision not to wear his kippah at work.
My father-in-law noticed that everytime the gentleman with the earring would go to see the boss, he would take his earring off only to replace it after leaving the boss’ presence. One day, the “Don’t talk to me about religion” guy said to him “Why do you take your earring out everytime you go to the boss? Just leave it in. You are who you are.” “You are who you are”, my father-in-law thought and the very next day he began wearing his kippah to work. Once in a while you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right.
I remember the first job interview I went on for which I decided to wear my kippah. It was already six months after I was shomer shabbos. It was a new city, a new job, and time, I decided, for a new start, by wearing my kippah to work. Man, was I self-conscious. As it approaching lunchtime, my would-be supervisor started to offer to take me out to lunch. I let out a single “ummm”, and he immediately asked me if I kept kosher. He then launched into a story about how his wife used to care for an Orthodox family’s children in upstate New York. A very nice family, too. The father would walk two-and-a-half miles to the synagogue on the Sabbath, and he had a club-foot. Anyway, we would discuss lunch with his manager later, he said.
Later, as I was interviewing with the man who was my supervisor’s manager, he asked me if there were any kosher restaurants around. Even before I was about to answer “no,” he calls out to the supervisor, “Hey, go get Scott. He’s Jewish. He’ll know if there are any kosher restaurants around.” I surely didn’t want to embarrass Scott, so I quickly said, “that’s alright, it’s not necessary.” Then, I was trying to figure out how I was going to bring up the 7 vacation days I needed to take in the upcoming month (of Tishrei). Fortunately, I didn’t need to. This manager, who was Korean, starts telling me that he used to swim in the Philadelphia JCC all the time, and was amazed that it was closed for half of September. He was very understanding.
In the end, I ate lunch with my dad that day, I got the job, took the holidays off, and wore my kippah at work.
(Yarmulkes off to you, Mr. club-footed Jew, wherever you are!)
Ruby,
Great story, Happy Anniversary!
BTW, I met your brother in EY on a tour of Hevron.
Good Shabbos.
I have written my personal version of “being shown the light in the strangest of places” in a comment once before, and wasn’t inclined to repeat it. But when I noticed that today is the anniversary of my experience, I took it as a sign…
After a lifetime in yeshiva, I started graduate school. For the first time I would be in class with non-Jewish classmates. My dilemma – to keep my tzitzis out or tuck them in. I chose to tuck them in. Until St. Patrick’s Day. Walking through the halls to class, I passed many intoxicated classmates strewn all over the place, and I realized that I, too, can express ethnic pride my way. As I continued walking to class, the tzitzis came out.
I’m not sure if I would classify myself as a a deadhead though one of my college housemates was definitely one. I always enjoyed the music and every once in a while an insightful lyric will stick, that’s definitely one of them.
You are not alone.
Take a look at Shavuot and the Grateful Dead.
“Once in a while you get shown the light in the strangest of places if you look at it right.”
I was going to comment on the Dylan and Zepplin posts from earlier this week in re: Grateful Dead. Glad I’m not the only frum deadhead in the room.
(For further reading, see entry titled “No Show on Shabbos” in ‘Skeleton Key: A Deadhead Dictionary’, Shenk & Silberman, Doubleday, 1994.)