The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

It was a damp, cold November Shabbos morning. Beryl (Barry)  Fliegelman dressed and walked down the three flights of his Bronx apartment Walton Ave with his mother. They turned left and were soon in front of Congregation Hope of Israel at 843 Walton Ave in the South Bronx. The Shul was located a stone's throw (unfortunately, literally- as was too often proved) from Barry's apartment building at 835 Walton Avenue. The Shul and Barry's apartment building sat in the shadow of Yankee Stadium. Barry and his family were fortunate enough to have an apartment on one of the lower floors. Unfortunately, those on the upper floors had to deal with the glaring lights of the Stadium whenever there was a night game.

The year was 1973, and Barry and his mother entered the Shul after ensuring they were not being followed. At the time, the South Bronx's 41st Precinct station house at 1086 Simpson Street lived up to its reputation as Fort Apache. During the 1970s, the South Bronx struggled to deal with the overwhelming surge of violent crime. The 1970s and 1980s made the South Bronx the murder, rape, robbery, aggravated assault, and arson capital of America.Over 40% of the South Bronx was burned or abandoned between 1970 and 1980.

During Game 2 of the 1977 World Series featuring the New York Yankees and Los Angeles Dodgers, the television audience viewed a shot of the exterior of Yankee Stadium, showing an uncontrolled fire burning in the ravaged South Bronx. Howard Cosell (supposedly) infamously declared, "The Bronx is burning!" This was the neighborhood in which Barry grew up.

Barry and his mother safely reached the Shul. He and his mother climbed the steps which led to the Main Sanctuary. As Barry fidgeted in his seat, davening continued, and laining got underway. Finally, the rabbi got up to speak. That was the signal that Barry thought would never arrive. It was time for thirteen-year-old Barry to meet his three cohorts, Lenny B., Allan R., and Harvey S., downstairs in the vestibule outside the social hall.

As the boys bolted down the step two at a time, one of them announced, "Let the games begin!" A fluted metal bottle cap was easily procured from one of the soda bottles, and the fun began. With the two doors of the vestibule outside the social hall parallel to each other, they formed a pair of perfectly aligned goals. The bottle cap was dropped to the floor, and the soccer match began. Each player attempted to kick the bottlecap through the vestibule's open doors. The pace was fast and furious as the players jostled and scrambled to hit the all-elusive bottlecap. When Ethel Memerstein, president of the sisterhood, arrived to survey the proper placement of the pound cake, the boys knew Anim Zemiros was fast approaching. They would quickly decide whose turn it was to sing Anim Zemiros and Adon Olam, and the "lucky" boy bolted upstairs back to the Shul.

Kiddush would soon ensue, and as the adults feasted on matjes herring and kichel, the boys consumed large quantities of sponge cake and coke. After Barry's mother completed her weekly chit-chat with her Mah-jong sorority sisters, it was time to head home.

The boys would dawdle for a few more minutes, debating if Sparky Lyle was the best relief pitcher in baseball, and then head back to Barry's apartment. By the time the boys arrived, Barry's mother had prepared the eggs, onions, chopped liver, and salami for the main course. After the meal, the boys headed for the kitchen table, where the chessboard or perhaps the Monopoly board was unfolded. Hours would pass as the boys played, argued, and laughed until the evening arrived. Then Barry's father returned from work, Shabbos ended, and Barry's father drove Lenny B. home to the no-longer-Grand Concourse.

No longer could the Bronx claim to be the "Jewish Borough." The glory days of the 1940s, when most of the Bronx's residents were Jewish, were long forgotten, and walking home after dark was now taking one's life in their hands. Every Shabbos, for years, this scenario repeated itself.

Barry, his mother, and Lenny would spend Shabbos together. That is, until the day they didn't. One Shabbos, Barry returned home sans Lenny. "Where's Lenny?" Barry's mom asked. "He claimed he scored when I knew he didn't. So, I told him he couldn't eat by us today." Barry's mother dropped the unpeeled egg onto the floor. Barry had never seen his mother so upset. "Barry, you know Lenny has no father at home, and his mother works today. You can't send him home to an empty apartment. You go down right now and find him." She then added the words which remain embedded in Barry's memory forever, "Shemt nisht an ander yid” (You cannot shame another Jew).

Barry ran down the three flights and raced to the no-longer-Grand Concourse, where he found Lenny sadly walking towards his empty apartment as tears rose in his eyes. As Barry reached Lenny, out of breath from his sprint, he said, "My mother said you have to eat with us. I'm sorry I told you not to come. Please come back with me."

Lenny could not have been more ecstatic upon seeing Barry and hearing his words. It was as if the Mashiach had arrived and liberated him from spending the remainder of Shabbos confined to a cold, dark empty apartment with not a soul to talk to.

Lenny B. returned with Barry to his apartment. The eggs and onions were served, and the salami tasted like a Korbon from the Beis HaMikdash.

Years of spending Shabbos together eventually led Barry to help land Lenny a waiter's job in Camp Agudah. After a summer in Ruach Country, Lenny was convinced to enter yeshiva. He would remain in yeshiva for the next fifteen years, including years in Kollel. He would get Semicha from Rav Moshe Zt" L at MTJ and eventually manage a successful real estate firm. All of Lenny's children learned in Kollel, and he attributes his success to the love and acceptance of Barry and his mother, which they generously doled out every Shabbos.

As Lenny recently admitted to me, "We serve meat at my Shabbos table now, which costs $80 a pound. However, it pales compared to the salami slices saturated with love and acceptance I would blissfully consume on Walton Ave in the South Bronx in the early 1970s." Hashem never forgot the salami Barry and his mother would share with Lenny B. every Shabbos as they made him part of their family.

And Hashem has His ways of "returning the favor."

On Thursday, July 7th, at Clover Stadium in Pamona, before the baseball game between the Rockland Boulders and the Sussex County Miners, with Yankee Stadium and the Bronx looming in the skyline,  Barry Fliegelman and Surrie Berkowitz became Chassan and Kallah.

A week from today, on Sunday, November 20th, Barry Fliegelman and Surrie Berkowitz will celebrate their Chasuna after many years of searching for their respective Bashert.

Undoubtedly, among the honored guests cheering Barry on as he places the ring on Surrie's finger will be the aroma of the eggs and onions from Walton Ave.

What zechus finally brought Barry (Beryl) and Surrie together?

I can not say for sure. However, I have a strong hunch that the salami from Walton Ave certainly tipped the scales in favor of Beryl and Surrie.