The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

It was Sunday, December 4, 2022.

I am generally not a Manhattan person.

I prefer to stay close to home in Passaic.

It took a lot to get me to agree to travel to the City for an encounter, and, no, it was not for the prospect of a large donation to the Shul.

What was the impetus for this much too sedentary Rabbi to drive through the cavernous one-and-a-half mile Lincoln Tunnel and stealthily travel one hundred feet below ground?

Was it a promised meal at the famed Reserve Cut restaurant?

Sorry, but large slabs of roasted meat (except for the Korbon Pesach) are not my thing.

So tell me, dear Rabbi, what was your reason for trekking from the pristine and purified pathways of Passaic Park to the tumultuous, turbulent, frenetic, frenzied fields of Manhattan Island?

It was for what Chazal classified as one of the most important Mitzvahs, Shalom Bayis.

We strive to restore  Shalom Bayis through reconciliation, yet, sometimes, it is accomplished through the dissolution of the marriage.

And it was for the latter reason I traveled fourteen miles eastbound into one of the most densely populated islands in the world.

Specifically, I went to the City to ensure a Get was given.

For years I worked with Beryl and Brocha (names changed) to restore harmony to the battleground they called home.

I counseled them and coaxed them into seeking professional help.

Alas, notwithstanding my best efforts, strife, conflict, and ultimately outright animosity consumed their once peaceful abode.

Finally, I convinced the husband that it was time to dissolve the dysfunctional union and give a Get.

Brocha and Beryl were finally in agreement; the time had come to dismantle their once hoped-for peaceful home.

Everything was in place except for one detail.

The husband insisted that his brother, a high-powered corporate lawyer had to be present at the giving of the Get.

Despite my assurances that everything would be done according to Halacha and that his brother's legal prowess was not needed, Beryl held his ground.

He declared that the Get was a no-go without his brother's presence.

His brother informed us that he was only available for this pro-bono Chessed on Sunday, December 4, at 2 PM.

His office, on West 50th off Eighth Avenue, is in the Manhattan neighborhood serendipitously referred to as Hell's Kitchen.

I arrived early and made my way eastbound on 50th Street from Ninth Ave towards Eighth Ave.

As I passed the New World Stages (an off-Broadway Theatre complex) at 340 West 50th Street, a man in his twenties approached and asked, "Are you the Rabbi?"

I was somewhat thrown by his usage of the definitive article ("the") before the word Rabbi. Nevertheless, being on auto-pilot, I nodded "yes."

"I am so excited to see you. It's my first time in Yiddish, and I can't wait to see you in the play!"

When you are in Manhattan, you can expect to meet anyone anywhere.

And you can expect to be asked the most outrageous of questions.

However, I was totally mystified by what this fellow was referring to.

What play?

 And what was his first time in Yiddish?

I then noticed the large poster on the wall in front of me.

The billboard announced that Fiddler on the Roof in Yiddish was being staged at the theatre.

I suddenly realized I was surrounded by a cadre of mostly secular Jews waiting to enter the theatre to see Fiddler in Yiddish.

The young man continued as others gathered with him, "So, you really are the Rabbi in Fiddler? Can I get your autograph?"

Fumfering, I explained that I am a Rabbi. However, I am not "the Rabbi" from Fiddler.

Clearly disappointed, the young man said, "Oh, I was so excited to meet a real actor. However, since you are a rabbi, can I ask you something which has been bothering me since moving to New York?"

After recovering from my momentary fame as an Off-Broadway actor; and

realizing that the Master Playwriter was certainly at work, I said, "of

course."

"My name is Ben. I grew up Jewish in name only. We lived in Secularville, and except for Hanukah, we observed nothing Jewish."

Recently, I moved to the Upper West Side, and a few of my Orthodox neighbors have invited me for Shabbos meals. I admit it's wonderful eating such a nice meal every Friday night.

 I've noticed that my Jewish neighbors, especially those who look like you, all have access to some secret high-tech security device.

Could you hook me up with this Jewish-only remote security system?"

"What are you talking about?" (The conversation seemed to get stranger by the minute.)

"C'mon Rabbi, stop playing with me, you know what I mean. That rectangular box that's always placed diagonally toward the front door. You guys quickly activate it every time you enter your apartment by touching it with your right hand. You can't fool me. I know that's some Jewish-only security system."

"Oh, you mean the Mezuzah! You're right! It is a secret Jewish security system!"

"I knew it! So Rabbi, hook me up!"

Suddenly, everything was clear to me.

Why did I have to come to Manhattan to arrange a Get?

The Master Playwriter was no doubt at work.

"Ben, I can hook you up. However, do you have twenty minutes to spare before the curtain rises?"

"To get hooked in with the remote system? For sure, I do!"

I grabbed Ben, walked to the corner of Eighth Ave, took the elevator to the tenth floor, and entered the law office of "High-Powered Mr. Lawyer."

As we entered, the husband was there, along with his brother and the person I needed the most, the Sofer.

I quickly said hello to everyone and asked the Sofer to step out with Ben and me for a moment.

"Ben, how many doorways are in your apartment. The system works best when all doorways are armed and protected."

"I live in a studio; there is the front door, my bedroom, and the kitchen. Three doorways."

“Reb Yankel, “Efsher hut ihr, drei Mezuzas farkoifen?” (Perhaps you have three Mezuzas to sell?)

Reb Yankel smiled and said, "I can't explain why, but, for some reason, this morning, on the way to the Get, I decided to bring a few Mezuzas with me. I have exactly three."

"Perfect, I'll take all three."

"Ben, take these Mezuzas and place them at the beginning of the top third of your doorways, diagonally facing into the room. Call me when you get home, and I'll walk you through it. Also, a special verbal code must be recited to activate them to protect you in the best possible way."

"Wow, Rabbi, thank you so much! I promise I'll call you. What do I owe you?"

"Ben, believe me, I owe you more than you owe me. You were correct when you asked me if I was "the" Rabbi in the play. I now realize I am part of a great production on a  great stage. I just did not know it until now."

Ben at me with a confused look, "But, I thought you said you weren't in the play?"

"Correct,  I am not on stage in Fiddler on the Roof. However, I did manage to land a role in a different play. This play has been running for over five thousand years. Today, I was privileged to make a cameo appearance."

Ben thanked me again and turned to leave.

As he left, I heard him say, "Wow, you certainly meet many interesting people in New York."

I couldn't agree more.