Pope Benedict Visits New York City Synagogue
Pope Benedict's visit to the Park Avenue Synagogue last week reminded me of Mrs. Rosenfeld. She lived on our floor in the apartment building where I grew up in Jersey City. She had the same slight smile and kind eyes as the Holy Father.
A real mix of characters lived in our apartment complex. No one spoke about "diversity" or "multi-culturalism" then. If the terms mean being aware of your differences but sharing your humanity, then I suppose we would've fit the bill.
I grew up with a lot of Jewish friends: Artie, Philly, Marty, Barry, Richie et al. The buildings had little playgrounds and big parking lots in the back. We played curb ball (our version of stoop ball), box-ball, stick-ball, football, five-ten, skelly, dodge ball. There was always something to do. It was a safe, fun place to grow up. Our Moms were always around if there was any problem.
Every year during Passover, Mom would buy Matzohs. We would have them with butter, usually at breakfast. Mrs. Gutman would bring us some gefilte fish or motzah ball soup. She'd always mix in some gossip with the soup. (Mom wasn't much for gossip, but she was always polite and friendly. ) I guess we were a little bit Jewish during Passover, kind of like when people say they're Irish on St Patrick's Day.
Cy Klein was a regular and would stop by for an hour or so some nights. He thought of himself as an intellectual and considered my Dad one of the few neighbors capable having an intelligent conversation about the great issues of the day. I think it had something to do with the fact that my Dad listened to him.
Mrs. Rosenfeld stopped by too, from time to time. Her visits were short and sweet, just like her. There was no pretense about her. That bright little smile never failed her, even when her beloved husband died. And nothing could replace the light that went out when she left us.
When the Pope walked down the aisle of the Synagogue last Friday, I could feel Mrs. Rosenfeld's soft, kind eyes watching the whole thing with me. Even as a kid, I knew there was a special sharing between Jews and Christians, in spite of our differences and some unhappy history. We all shared God and our humanity. You could see that sharing between Pope Benedict and Rabbi Schneier, just as I could see Mrs. Rosenfeld's peaceful little smile in the face of the Holy Father.
A real mix of characters lived in our apartment complex. No one spoke about "diversity" or "multi-culturalism" then. If the terms mean being aware of your differences but sharing your humanity, then I suppose we would've fit the bill.
I grew up with a lot of Jewish friends: Artie, Philly, Marty, Barry, Richie et al. The buildings had little playgrounds and big parking lots in the back. We played curb ball (our version of stoop ball), box-ball, stick-ball, football, five-ten, skelly, dodge ball. There was always something to do. It was a safe, fun place to grow up. Our Moms were always around if there was any problem.
Every year during Passover, Mom would buy Matzohs. We would have them with butter, usually at breakfast. Mrs. Gutman would bring us some gefilte fish or motzah ball soup. She'd always mix in some gossip with the soup. (Mom wasn't much for gossip, but she was always polite and friendly. ) I guess we were a little bit Jewish during Passover, kind of like when people say they're Irish on St Patrick's Day.
Cy Klein was a regular and would stop by for an hour or so some nights. He thought of himself as an intellectual and considered my Dad one of the few neighbors capable having an intelligent conversation about the great issues of the day. I think it had something to do with the fact that my Dad listened to him.
Mrs. Rosenfeld stopped by too, from time to time. Her visits were short and sweet, just like her. There was no pretense about her. That bright little smile never failed her, even when her beloved husband died. And nothing could replace the light that went out when she left us.
When the Pope walked down the aisle of the Synagogue last Friday, I could feel Mrs. Rosenfeld's soft, kind eyes watching the whole thing with me. Even as a kid, I knew there was a special sharing between Jews and Christians, in spite of our differences and some unhappy history. We all shared God and our humanity. You could see that sharing between Pope Benedict and Rabbi Schneier, just as I could see Mrs. Rosenfeld's peaceful little smile in the face of the Holy Father.
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