After many long, strenuous hours of unsuccessfully searching for Jews, we were about to call it a night. Suddenly my eye caught a glimpse of the very tempting yellow phone book, the one that had helped us navigated thus far through the far south coast of Massachusetts.
Instinctively, my fingers started flipping through the pages as hundreds of Jewish names flew through my mind, Goldberg, Steinberg, and many other 'bergs—names we had already covered. Then a name stared up at me, Gordon. This was what I was looking for. Not too Jewish, but the kind that could be Jewish. Maybe this time we would find actual members of the tribe.
"Hello," a deep voice answered. "Hi, this is Zalman from the Roving Rabbis... No, not part of a rock band; we're traveling rabbis..." It turned out that this gentleman was Jewish and would love to meet us, but we needed to hurry, since it was getting late.
With the press of the "end call" button on my phone, Hirschel hit the gas, and we roved over to his house. "Go right… keep right… bear right… You have reached your final destination."
The house had a long wooden ramp leading up to the door. As we came closer, we noticed that in every single window there was a sign: "NO SMOKING. OXYGEN IN USE." Before we even knocked on the door, someone from across the street asked us, "Does he know your coming?" "Yes," we replied. "Then just walk right in. He is in the first room on the right. I'm his caretaker. He won't be able to come to the door by himself."
The door swung open with a slight push. We came in and saw a man in his seventies lying there. Mr. Gordon excused himself for not coming to the door, explaining that he had been paralyzed for a few years.
During the course of our conversation we found out that he knew very little about Judaism.
Just before the sun dipped below the horizon, we took out our pair of tefillin and helped our new friend put them on. As we started saying the Shema prayer, we were amazed to hear him say the words with no prompting at all.
He explained that every single night before he goes to sleep he chants the Shema Yisrael, just like his parents before him. Amazing!
We talked about a host of things, ranging from the history of Chabad to all kinds of other Jewish topics. All the while he seemed mesmerized. Apparently, he doesn't get visitors very often, let alone rabbis who rove in out of of nowhere. We blew the shofar and then put up a mezuzah on his front door.
We left the house with renewed motivation and a sense of urgency. Who knows how many more Jewish souls are eagerly waiting for us to give them a chance to put on tefillin, light Shabbat candles, do a mitzvah, or maybe a just share a Jewish story or joke?
