Shalom Auslander (39:39)
Rabbi Breyer walked into our third grade classroom, hung up his long black coat, took off his big black hat, and handed each student a small black booklet entitled the Guide to Blessings. We had one week. He told us to prepare for the annual Yeshiva of Spring Valley. Blessing be. My heart leapt. This was just what my mother needed. The blessing be would make her forget all the troubles of our home. To have a son who's a Talmud chacham, a wise student. That was the ultimate. Her brother was a respected rabbi, and if her husband couldn't be one, well, maybe her son could be. The Guide to Blessings was a 70 page long listing of hundreds of different foods. Soups, breads, fish, desserts. I flipped through it slowly, realizing the size of the challenge that lay ahead. Falafel, herring, eggplant, parmesan. I had my work cut out for me. Friday afternoons, the yeshiva closed early so that we could all rush home to help our parents prepare for Shabbos, the Sabbath. Rabbi Breyer told us that. The sages tell us that. The Torah tells us that the preparation for Shabbos is equal to the importance of Shabbos itself. Most of my preparations involved searching the house for kosher wine and pouring it down the toilet. It was a thankless job, I admitted to nobody. My father's frustrated rage at not having his Manischewitz Concord grape was fearsome. But it was far better than his drunken rage if he did have it. I'd searched the pantry, I'd searched the garage, I'd searched my father's closet. But I was only 8 years old, and there was always a bottle of Kedem hiding somewhere I just hadn't thought to check. That night, my father, drunk on a bottle of Blush Chablis that got away, grabbed my older brother by his shirt collar and dragged him away from the Shabbos table. He dragged him all the way down the stairs to our bedroom in the basement and slammed the door shut. Even the silverware jumped. Who wants the Latzmatza ball? My mother asked. I made extra. When my brother returned to the table, his nose was bleeding. My mother brought him a can of frozen orange juice to hold against the back of his neck, which was supposed to somehow stop the bleeding. Rabbi Breyer taught us that it is prohibited to defrost orange juice on Shabbos because changing food from solid to liquid is considered cooking, and cooking is considered working. And even God refrained from working on shabbos. There are 39 different categories of work that are prohibited on Shabbos. That's also why you're not allowed to switch on lights on Shabbos the electricity causes the filament to glow, which is considered burning, which is considered working. Category number two. My father came back to the table and drunkenly sang a few Shabbos songs, fudging the words and banging heavily on the table with his fist. I sat hunched over, absentmindedly, drawing circles on the condensation that had formed on the silver water pitcher. My father slapped my hand. Shabbos. He shouted, writing category number five. Eventually he stumbled off to his bedroom and fell asleep, snoring loudly. We sat in the dining room and picked glumly at our food. The following Monday morning, as we all sat studying from our blessing books, there was a knock on Rabbi Breyer's classroom door, and Rabbi Greenbaum, the yeshiva principal, solemnly entered. We all rose. The two rabbis conferred quietly for a moment before signaling us all to be seated. After a few thoughtful strokes of his long black beard, Rabbi Greenbaum sighed deeply and and informed us that the night before, our classmate Avrami Grunenbaum's father had suffered a heart attack and died. Some kids have all the luck. Blessed is the one true judge, said Rabbi Breyer, nodding his head. Blessed is the one true Judge, we all answered, nodding our heads. I wondered what Mr. Grunenbaum might have done to deserve death. Did he bow down to idols? Did he walk four steps without his yarmulke on? Whatever it was, it must have been pretty bad. As Rabbi Greenbaum turned to leave, he paused and with a stern shake of his finger, reminded us all that the sages tell us that the Torah tells us that until the age of 13, all of a boy's sins are ascribed to his father. I turned to look at Avrami's empty chair. Avrami was a chubby kid with heavy orthodontia and foul breath, but a sudden respect for him grew inside me. I wondered what he might have done to cause his father's death. Whatever it was, it must have been pretty bad. Scowling fiercely, Rabbi Greenbaum advised each and every one of us to pray to Hashem, the Holy One. Blessed be he for forgiveness, so that he wouldn't kill our fathers too. My heart le Blessed is Hashem, he said. Blessed is Hashem, we answered. Blessed is Hashem was right. All of a sudden I had two ways I could save my family. I could win the blessing be for my mother, or I could sin so much Hashem would have to kill my father. Courageous Avrami. Guru Nanbao. Maybe one Shabbos night he had switched on a light. Maybe he drank milk after eating meat. Maybe he touched himself. That night, just before bed, I ate a drumstick, washed it down with some milk, touched myself and flicked the bedroom light on and off. Break those lights and I'll break your hands. My father shouted. It was going to be a busy week. The blessing bee worked the same way as a spelling bee. There are six basic blessings on Hamotzi the blessing for bread. Mizonos, the blessing for wheat. Hagephen, the blessing for wine or grape juice. Haitz, the blessing for things that grow from trees. Hadama, the blessing for things that grow from the earth and the blessing for everything else. Bagel, hamotsi, oatmeal, Mizonos, gefilte fish. The blessing for everything else. But that was the easy part. Things became much more complicated when you started combining foods. Some foods are superior to other foods, and in combination with subordinate foods, the superior food gets the blessing. To make matters worse, some blessings are superior to other blessings, and you had to know which blessing to recite first. This is where they separated the men from the goys. Spaghetti and meatballs. Mizonos, the wheat blessing, then Shahako, the everything else blessing. Cereal with milk. Shahako for the milk, then Mizonos for the wheat and the cereal. Twix, the chocolate candy with the cookie crunch. Trick question. Twix isn't kosher. I spent the next week sinning and blessing and blessing and sinning, alternately praising God and then defying him as much as 1-8-year-old possibly could. Monday morning I stuffed myself. I had a bowl of Fruity Pebbles, Mizonos, a slice of toast, a glass of juice, half an apple, and a couple of old French fries I found at the bottom of the fridge. Hadama One meal, five blessings. Tuesday I touched myself. I also partook of bread without first ceremoniously washing my hands. And that evening before going to sleep, I sat on the edge of my bed and carefully recited and ass a dozen times each. My father banged angrily on my bedroom door. Lights out. He barked. I smiled. For you and me both, pal. Wednesday I stole $5 from my mother and didn't recite any blessings at all on the bag full of candy that I bought with it. A Charleston Chew, which is trafe to begin with, and a Chunky, which would have been a Chahakol if I weren't trying to kill my father. A Chunky with raisins. Shahako Ben Haitz. Thursday I didn't wear Tzitzit. Rabbi Breyer noticed that the string strings weren't dangling from my sides and grabbed me by the ear and pulled me to the front of the class. Speak to the children of Israel, he quoted loudly from the Torah as he spanked me hard on my bottom and tell them to make tzitzit on the corners of their garments. That afternoon, after not respecting my elders by taking out the garbage like my mother had told me to, I touched myself and silently begged God to just this once credit those sins to Rabbi Breyer's account. Later, I defiled a prayer book by carrying it into the bathroom. The blessing be was the following morning, and I could barely sleep. Lentil soup, mizonos, potato, knish, hadama root, beer. Is it a root? Is it a beer? Ass. I tossed and turned, I blessed and cursed, and finally I fell into an uncomfortable sleep. After a week at home, Avrami Grunebaum conveniently returned to school just in time for the blessing be it was all I could do to not lean over and ask him how he did it.
