RIGHT AFTER I WAS HIRED to teach at Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Community School, I made the mistake of looking at the calendar. This blundering act let me to the uneasy conclusion that I could be fired within my first six weeks on the job. The Jewish holidays, you see, occurred surprisingly early that particular school year. Not only were they quickly approaching, but each would occur during the middle of the week. In other words, as an Orthodox Jew, I would need two days off for Rosh Hashanah, one day for Yom Kippur, two more days for the first days of Sukkos and finally, another two days for the last days of Sukkos! This amassed into a grand total of seven days. To make matters worse, the holidays spanned five consecutive weeks. I totaled it quickly in my cerebral cortex; seven missed days within the first 25 days of teaching. Not a good record!
True, I had ten sick days and five personal days in my contract, but they were allotted for the entire school year – all one-hundred-eighty teaching days worth. Not a good way to begin my career. (If I were to maintain that pace, I would miss 75 days by the end of the year. Hmmm... now why couldn't there be even more Jewish holidays)? The closer we zeroed in on Rosh Hashanah, the more anxious I felt. I didn't know what to do. I called my rabbi. Maybe he'd find a way out for me.
"Rabbi Gurary," I said after explaining my situation, "is there some way I could just walk to school on the days of Sukkos? You know, I won't drive, mark papers, or even take any money for teaching. I can give that pay to charity, or call the Board of Ed and tell 'em to keep the money for those days. I'll bet they never heard that line before. It's just that I'm really afraid I'll get fired."
We discussed the situation and all of its ramifications. He was sympathetic, which surprised me, because I believed my question was actually out of line and would be answered with a resounding, "No, of course not!" (After all, who even comes up with such a stupid question)?
"Look," he finally said to me, "call Rabbi Greenberg. See what he can advise you to do."
Rabbi Greenberg was my other rabbinic authority in Buffalo, and a personal friend. I affectionately called him Rabbi Green Jeans.
Moments later, I had him on the phone. I explained the scenario one more time.
"Well, what do you think?" I asked.
"Hmmm," he responded. "It's a problem, no doubt about it. It's a festival with all its attendant obligations, but then again, if you might lose your job...Call Rabbi Gurary!"
Huh? I wasn't sure if I heard that right.
"Uh, Rabbi," I said scratching my head. "I sort of just got off the phone with him. He told me to call you."
He laughed.
"I'm crying and you're laughing," I said. "Really, what should I do?"
"Call my father in New Jersey."
"Really?"
His father was a well-known rabbinical scholar and world-wide authority on Jewish law. I actually attended some of his lectures during my studies at the Rabbinical College of America in "Mo-Town." He spoke like an English professor from Harvard. I was wholly impressed with his lectures, and deeply engrossed in jotting down words I had never before heard.
I got him on the line and brought him up to snuff about my problem. Then I relayed what had transpired between his son and I. He brought up something which I hadn't considered: "There's a real difficulty, in that you will be setting a precedent," he said. "Suppose next year, or a few years from now, another Orthodox Jew teaches in the Buffalo school system."
"Sounds unlikely, Rabbi," I interjected. "There are only two of us in the whole city! But, go ahead."
"So, if this other teacher wants to take off for the holidays, they can say to him, 'Come on, we had this guy Lazerson; Orthodox, beard, tzitzis, kept kosher, the whole bit. He came in to work during the holidays. If it's good enough for him, it's good enough for you!'"
"Yeah, you've got a point," I admitted. "I guess I'll have to take my chances, eh?"
"Why don't you call Rabbi Osdoba? See what he says."
"Really?"
In all honesty, I thought my question was kind of ridiculous to begin with. We aren't supposed to engage in any secular pursuits on Jewish holidays. Holidays are a time for prayer, festivity, and family. (It also might be time to look for a new line of work).
Rabbi Osdoba is a man of great stature and renown. People call him from all over the world to settle various legal questions. He is known as the "walking Shulchan Aruch," (a walking Code of Jewish Law). My silly question was making its way up the ranks. Next was the Rebbe and then, I guessed, God Almighty!
I explained the scenario one more time, adding all the details from my discussions with previous rabbis. It was now T-minus three days until Rosh Hashanah and counting.
He listened carefully to everything I said.
"I'll discuss it with Rabbi Dvorkan. Call me after Rosh Hashanah. Good luck with your teaching!"
"I'll need it," I said.
Rabbi Dvorkan, of blessed memory, was the chief rabbinical authority for Lubavitch. My issue was being raised with the top man in our community.
It wasn't until after Yom Kippur, however, that I received an answer from Rabbi Osdoba. The answer was no dice. No way could I spend the holiday of Sukkos at Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Community School. It made sense. I was surprised it went as far as it did.
My wife and I decided to implement plan two. This strategy involved one main factor: Pleading with Dr. D for understanding and mercy. Sukkos was only two days away. I didn't have much time to work with.
That night I stayed up until 2:00 A.M. typing a long essay to the principal. I went into historical perspectives that explained the significance of Sukkos to the Jewish people. I explained the various customs Orthodox Jews observe when honoring their holidays. I wrote that during our holidays we don't conduct business, write, erase, make money, turn electricity on or off, ride in cars, and more. I expounded on the fact that we use these days to connect on a more spiritual level by performing various mitzvot and studying the Torah. Finally, I concluded my "sermon" with a statement saying that I didn't have to take off again until Passover, and that I didn't plan on getting sick or abusing my personal days. (And furthermore, that I would be an upstanding citizen, model teacher, and never ever misbehave).
The next day, apologetic treatise in hand, I arrived early, prepared to face the music. I was fully aware that it might be my last day at Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Community School.
My supervisor, a middle-aged African-American woman, was standing by the mailbox.
"Edie," I said. "Do me a favor and read this, okay?"
"Sure," she said, looking up at me. "But why so glum today?"
"It's all in here," I said, handing her my letter.
She took my type-written pages and began reading. I stood watching her, waiting for any advice or suggestions.
Suddenly, she began shaking her head from side to side, saying quietly, "Oh David, Oh David."
It's that hopeless, I thought.
She continued shaking her head as she read the entire letter. Each time she remarked, "Oh David, Oh David."
I decided it was all over. I can just leave right now, I thought. Why even bother presenting all this just to be unceremoniously booted out the dang door?
She folded the letter, put it in my hand, and shook her head again.
Then she looked me in the eyes.
"I can't believe this," she said.
"I know," I said. "That bad, eh?"
"What are you ashamed about? Tell him it's your holiday and you're taking off. Period. If he doesn't like it, too bad! Take a lesson from my people and stand up for your beliefs!"
With that she shook her head again and left the office. I stood there dumfounded, numb all over, feeling like I'd been slapped in the face by someone trying to wake me from a bad dream. I also felt like a total jerk. Here I had invested all this time, effort, and psychological energy to get out of something that didn't need getting out of. Instead of a letter, Edie had handed me a mirror.
I suddenly realized that I had nearly let myself down. Just like when I worried about wearing my yarmulke - the opportunity to walk proud in my heritage had been derailed to nothing but hype, a put-on. In reality, I was afraid of what my boss would say and whether or not he would accept me. I later thanked Edie for the lesson she taught me that day.
I still went into Dr. D's office, letter in hand, but with a completely different attitude.
"Doc," I said. "I know you're not going to believe this, but I've got another Jewish holiday that I won't be in for."
When I finished my explanation, he asked if I had completed my lesson plans for the sub, and wished me a happy holiday. Then he muttered, loud enough for me to hear; "I gotta become Jewish."