Robert

Robert was the kind of guy kids must have beat up in elementary school. It was apparent in the nervous, almost frantic way he examined the house from the front door. He even seemed intimidated by my three-year-old brother Karya who simply stared at him with innocent curiosity from the bottom of the sweeping staircase that dominated the foyer of our home in Far Rockaway, New York.
I was too self-absorbed to greet guests at the door. Then thirteen, and lacking the interest to confront strangers, I first encountered Robert from my semi-hidden perch at the top of the stairs. Right away I knew it was going to be another Shabbos where Mom would pinch us into our best behavior hoping to inspire our spiritually neglected houseguest. Shabbos is the term used to describe the traditional Jewish weekend, which runs from Friday through Saturday sunset to sunset. I was brought up in an Orthodox home, which means we follow the laws of Shabbos to the utmost level, Robert came from a home where his knowledge of Shabbos was more primitive than Karya’s.
I didn’t really pay much attention to Robert as we went to synagogue to pray although I couldn’t help but notice the way he awkwardly handled his prayer book, as if it were a foreign object, following along with us in an unsure, fish-out-of-water like manner. And throughout the traditional Shabbos dinner later that night he was almost nonexistent, barely saying a word, just the polite minimum.
It wasn’t until much later, when everyone else was asleep and I was alone reading in the den, that Robert opened up.
At first he just walked into the room and quietly found a spot on the couch, shy as a kitten. There was an awkward silence that followed, where I pretended to read to hide my discomfort, until eventually, like a good host, I asked Robert how he was doing. Thus began a conversation in which I coaxed Robert out of his shell until, slowly but surely, there emerged a beautiful person who was such a pleasure to talk to that we spoke for hours.
He erupted like a butterfly from a cocoon, and I soon realized his brilliance as we connected on an unearthly plane that only a 42 year old and a 13 year old could communicate. We talked late into the night, careening wildly through every topic imaginable, and I found myself increasingly impressed by his worldly grasp of knowledge, and the humble way he shared it with me. Every time I proved my understanding of a subject he would smile at me, a smile so sincere it filled you up with happiness. He had a smile that came from deep down inside and his whole face would light up with a warmth you could feel from across the room.
At one point, while we were talking about religion, he mentioned he had never been taught how to wear tefillin, the leather boxes worn on the arms and forehead in prayer every morning. They have long leather straps that are wrapped around the arm in a specific way that I had just learnt in preparation for my bar mitzvah. I casually offered to share my recent enlightenments with my new friend if he would be willing to come with us to synagogue the following Sunday.
I never really expected him to come, but he did.
It poured rain that Sunday morning, there was weekend commuter traffic on the highways, and even though he got up so early in the morning he almost didn’t make it. But just as we finished praying as I was removing my tefillin, he was there beside me, eager to learn. Proud to flaunt my newly acquired ability I showed Robert how the arm tefillin was placed just below the left bicep its straps wrapped seven times around the forearm, how the head tefillin was worn just below the hairline on the forehead. I put my own tefillin on him, helping him adjust them properly, teaching him how to form the three-letter name of God on his hand with its straps.
Just as I was making my final adjustments I noticed tears in his eyes.
My dad was so inspired by Roberts’ determination that he offered to buy him his own tefillin, which can be expensive, if he would commit to wear them every morning, which he did. Top quality tefillin are typically found in Israel but after much effort my father found a beautiful pair for Robert by Tuesday. He wanted to get them to their new owner right away and was unable to hand deliver them that day, though he found out that Robert would be at a lecture that evening which would be given by a friend of his. My dad gave the tefillin to his friend who brought them with him to the lecture.
That night, the speaker announced that there was someone in the audience who had committed to undertake putting on tefillin. He then announced that he had a pair of tefillin for him and he could come accept it that very moment. The room was silent. Then, near the back someone stood halfway, hesitated a moment, then began making his way to the podium. The audience began to applaud, and by the time Robert reached the front, that timid yet wonderful person I knew got a standing ovation from nearly a thousand people.
Years later I found out that Robert had become observant, attributing his spiritual awakening to that first step he made with tefillin. He had been so inspired that he started a program in his home, teaching people how to wear tefillin. If there is anyone who is ready to commit to wearing tefillin he buys their first pair.
I am told he donates hundreds of pairs of tefillin each year.