I met Elijah the Prophet in Phoenix.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that he showed up – it was Passover, after all – but at age 12 I had sat through enough Seders to know that the prophet we opened the door for after dinner didn’t make a habit of appearing in the flesh. Mostly, I thought of Elijah as the Jewish version of Santa Claus: a sweet entertainment for gullible children. The Ghost, if you will, of Seders Past.
So I wasn’t expecting much of a show that night, at the Arizona resort where non-observant families like mine could spend their Passovers adventuring at the Grand Canyon, catching a Suns game and jeeping atop the red mesas. In fact, I expected to spend my evening bored to tears as my father retold a story I’d heard a hundred times. The only thing keeping me in my chair that night was the promise of the five-star dinner I knew would eventually come.
We trudged through the rigmarole and ate our fabulous gourmet meal until we were stuffed to the seams. We searched for the Afikomen, and after I found it we prepared to open the door for Elijah. Everyone stood, singing a song of welcome, but as my brother pulled the door open, everyone froze. What I saw sent a shiver through me.
In the doorway stood a round, jolly man with a bushy beard and wearing full Chassidic garb: black jacket and tzitzit swinging, and hat askew, as if he’d just blown in on the desert wind. We stared at him as he waddled into the room.
Maybe there was a Jewish Santa Claus after all.
“Gut Yontif!” he said, his voice a bubbly giggle. “I’m Itzik.”
We were silent.
“I’m the hotel mashgiach,” he said, identifying himself as the person who ensures the kitchen is kosher. “I just wanted to make sure everything was good for you here.” His high-pitched English was a curious garble of Israeli and Brooklyn accents, with a dash of the Old Country for good measure.
“Everything is wonderful,” Dad said. “We just thought you were…we just opened the door for Elijah the Prophet and you were standing there.”
Itzik made a strange whispering sound, Psshhh…as if to say, “How holy is that?” and burst into laughter.
Itzik was an "ultra-Orthodox" Jew, and my experience had shown that his type would be quick to judge us for our lack of observance.
Okay, so the prophet hadn’t magically come back to life. We all laughed the tension away. But I was still on guard. Ghost or no, Itzik was still an "ultra-Orthodox" Jew, and my experience had shown that his type would be quick to judge us for our lack of observance. I had spent my childhood studying in an Orthodox school where I was the only Conservative kid in my class. My treif (non-kosher) lunches and secular lifestyle was not exactly a good fit. If I wasn’t good enough for them, chances were I wouldn’t be good enough for this Itzik — who by now we’d learned was Rabbi Itzik — either.
After a few minutes of chatting, Itzik made to leave. “You’re my last table. I have to start my Seder now, before it gets too late.”
“By yourself?” Dad asked.
Itzik shrugged.
“You shouldn’t have a Seder alone. Come join us.”
My father, fired up by prospect of a bona-fide Chassid at his Seder table, scrambled to get Rabbi Itzik a chair.
“But you’re almost finished,” Itzik demurred. “I need to have Seder from the beginning.”
“Then we’ll start again,” Dad replied.
What?
It was already 11 o’clock! I’d sat through one Seder already; I’d even extended myself to read a paragraph or two aloud from the Haggadah. There was no way I was doing it twice in the same night.
But that was exactly what happened. Horrified, I looked on as Dad ushered Itzik into a seat and flipped his Haggadah back to the beginning. They sang, they drank, they told stories deep into the night, while the rest of us fell asleep across rows of dining room chairs.
At three in the morning, when my mother woke me to return to our room, their second Seder was still going strong.
I took one last look at my father and his new friend sitting catty-corner at the table, engrossed in their Haggadahs. They were in their own world, I saw, when Dad didn’t even look up to say goodnight.
Cinderella at the Bat Mitzvah
After our Passover escapade, we returned to New Jersey and life as usual. Preparations for my bat mitzvah were in full swing. Dad taught me how to lead the Shabbat services and read from the Torah while Mom ironed out the details for my big bash: color schemes, catering menus and, of course, The Dress: a white, poofy-sleeved concoction that screamed “Cinderella!”
A black-hatted Chassid was an anomaly in our suburb, but he made himself right at home.
During those months, Rabbi Itzik took his place as a quirky supporting character in our family folklore. He would come to visit us from Brooklyn with plastic containers of shmaltz, chicken fat, which he smeared with delight over challah and crackers. As he ate with gusto, he would chuckle at our horrified faces and wave off admonitions about watching his weight. A black-hatted Chassid was an anomaly in our suburb, but he made himself right at home in our kitchen. We couldn’t help but welcome him; he was such a character, with his ready smile and twinkling eyes, constantly late, but always with an entertaining reason for being so. Eventually, the Brooklyn trappings fell away from view and all we saw was Itzik.
And yet, I waited for him to look askance at our modern clothing or lack of attention to Jewish law. I suspected eventually he would start snooping around our drawers and poke his head in our fridge to discern our level of kashrut. I waited for the day he would shake his finger in our faces and tell us we were doomed if we didn’t observe the Sabbath. But that day never came.
My bat mitzvah day finally arrived. The affair was a smashing success — and I had the mountains of presents to prove it.
When Itzik arrived at the party (hours late, of course) the festivities were already winding down. Bidding goodbye to the last of my guests, I went to him, with my hand stretched out.. I was pulled up short when he didn’t reach back.
He would not touch me.
Suddenly, the true import of the day struck me, full-force. I was a woman now, according to Jewish law, and off-limits to men to whom I was not related. The sense of transition from one stage of life to another resonated with me more deeply in that moment than any other throughout my bat mitzvah celebration. I had cradled the Torah in my arms and amassed a thick wad of checks, but only now was I shaken by real grief at the loss of my childhood. At the same time, I felt a keen sense of hope and anticipation about my future as a grown woman. Without saying a word, Rabbi Itzik had woken me up.
A Real Princess
Some time later, Rabbi Itzik was marrying off his daughter. I was surprised we’d been invited to the wedding in Brooklyn; I didn’t think we were the kind of friends Rabbi Itzik would want to advertise having. Our appearance at the wedding — most likely, a drab affair in a mildewy hall with prehistoric wallpaper — would probably be as welcome as a tuberculosis patient in a sterilized lab. But despite my misgivings, I tagged along with my parents, curiosity outweighing the dread.
We arrived in the middle of the Kabbalat Panim, the pre-ceremony cocktail hour, where at least a thousand guests had come to greet the bride. From the first moment, it was like entering a foreign country: a sea of black hats and expensive-looking wigs, an animated buzz of thick New York accents sprinkled with Yiddish. Whereas I had anticipated walking into a room full of sneers, our arrival barely caused a first glance, let alone a second.
When I saw her, my breath stopped. This was a real princess.
Hungry for some glamour, I scanned the room for the bride. When I finally saw her, my breath stopped. Dewy and pink-cheeked, she smiled graciously at her guests from a high-backed, wicker chair. Her dress was a simple white, high-necked and long-sleeved, and she brimmed with an ethereal glow that reached me from across the room.
Forget Cinderella; this was a real princess.
As my parents brought me up to say hello to her, I could barely speak. It was like meeting a movie star. She smiled into my eyes and told me how happy she was that we were there. Although we had never met before, I could see she meant it.
Everyone poured out to the street for the chuppah, the wedding ceremony. At every other wedding I’d been to, people were silent during the ceremony, but that evening, the street buzzed with small talk. As the bride circled her groom seven times, two women swapped kugel recipes and argued over where to find the best price for a whole chicken. I jumped at the ecstatic chorus of “Mazel Tov!” as her new husband stepped on a glass to mark the end of the ceremony.
The reception was wild, the room thrumming with electricity. Every guest danced with joy as if they themselves had stood under the chuppah. Peeking through the mechitza from the women’s side, I saw a swell of men dancing in circles, circles within circles, eyes squeezed shut in what looked like a hypnotic state. Somehow I found my father in the crowd, his arms thrown around the shoulders of men I didn’t know, his red face slick with sweat. There was an abandon in him I had never seen before. My father, I realized, was happy.
Riding home, images from the evening played over and over again in my head: The swarm of people, the glowing bride, the kind hellos and wishes of Mazel Tov. There had been no finger-pointing or whispers behind palms, only smiles of welcome. I fell asleep to the echo of music, the lights along the Lincoln Tunnel throwing shadows across my face.
Searching for Answers
Over the next decade, life evolved for all of us. My memories of Brooklyn quickly faded as I launched onto the treadmill of high school and college, fueled by a desire to make my mark. I traveled the world, lived in exotic cities, worked at some of the world’s most influential companies. And yet, a longing followed me wherever I went, a need for something deeper than the bells and whistles of modern life. I tried it all — New Age Philosophy, Eastern Religions, Transcendental Meditation — but instead of answers, I just found more questions. Once in a while, memories of my friend Itzik and his world would resurface, and I would wonder if they knew something I didn’t. Then I would bat those thoughts away like a mosquito. I could stand on my head and spout mantras for hours, but those Orthodox Jews were nuts.
And yet, my travels eventually landed me in Jerusalem.
As an alumna of birthright Israel, I’d been invited to study at a seminary for a few weeks. I knew nothing about the school, its philosophy or where it was located, but it didn’t matter; the trip was basically free. Which is how I found myself standing in one of the city’s most haredi neighborhoods, wearing pants and a t-shirt.
Was it possible by assuming these people were judging me, that maybe I was judging them?
Amidst black-hatted men and long-skirted, hair-covered women, I stuck out like a sore thumb. A few of the women gave me the up-down while the men didn’t look at me at all. It was awkward, uncomfortable, even terrifying: I was sure a tribunal would be formed on the spot to have me stoned in front of the seminary. I couldn’t stand it; I was grabbing a cab back to airport and going home now.
But something stopped me: Memories of a long-ago wedding, the smiles, the dancing. And of Itzik, with his funny stories and the love he always showed us, just because.
Was it possible, by assuming these people were judging me, that maybe, just maybe, I was judging them? If Itzik could have accepted me just as I was, there might be a chance that someone in this seminary would do the same.
It was just a few weeks.
I gathered my strength and walked in.
It was a beautiful occasion filled with family and friends, delicious food and words of Torah. Of course, it was no surprise that Itzik arrived just as everyone was leaving, something about ending up in Long Island when he should have been in Teaneck. And yet, it was just as it should have been, the way it was at my bat mitzvah, when he’d shown me the true meaning of being a Bat Yisrael, at my wedding, where he’d come to greet me while I sat in my own bedekin chair, and now today, celebrating the brit milah (circumcision) of my first child.
With his bright smile and happy laughter, Rabbi Itzik had come right on time.
(31) judith, November 9, 2014 8:34 PM
Beautiful story
thank you for sharing. I love your writings which I have just found but I cant get onto your blog.
(30) Imanonov, December 19, 2011 1:52 AM
I miss Itzik
Reb Itzik was a good friend of our family. He travelled specially to England to attend my wedding 35 years ago and spend most of the time at the microphone singing and makin everybody happy. He was the warmest and kindest person I've ever known and we all miss him greatly. May his great neshama successfully plead in heaven for a speedy arrival of the day of real joy and happiness
(29) Holy Sistah, December 8, 2011 5:50 PM
!at was Itzik!
Reading this I relived my own memories from 1975, when I first met Shlomo, then soon after became part of the "chevra" which included the wonderful , smiley itzik
(28) Leah B, December 8, 2011 8:37 AM
family friend
Iztik was a friend of my parents. I never knew him, but this beautiful story makes me wish I had, I hope all of the inspiration received and have given other from Itzik serves as an iluy nishmas for him. Baruch Dayan Haemes.
(27) Lexah, December 4, 2011 6:42 AM
This was a wonderful story, and I am glad that you shared it with us. I consider myself a baalat teshuva always in progress; as such, I have been looking into seminaries. Perhaps, you could share the name of the seminary that you mention here?
(26) Anonymous, December 2, 2011 7:32 PM
Baruch Dayan Haemes
This is to inform you of the passing of Itzik Aisenstadt. May his neshama (soul) only rise higher and higher in heaven. Baruch Dayan Haemes - you wil be missed
(25) Carolyn, September 14, 2011 8:00 PM
Princess Rea, I am not of the same faith as you, but I thoroughly enjoyed your story. I even cried! There is but one G-d who gives us, who love Him, a unifying spirit of joy when sharing the riches of such experiences. Thank you!
(24) Anonymous, September 14, 2011 1:57 PM
proper way to relate to those who are not observant
i often wondered, but your article says it all. thanx for the insights. and mazel tov! sorry to hear he is not well...i will include him in my prayers. may we all have a ksiva v'chasima tova
(23) Malka G, September 14, 2011 12:50 AM
Beautiful Story, Please Pray
Rabbi Itzik has touched many people with his warmth and spirit. He is now in the hospital and needs our prayers. Please pray for Yitzchak Isaac ben Devora Lea for a complete and speedy recovery.
(22) Leah, September 13, 2011 3:13 PM
Whenever I read your articles, I always have tears in my eyes at the end. Hashem gave you such a beautiful gift as a writer - may you merit to continue to use it for all the wonderful inspiration you give to the world! Hatzlacha with everything...
(21) Anonymous, September 13, 2011 1:53 PM
Wonderful
Great storytelling and very inspirational. I hope one day to have an "Itzik" in my life.
(20) gershon, September 13, 2011 11:35 AM
very touching story that really brought tears of happiness into my eyes.
(19) Zakah, September 13, 2011 1:50 AM
Awesome Story
Great story, Rea! It's been a while since we've been in touch - mazel tov!
(18) Anonymous, September 13, 2011 1:33 AM
Beautiful!
Very moving story. Brought tears to my eyes
(17) myriam, September 13, 2011 1:27 AM
i am itzik's ex wife our daughter's name is mishket, the wedding that you attended thank you so much for writing such a descriptive story and describiing itzik so well your writing brought tears into my eyes knowing itzik you must have some more amazing stories to tell chag sameach and may it be a healthy and happy one :0)
(16) craig w, September 12, 2011 4:40 PM
this made me cry
so beautiful and so artfully written. Yasher Koach!
(15) Eliyahu Loafman, September 12, 2011 12:37 PM
Great Story
You're a wonderful writer. The experience you laid out was great. I followed it as it were a movie in my head.
(14) linda Harrison, September 12, 2011 10:27 AM
Wonderful story, it has made my day.
(13) Anonymous, September 12, 2011 3:59 AM
WOW!
I am almost positive I know ths itzik you are talknig abt! If it is him, he needs a refuah shleyma bikarov! Itzik Isaac ben Devora Leah.
(12) Anonymous, September 12, 2011 1:36 AM
Great Read!
What a wonderful story--and beautifully presented!
(11) ruth housman, September 11, 2011 9:51 PM
The Appearance of Elijah
I would say, given the "coincidence" of timing that your message is right, he WAS Elijah in a different century, but wearing, perhaps, similar garb. This is a beautiful story out of your life, as surely he became someone very special for your Father and that entrance of his, opened out onto a much larger stage that became, then unknowing to you, your own life as a Jew. I love the stories we tell, and I see a far far Greater Hand in all these stories and think, you probably do, too.
(10) Natalie, September 11, 2011 7:08 PM
heartwarming!
Thanks for sharing your very heartwarming story with us
(9) Rachel Rosenheck, September 11, 2011 4:52 PM
Such a meaningful life journey
Somehow so many of us go on a road that winds round and round without getting anywhere. I loved reading Ms. Bochner's story of a journey with significant mileposts, and a journey worth doing. She's a terrific writer - I was right there with her, in my mind and heart. Let's hear more!
(8) mona, September 11, 2011 4:40 PM
nice!
thank you for such a lovely story. i am so glad you found a beautiful life for yourself. may reb itzik be blessed.
(7) ana, September 11, 2011 4:39 PM
orthodox jews
perhaps if orthodox jews would show love and non-judgment to their fellow orthodox jews, as well, especially within the schools, there would be fewer angry, drug addicted, anti-semitic jewish children. maybe loved children would remain observant and be able to function and contribute to their own society and to the world.
Malka, September 16, 2011 9:47 PM
I agree with you. Itzik was probobly truly a Torah observant Jew, not like some who just wear the kippas and the skirts but don't follow the rules of interpersonal realationships like not to speak lashon hara and to be kind to one another
Silky, November 25, 2012 2:21 PM
We must ALL love one another
Ana, as an Orthodox Jew, I can say the same: perhaps if reformed, conservative, unaffiliated, non-observant Jews would show love and non-judgment....moshiach might be here. It goes both ways. ALL of us-from the most secular to the most observant-must show love and non-judgment to their Holy Jewish Brethren. We have enough enemies. We, who are all family, must stick together.
(6) Margo Paz, September 11, 2011 3:53 PM
Loved the article, it brought tears to my eyes!
(5) Melissa Groman, September 11, 2011 3:52 PM
Lovely
So beautifully told, so vivid and moving. A treat to read, and a lovely reminder of how far we can travel in both our internal and external worlds.
(4) Orah, September 11, 2011 3:01 PM
WOW
What a moving, inspiring and well-written article. I think there are a lot of Itzik's in the world but there should be even more... Acceptance and LOVE for every Jew is what will bring the mashiach
(3) Anonymous, September 11, 2011 2:54 PM
cried
I cried from half way through the article to the end. The love and acceptance of G-d displayed in man. We are His daughters.
(2) SarA, September 11, 2011 2:18 PM
Beautiful!!
(1) tim, September 11, 2011 6:55 AM
very moving article...
shows how a little love can go along way.