What's Up, Shalom?

I have a confession to make.

There is a man at work. His name is Shalom. We pass each other from time to time and every once in a while discuss something relating to work, but I really don't know him very well even though I've known him for years.

Shalom is a Rabbi. At work he's just a regular guy and it was totally by accident that I even found out that he's a Rabbi. He doesn't go around acting like a Rabbi, but once you know someone's a Rabbi you're a little more respectful, careful what you say. I'll tell you a little secret. Most of us Jews don't like our religious leaders. And so in spite of myself, my mind pasted every stereotype I've ever had, every prejudice I've ever heard about Rabbis on Shalom in spite of the fact that he doesn't wear his credentials on his sleeve.

Shalom is a little guy, shorter than I am and walks around stooped a bit. He always wears a suit and tie, a bit unusual in hot and informal Israel. He looks like a Rabbi. At work I'd throw him a friendly greeting and he was polite enough, but very serious and a bit distracted, as if I had interrupted some important thought about the Torah. I've never been one to bad talk people and I don't gossip, but I would think to my self, "What's up, Shalom? Why can't you pull your head out of your ass long enough to be friendly? Can't you put religion aside long enough to just be one of us regular people for a second or two?" I never said anything of the kind to him or anyone else, but I had mean thoughts, critical thoughts.

Last week was Purim and that night while everybody was partying, Shalom's daughter, a young woman my daughter's age, passed away. She had been sick for a long time. I didn't know. I didn't find out in time to make it to the funeral, but those that did said it was one of the most unusual funerals they had ever attended. The family was thankful, testifying to a life that had been as full of content as it was short of years.

I have a confession to make. Shalom is shorter than I am, but he's a lot bigger of a man than I am. Now I know why he was distracted and why he wasn't cheery and outgoing. Losing a child is no doubt the most painful thing a human being can experience, but Shalom carried his burden quietly and humbly, probably with much more dignity than I could have.

And all I had for him was nasty thoughts.