Soul Food

“‘Mensches’ is a Yiddish term for bighearted people who go out of

their way to help others. These caring, sharing people are like angels

sent from above to help make your life a little easier.”

-- Lee Silber

Real angels, celestial or earthbound mensches, often seem in short

supply and great demand. I’ve aspired to be one myself at times, but

often as not my heart is too stingy and my patience too short. I’m easily

preoccupied.

But I never give up hope that sooner or later I might develop the

character to rise to the occasion. I carry a quote from Eleanor Roosevelt

with me, a sort of quick-reference card for character development.

“Do whatever comes your way to do as well as you can. Think as little

as possible about yourself and as much as possible about other people and

about things that are interesting. Put a good deal of thought into the

happiness that you are able to give.”

It’s my credit card-sized mensch manual. It reminds me of the biblical

commandment, “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” It gives me concrete ways to

get started.

The trouble is, I do none of it all too well. Many things that come my

way to do, I’d rather not do at all. I think far too much about myself.

Not usually grandiose things, but commonplace things, like I’m hungry or

cold or too short. I fret about having too much cat hair on my jacket or

lipstick on my teeth.

To be fair, I do give a passable amount of thought to the happiness I

might be able to give. And to be fair, I sometimes resent doing what it

takes to give it. God knows there are better mensches than me.

Since last Valentine’s Day I know there are a lot more of them than I

ever imagined. I know because I had lunch with a ballroom full of them at

a Jewish Federation of Orange County Women’s Division “Voices” Luncheon.

I went eager to hear keynote speaker, Deborah E. Lipstadt, author of

“Denying the Holocaust: The Growing Assault on Truth and Memory.”

Lipstadt is professor of Modern Jewish and Holocaust studies at Emory

University in Atlanta.

She took a courageous stand for truth and for the dignity of Holocaust

survivors and their families. Author-historian David Irving sued her in

London for calling him a Holocaust denier. A mensch of truth and justice,

last year she won the landmark trial.

I looked forward to seeing Natalie Mandel, described as a soft-spoken

woman whose actions speak louder than words, honored as the Anne Entin

Woman of the Year. For decades she has been a mensch to many, but

especially to the developmentally disabled through the services and

activities of the Jeremiah Society.

What I didn’t anticipate was the multitude of mensches I would lunch

with, nearly 500, each of them dedicated angels to a world of

humanitarian needs.

Especially heartwarming to me were the gracious women at the table

where I sat. I met strangers who made me feel at home among friends when

I felt entirely out of my depth. I arrived early and sat alone. Dorothy

Goldsmith, president of the Jewish Federation of Leisure World sat to my

right.

“What group are you with?” she asked as the rest of her group arrived

at the table.

“I’m not with a group,” I said. “I’m alone. I can move if someone

would like to sit here.”

“No,” Goldsmith said, “you stay right there. We just want to sit where

we can see the speaker.”

I had a perfect seat for that. Odette Gottheim, a member of Hidden

Children, a network of adults who survived the Holocaust hidden as

children by or with their parents, sat to my left. She told me she felt

fortunate to have been in hiding with her family.

As lunch was served and I read through my program, I noticed I was

sitting among some serious mensches, among them Lillian Firestone,

Lillian Heller Conrad and Blossom Siegel, all past Anne Entin Woman of

the Year recipients.

It wasn’t until I got home that I realized the number penciled into

the corner of my name tag indicating my table was number 15, not number

10. But I had sat at table number 10. My heart sank. For three hours I

had sat in someone else’s seat. I had no idea whose. I wanted to

apologize. I wanted to say thank you. I wanted to ask, “Why didn’t you

say something?”I suspect she was too much of an angel, just like all the

other women at table number 10.

* MICHELE MARR is a freelance writer and graphic designer from

Huntington Beach. She has been interested in religion and ethics for as

long as she can remember. She can be reached at o7

[email protected]