The Wonderful Man

B"H,

Football at N.U.

Uncle Yosef was a wonderful man.  But something troubled me about him.  Perhaps it was his sadness.  I trusted him and I enjoyed his visits to our home.  So did my parents. 

He was a Northwestern University alum and he loved going to their football games.  Who knew that they lost every game that they played!  As a gift to Baylyah and me, he promised us a football game up in Evanston.  Baylyah's turn came first because she was the oldest of us.  How exciting it was when she came home with Uncle Yosef and told us how N.U. won!  Even Uncle Yosef was ecstatic.  So, when it came to be my turn to attend a football game for N.U. with Uncle Yosef I was quite disappointed that they lost.  Surely Uncle Yosef would have told them that they had to win the game for me.  I was still young enough to know that everything happening in my life was thanks to and because of me.  No one ever corrected me of this notion so it was true.  Right? 
 

When did I learn that most events happen without my influence?  Don't know.  Yet, we are obliged to make our mark in this world by way of healing what is damaged.  And the damage is so great.  How, how can we heal what has been broken, crushed, bruised, worn out, consumed to the last crumb?  We must be committed to action in a way that cannot, must not be affected by our moods or by our perceptions.  We must be strong.  We must do the right thing even when others do not see the healing, ... even when others only see the difference between our path and the path that they call their own. 

When I was a little girl Uncle Yosef came to us every Sunday for dinner and schnapps.  Now and then he would invite us all to dinner at the Standard Club in downtown Chicago.  I loved those special meals.  He would meet the four of us downstairs in the lounge and escort us upstairs to the dining room.  Once we were seated Uncle Yosef introduced us to Linda.  What a beautiful woman. 

Dinner interested me more...  the food was grand:  soup with tiny knaidlach, salad with oranges, nuts, and dressing, duck with potato- mushroom-onion-knishes and trees ( i.e. broccoli ).  Desert was a dream, mon-kek known in English as poppy seed cake. 

Somehow I never saw the end of the evening.  I always woke up in my own bed the very next morning.  Years, decades passed before I learned more about Uncle Yosef's life.  Years more passed before I could begin to understand his devotion to life and action without regard for his moods and perceptions.  He was a remarkable man.  We shall visit his life again, soon.