Of Loan Balances, Rainbows, And Chance Meetings...

The translation of tallit into English as “prayer shawl” is somewhat disingenuous. The truth is that non-Jewish culture has no concept of a “prayer shawl,” and the term was invented solely to provide a translation. Saying that a tallit is a prayer shawl is no different from saying that a tallit is a tallit. It tells you nothing. A tallit (pronounced tahl-eet), or a tallis (with the emphasis squarely on the first syllable), as we non-Israeli ashkenzik Jews tend to pronounce it, giving the word a Yiddish inflection, is a square piece of wool, with holes in the corners for tzitzit (that’s a whole other story, and I’m not about to start it now). Those of us who are (or who have been) married, and the unmarried among us who are Sephardic or yekke, wear one during morning services – hence its still somewhat meaningless English designation. The typical tallis is white, and it usually has black (sometimes blue, but usually black) stripes of various widths across certain parts.

Ok. I told you all that to tell you this…

I guess Hans was in his 30s, but then so was I. This was almost 20 years ago. He had a problem, Hans did, though not a terribly serious one. I borrowed money from someone, he told me, and I made all the payments on time, and I made the last payment, and now he says I still owe him some money. Not a lot, he said, but shouldn’t I owe him nothing? Well, I said, it’s a matter of arithmetic and nothing more. Take the opening balance, the interest rate, and the amount and date of every payment (easy, they were all on the same day of the month, for the same amount) and give the information to a data processing service. They will tell you if there is a balance. I gave him the name of such a service. Thank you, he said, and he went.

He called me, not long after. I did what you said, he said. And the creditor is correct, I owe him, exactly the amount he said. Ok, I said. How much do I owe you, he asked. Nothing, I said, I was only with you for 10 minutes. You helped me he said. I’m glad, I said, but I’m not charging you.

Not long after I show up at work and there is a rainbow tallit sitting on my desk. A rainbow tallit? Such was the creation of Zalman Schachter, who had spread a few around my city during his tenure as professor at the university there, and I knew a few people who owned and wore such. The stripes on this tallit were not the standard issue black; they were coloured: purple, blue, green, yellow, orange, brown. The tallit is kosher, but somewhat unusual, and, shall I say, loud. But there it was on my desk. Where, I asked the receptionist, did this come from. That Hans guy dropped it off, she said, he said you’d know what it was. She was puzzled by this strange looking garment sitting on my desk folded up so nicely. I should have told her, wait a few decades, then read my blog.

I was in Jerusalem, he told me on the phone, and I studied Kabbalah with Shlomo Carlebach. (Those pieces don’t fit, but that’s what I remember him saying. Perhaps it was Schachter he studied with, and perhaps it was somewhere else…) He gave me that, and you know I’m not Jewish, he said, but I knew that one day I’d find someone special to give it to. You helped me, he said, and I appreciate it.

I’ve had the tallit ever since. I’ve had several others too, but it’s the only one that’s lasted so long. It’s as robust as ever. There’ve been recent times when it’s been the only usable one I’ve had.

So thank you, Hans, wherever you’ve gotten to. I hope you’ve gotten special things in your life too…